Page 55 of When the Storm Breaks
She tastes like desperation. Like heartbreak.
Like something I should’ve never let myself want but suddenly can’t live without.
Her hands stay frozen in her lap at first, hesitant, unsure, but she doesn’t pull away. And that’s all the permission I need.
My grip tightens, anchoring her to me, mouth moving against hers in a need that borders on feral. I can’t get close enough. Can’t get deep enough.
She tries to break away for air, but I don’t let her.
I tilt my head, deepening the kiss, taking everything. Claiming her like I have any fucking right to.
She meets me there. Her tongue brushes against mine, growingbolder, like she’s just as lost in this as I am.
But it’s not enough.
I need more. I need her closer. I need her everywhere.
She tastes like something I could lose myself in forever, and I’m getting greedy.
My left hand drifts down her cheek, thumb grazing over her chin before sliding lower. My palm finds the front of her throat, fingers curling gently against the flutter of her pulse.
It’s deliberate. A mirror of what she did to me that night at the bar.
But this time, it’s different. Softer. Laced with possession. I want to claim her. I want her to feel what she does to me.
A soft, breathy moan spills from her lips, and it nearly undoes me.
My cock throbs against my zipper, the pressure painful as I shift forward, desperate to feel her against me.
The sound—fuck, the sound—pulls something primal out of me.
My mind floods with unfiltered images: dragging her over the console, pinning her beneath me, her thighs locked around my waist, heels digging into my back like she’s afraid I’ll stop.
Her breath against my neck.
Her fingers in my hair.
Her nails scraping down my back as I push deeper—take her apart, wreck her, make her mine.
The need crashes through me, white-hot and all-consuming. I could take her right here. Right now.
But that thought alone is what stops me.
Because I want it too badly.
Because I can feel myself slipping.
My control is dangling by a fucking thread.
I tear myself away from her with a shuddering breath, my forehead dropping against hers as I fight it. My chest heaves, out of sync with hers, every part of me screaming to take more—to keep going.
She blinks up at me, wide-eyed and dazed, lips parted and kiss-swollen. It takes everything I have not to dive back in, to taste her again. Because seeing her like this, flushed and trembling, could bring me to my knees.
For a second, it looks like she wants to say something. But nothing comes.
I force myself to lean back, inch by inch, even though it feels like I’m tearing myself apart. My body fights it, but I ease back into my seat, hands fumbling for the seatbelt. The buckle clicks into place with a sound that feels too final.
My hand moves to the gear shift, but I hesitate—turning to her one last time.
