Page 95 of When the Storm Breaks
“You taste so fucking good, Calla.”
My head spins. My breath comes too fast. My body hums.
He stands, towering over me, pressing his body into mine. He rests his forehead against mine, our breaths syncing into a quiet, charged rhythm. His fingers flex at my hips, still gripping like he can’t let me go.
“We’re leaving.Now,” he growls, eyes closing like he’s fighting for restraint. “If I’m fucking you, I’m not doing it here.”
I nod, already reaching for him, already willing to follow.
I’d let him take me anywhere.
Chapter 30
Calla
The door to Haiyden’s apartment flies open, slamming against the wall—a violent contrast to the stillness inside. Light and shadow slice across the room, the outside world spilling in but never fully reaching us. The air is charged, thrumming with something inevitable.
His hands are on me before the door even shuts. One grips my waist, the other fists the back of my dress, pulling me in like the world might take me from him. Heat and hardness press into me through layers of fabric, an urgency I can’t outrun—and don’t want to.
The door slams shut behind us with a hard kick of his foot.
“Say yes, Calla.” His voice is low. Raw. Threaded with restraint. His fingers flex against my waist, his swallow tight. “Please say yes.”
The desperation in his voice wrecks me. He needs this. Needs me.
I nod—maybe too eagerly, but I don’t care. A breathless smile just barely curves my lips before he devours me.
His mouth crashes down on mine, drinking in my gasp, stealing every coherent thought from my head. The kiss is messy, frantic, starved. No hesitation now. No teasing. Just raw, unfiltered need.
His fingers curl into my dress, twisting it in both fists like it’s in his way.
The world tilts as he lifts me, like he’s been dying to.
A startled gasp escapes me, but my body moves on instinct. My legs wrap around his waist, my hands tangle in his hair. The groan that rumbles from his chest vibrates against my lips.
He moves fast, like he can’t get me close enough. Like waiting any longer might kill him. We crash into the couch, my knees framing his hips, my hands clutching at his shoulders.
His eyes burn into mine, searching. His fingers trace the hem of my dress in a slow, absent motion, savoring, like he’s committing the feel of me to memory. He swallows hard. A crack in the armor.
Heat floods his gaze, darker now. Consuming.
He grips the bottom of my dress and yanks it over my head. The fabric whispers against my skin before it’s gone.
His eyes drop. They darken.
Bare.
His fingers flex at my waist, his gaze dragging over soft curves, hardened peaks.
His jaw tightens. His throat works.
“No bra either?” he murmurs, clicking his tongue. His voice is low, teasing. “So fucking naughty. Did you think you were getting fucked tonight?”
Heat flares through me.
I swallow hard. “I—”
His fingers skim up my ribs, just barely there. My nipples tighten beneath his gaze, my thighs pressing together against the ache.
