Page 22 of Ruthless Salvation

Storm clung to my shoulders, her small gasps and moans teasing my ear and riling my cock to a point of excruciation. She was fucking perfection. If I’d known.Jesus, if I’d only known.

I would have done this sooner.

I never would have allowed myself to go this far.

Either. Both. I wasn’t sure, but I knew one thing. There was no going back.

“I can’t be gentle, Storm.”

“Don’t be.” Her panted words were a checkered flag.

I gave myself over to my desire. To every fantasy she’d starred in and each tormented dream I’d been trapped in since the day she stumbled into my club. They all united in one perfect moment of savagery.

I fucked Stormy against the lockers, ramming my cock so deep inside her that she’d feel me for days. She clutched my shoulders for dear life. Thrust after jackhammered thrust, we watched one another. She drank in my unguarded fascination, and I memorized the perfect way her lips parted in pleasure.

I didn’t last long, nor did I care. She made me so fucking hard every damn day that I knew I’d be ready for a second round. Maybe even a third and fourth. I’d fuck her until my dick fell off if I could.

A sharp surge of tingles drew my balls up tight before white lightning exploded through my veins. My back curved with release, my body’s last ditch effort to reach as far inside her as possible.

I lay my forehead on her shoulder while I recovered. I’d never been so damn dizzy after sex.

You fucked her within an inch of your life. Both your lives.

And I’d do it again in a heartbeat.

Speaking of … I lowered us to the ground and lay Storm on her back. She watched me with a glint of curiosity. When she recognized my intent as I brought my face to her spread thighs, she tried to sit upright.

“But your cum…” she protested warily.

“Is exactly where it should be,” I assured her firmly. And the fucked-up thing was, I meant it. I hadn’t used a condom, and I couldn’t bring myself to care—about tasting myself on her or the possibility of pregnancy.

I’d never pulled that shit in my life—not even at my drunkest—but Storm was different. Always had been and always would be.

“We aren’t leaving here until those thighs try to squeeze the life from me.” I pressed her legs apart and circled her opening with my tongue before licking up to her clit. The taste was intoxicating, if only because she tasted likemine.

I pulled down the cups of her bra and teased her nipples into puckered pebbles with my fingers, wishing my mouth could be in two places at once. I wanted to run my lips over every damn inch of her. Lick the salt from every one of her delicious curves.

If one person could be made for another, then I had no doubt Storm was made just for me. Everything about her was so fucking perfect. She captivated each of my senses until nothing else existed but her. And judging by the arousal dripping from her pussy, her body was responding to mine in a similar fashion.

She was already primed from riding my cock, her body desperate for release. I pumped my fingers deep inside her while I flicked my tongue over her swollen clit. Her knees spread wider, a silent plea for more. She was so fucking responsive. I loved the feel of her hand clenched in my hair and the occasional sting of pain. All of it drove me onward in a desperate pursuit to see her come undone.

When her legs began to pulse and jerk, I knew she was on the cusp. I kept my fingers inside her and circled that internal bundle of nerves relentlessly.

“Oh God.Yesss.” Her body arched up off the concrete as it exploded with release, making me wish I could see the curve of her spine from behind. I wanted to see her come in every way possible, in every position and from every angle. I wanted more of her in any way I could get it. My brain violently rejected the possibility that I might never touch her again.

Consumed with a desire for more, I slowly eased my touch and allowed her to recover, but only because I needed her ready for more. I’d never been a patient man, however.

As soon as I kicked off my shorts, I scooped Stormy into my arms and took her over to the ancient Formica vanity.

“Hands on the counter,” I instructed after I’d set her on the ground facing a dusty mirror.

“Again?” Her wide eyes stared at me in the mirror.

“This time, we come together.”

Her head made small jerking movements back and forth. “I can’t. I haven’t ever…”

“Haven’t what?”

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