Page 96 of Storm
"Then why?—"
"Because you terrify me," he admits, the confession clearly costing him. "Because from the moment I first saw you in that underground fight club, something in me recognized something in you. And I've been fighting it ever since."
I swallow hard, another question forming. "Was it you? All those years in the Omega House, watching through the cameras when I..." I trail off, heat rushing to my cheeks.
A small, knowing smile curves his lips. "When you touched yourself every morning?" he finishes for me, his voice dropping lower. "Yes."
The admission should embarrass me. I thought it was Jonathan. Instead, it sends a fresh wave of heat through me to know he was watching me all those years.
"You knew I was doing it to spite Jonathan," I say, a challenge in my voice.
His thumb traces my lower lip, his eyes darkening. "I knew. And I still couldn't look away."
Desire coils tighter in my belly at his words, at the raw honesty between us. I pull him down for another kiss, suddenly desperate to feel him against me again.
His mouth leaves mine to trail down my neck, paying special attention to the spot he marked earlier. Then lower, across my collarbone, down to where his hand still teases my breast. When his lips close around my sensitive nipple, I cry out, arching into his mouth.
"Reed," I gasp, threading my fingers through his hair, holding him to me. "Please, I need?—"
"I know what you need," he says against my skin. The vibration of his voice adds another layer to the pleasure building in me. "Trust me, Little Storm."
And strangely, I do. In this moment, I trust Reed Howard completely, surrendering to the sensations he's creating in me, letting go of the control I've fought so hard to maintain.
His hand slides down my stomach, his touch teasing, maddening. I shift beneath him, silently begging for more. He chuckles, the sound dark and promising, as his fingers finally reach my clit, then dip lower.
"So wet," he growls, finding me slick and ready for him. "Is all this slick for me, Little Omega?" His thumb circles that sensitive bundle of nerves, making me gasp. "Tell me."
"Yes," I admit. "For you, Reed. Please."
His fingers dip inside me, first one, then two, stretching me slowly. I moan at the intrusion, my hips bucking up to meet his hand. Reed watches my face as he works his fingers deeper, his expression intense, focused entirely on my pleasure.
"So tight," he murmurs, his voice strained. "So perfect."
His thumb continues its maddening circles on my clit while his fingers curl inside me, finding that spot that makes me see stars. I cry out, my hands fisting in the sheets as pleasure builds within me, a tidal wave threatening to crash.
"Reed," I pant, my voice breaking on his name. "I'm going to?—"
"Yes," he encourages, his pace increasing. "Come for me, Little Storm. Let me see you fall apart."
The command in his voice, the intensity of his gaze, the relentless pressure of his fingers, it's all too much. I shatter beneath his touch, waves of pleasure crashing through me as my body trembles around his fingers. I cry out his name, unable to hold back the sounds of my pleasure.
Reed watches me with hungry eyes, drinking in every expression, every sound. As I come down from the high, trembling and sensitive, he slowly withdraws his fingers, bringing them to his mouth to taste me. The sight of it sends another jolt of arousal through me.
"You taste even better than I imagined," he says, his voice rough with desire.
I reach for him, pulling him back down to me. "I need you," I whisper against his lips. "All of you."
He positions himself between my thighs, the hard length of him pressing against my entrance. For a moment, he hesitates, his eyes searching mine for permission. "Are you sure?"
"Yes," I breathe, wrapping my legs around his waist. "I want this. I want you."
He enters me slowly, giving me time to adjust to his size. The stretch is delicious, bordering on pain, but never quite crossing that line. I feel so full, so complete with him inside me. My hands clutch at his shoulders, digging my nails into his skin as he pushes deeper.
"Fuck," he groans, his forehead dropping to rest against mine. "You feel incredible."
"So do you," I gasp, my body adjusting to accommodate him. "Please, move."
Reed starts with slow, measured thrusts, watching my face for any sign of discomfort. But there's only pleasure building with each rock of his hips. I arch beneath him, meeting his movements, silently urging him for more. His control breaks gradually, his thrusts becoming faster, deeper, more insistent. The room fills with the sounds of our pleasure—my gasps and moans, his low growls, the rhythmic movement of our bodies together.
