Текст книги "Storm"

Автор книги: Jo Raven

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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 15 страниц)

Spun silk, wisp of cloud.

He tastes of wine and male, dark and heady. His lips move over mine, and I can’t get enough. My fingers tighten in his hair and he groans, his hands dropping to my ass, pressing me to him.

To the hard-on bulging in his pants, its thick ridge rubbing through my soaked panties, sending jolts to the core of me.

I break the kiss because my oxygen is running out, and he chases after my mouth, nipping at my lips. He’s breathing hard, eyes heavy-lidded, his solid chest pressing into my breasts, and his hands slide under my dress again, tugging on my panties. Cool air rushes between my legs, and I shiver.

His thumbs stroke up, parting my folds, striking me with need.

“Storm…” My breathing is coming fast and hard, my hands kneading the thick muscles in the back of his neck.

“Stop thinking,” he whispers. “Hold on to me.”

I start to shake my head, my legs tensing to get up.

He peers up at me through dark lashes as he pushes a finger into me. I shudder, my whole body shaking at the intrusion. The pressure inside me ratchets up, and I can’t think or move. He strokes me, his thumb sliding up and down over my clit, while he adds another finger into me, working me deep and hard.

Oh God. I’m going to come. Straddling him, his fingers inside me, with the tang of the sea and him filling my senses, the feel of his muscular body pressed to mine…

Pleasure spikes down my spine, and I start to shatter, my hands clawing at his back.

“Kiss me,” he says, his breath hot against my neck. “Kiss me, Ray.”

I dip my head, and he bites at my lips, drawing me down until his mouth covers mine. He parts my lips with his tongue and licks at my mouth, making me moan. It’s so hot, I tangle my tongue with his.

It’s his turn to groan, and he presses deeper into me, stroking into me with his callused fingers. My hips roll, taking him in, and I gasp in his mouth—or he gasps in mine, not sure which—as the pressure crests and breaks, gripping my body in an earth-shattering orgasm.

I tremble as one of his hands comes up to grip my hip, keeping me from toppling over, my pussy clenching so hard I see stars. His kiss turns soft and slow, his lips moving lightly against mine, letting me draw breath.

But he doesn’t withdraw his fingers until the last spasm has eased and the last wisp of pleasure has faded, leaving me boneless in his arms.

He lowers me back to his lap, where he’s still thick and long, pressing into my throbbing folds through the thin barrier of cloth.

And I panic. I scramble off him, registering for a second his startled expression, then I’m off and running to the gate, letting myself out. I run down the beach, not caring one bit about the sand in my sandals and the burning building behind my eyes.

What the hell am I doing? I screwed this up. I need to leave. Leave this beach, this hide-out.

Leave Storm.

Not like we have anything going, anyway. Not that I want more than this dinner with the dirty, delicious dessert that followed.

Leave before reality crashes down and takes everyone with it.

STORM

What the hell? I’m kneeling by the pool, watching her run away, and my brain’s shut down. Did I hurt her? Did I do something she didn’t want?

She came, no way could she fake that, not with my fingers inside her, feeling her pussy clench around me like a vise. Not when I tasted her moans in my mouth, when I felt her tense and then go slack in my arms.

And then she ran away.

Fuck. If I scared her. I thought she wanted it, but maybe I should have waited longer. I screwed up, because I couldn’t wait. I wanted to touch her, feel her. And now I’ve had copped a feel and had a taste, I’m hungry for more.

Goddammit.

I get up slowly, wincing as fire shoots up my leg. I massage the knotted muscle as I stagger by the pool, the recently healed fracture aching like a bitch. I’m also hard as a rock, and fuck if I’m going to make it back to the house with my thigh on fire and a boner like a goddamn flag pole between my legs.

Arriving at the nearest chaise lounge, I sink gingerly down and lie back with a sigh of relief, staring up at the dark sky. How did I get myself into such a jam—again? Can’t count the times I’ve had to jack off to this chick’s image since I met her.

Looks like today will be no different. Fuck my luck. Reaching down, I unzip my fly and ease out my aching cock. I wheeze out a breath, letting my hand curl around the base and hold on for a moment, savoring the need, the burning pressure behind my balls.

Picturing her. Dark hair loose, a storm cloud around her pale face, those fucking big eyes staring up at me as she goes to her knees between my legs. Her pink tongue darting out to lick her soft lips, her hand trailing over her breasts, down her belly, down, down…

A groan leaves my throat and, looking down, I realize I’ve begun stroking myself, tugging on my hard dick. My fist slides up to the crown and back down, my grip made slippery by the precum leaking from the slit.

Fuck, feels so good. Wish she was the one doing it to me. Wish she’d stayed. That I’d feel her warm, smooth skin on mine, feel her mouth on mine, that I’d hold her, and not feel…

So alone.

Shit.

Swallowing, I squeeze my dick savagely, then pull on it so hard I gasp. Yeah, that’s it. Just need to come, get the need out of my system. My stomach is clenched tightly, my back bowed forward as I beat my meat, groaning out loud at the pressure building and building.

Can’t. I can’t come. My dick is on fire. My balls are hard and heavy. Jesus. Come. Come already, fucking dammit.

I almost see her, in the milky light from the pool, breathing on my cock, licking up the underside, then taking me in her hot, pretty mouth. Sucking me down her throat.

Oh fuck. I arch back, my head thumping on the heavy cloth of the chaise lounge, my body jerking as I shoot my load on my chest, my chin and fucking everywhere.

Holy shit.

I blink, not seeing anything, my vision gone dark for a second. What the hell was that? Flying so fucking high, and she’s not even here. The thought of her was enough to wring me dry.

Throwing an arm over my eyes, I stay still and breathe. Breathe in, breathe out. Trying not to sink in the same dark funk that has held me these past months, since people around me started dying again, since I almost died in that car, and in the explosion before that.

Wish I could fade into the night tonight.

Chapter Four

RAYLIN

Dammit, Ray. What were you thinking?

I hadn’t been thinking, that was the problem. I let myself go, let myself want. It’d be impossible not to want him. He’s gorgeous. But I should know better by now.

My steps slow, and my pulse quietens. I take off my sandals and walk on the damp sand, running in my mind everything that went down tonight—from the dinner to his mouth on mine and his hands on me.

My body remembers, too, tightening inside, the ghostly trace of his fingers burning in me. Fire. Flames. Brands. His touch scorched me.

And oh God… I left him high and dry. Had my pleasure and ran. That was…

I clap a hand over my mouth, a sudden attack of laughter shaking my shoulders. This isn’t funny. I shouldn’t be laughing.

So many things I shouldn’t be doing, and yet here I am.

Running away. Why did I panic?

Because people around me are in danger.

But this isn’t a relationship. Sleeping with a hottie doesn’t count as anything but that. Sexy fun. No harm no foul. Nobody needs to know about it. He didn’t ask me out, or put a ring on my finger. We didn’t exchange phone numbers and email addresses. He had an itch to scratch—and so did I.

I glance over my shoulder at the mansion, coming to a stop. I could go back, apologize for taking off like that. Touch him. Finish what we started together.

But something holds me back. Maybe it’s the dark shadow I glimpsed in his gaze as I was about to go, his gentle concern, his attention. The fact he said he finds me beautiful. The way he kissed me, like he’s stranded in a desert, and I’m cool water.

I want to know more about him. Know why he went out into the storm. Why he limps. Why a guy like him, going around bare-chested and in old jeans, with tattoos and a scruffy jaw, is housesitting such a mansion. I want his story.

And then I see a bullet tearing through him, I see blood pooling around him. Like it happened to Mom. Like it happened to the man who shot at my brother, like it’ll happen to me once they catch me.

That’s why I shouldn’t ever go back.

***

I toss and turn all night, dreaming of him. He’s stretched out on his back, stroking himself, those blue eyes dark with desire. I can’t see his hard-on, but I see his strong fist clearly, moving up and down. I see the rose tattoos shifting on his sides with his every breath, his abs contracting, standing out stark and so very lickable.

“Kiss me, Ray,” he whispers over and over again. “Kiss me.”

His head drops back, his mouth opening as he comes, moaning my name.

And I wake up again and again to the image of him, finding myself twisted in the sheets, aroused and throbbing, drenched in sweat.

The urge to touch myself and relieve the pressure is killing me, but I don’t. Not that I want him to touch me, I tell myself as I get up to grab a glass of water from the kitchen sink. That I’d rather feel something other than his fingers inside me—something bigger, hotter, something…

Oh crap.

I whimper as the need flares in my belly. I need him inside me, need his mouth on me, his arms around me. His scent. I want to rub myself in it.

I splash my face with cold water and sink in a kitchen chair, about to cry. This can’t happen. I can’t fall for Storm. No way. Can’t fall for anyone right now. Can’t let my walls down.

So not fair. I’m only nineteen. I want to have friends and have fun, I want a cute boyfriend, I want… I want sex. I’ve only ever had it twice before, and it sucked, but this, with Storm… It feels different, like it could be mind-blowing, and I want it. I want him. Want to see the heat rising in his eyes, find out about the sadness that surfaces sometimes.

Oh no. No, Ray.

I jump up from my seat and pace in the kitchen, wringing my hands together. I need to leave. Leave this place. My fault, for going out of my way to meet someone. I gotta keep moving. First rule of hiding: don’t sprout roots. Don’t get too comfy. Don’t talk to people.

Or kiss them and make out with them.

This is serious. The people after me don’t kid. They want something I can’t give them. They want retribution, death or worse.

I need a new plan. A new place to crash and hide. I wish I had internet to search for an exit route, but I don’t, and I wish I had money to pay for my ride, and I don’t. Hitchhiking gives me the heebie-jeebies, but I guess I’ll have to give it another go.

Typical of my life.

I walk around the house, in and out of the bathrooms, the kitchen, the empty TV room, and out onto the terrace overlooking the sea. I gaze in the direction of the house where Storm is, and my chest hurts. What is this strange ache?

It shouldn’t feel like I’m leaving home.

But it does.

***

I should say goodbye.

The thought spins inside my head like a mini cyclone all day, throwing me off balance. I should say goodbye to Storm and apologize for ditching him last night.

Let him know I’m leaving.

I’m dithering, putting off the inevitable. It’s not as if I have to pack or anything. When afternoon comes around, I finish the last of the crackers and another can of party sausages and sit on the steps of the terrace. Chin in my hand, I watch the ocean roll. Waves and dunes and seagulls—but I can’t appreciate the beauty of the place anymore.

My eyes keep searching for a lone runner arriving with the nightfall.

Where is he? Why hasn’t he come?

And why am I suddenly so worried about him? He was fine when I left.

It’s me who isn’t fine. That’s it. I’m going to go find him, bid him farewell, all that melodramatic crap. It’ll take a weight off me, I think. Free me to hit the road once again.

Sandals in one hand, the other shading my eyes from the setting sun, I set out to find him. This time I find the mansion easily. I expect to find him fixing some thing or other in the garden, but the gate is locked, and I can’t see him inside.

“Storm!” I rattle the gate and as an afterthought, search for a doorbell. I find it on the fence at my right and ring it. “Storm?”

Nothing happens.

As if he has to stay in every night, on the off-chance I pass by. He’s probably taken off to town and is at some bar, hitting on chicks and having a drink.

I puff out a breath and lean on the gate. The garden looks so peaceful with its lit pool and the empty chaise lounges. Azaleas grow around a raised round platform where I can imagine a small orchestra playing. Or a couple sitting to eat.

I close my eyes and can’t figure why there’s a sting at the back of my eyes. I’m not going to cry for Storm. I barely know him.

“Goodbye,” I whisper. “And thank you for last night.”

“How about a repeat?” he says from behind me, and I scream, turning and slamming my back into the iron gate. “Ray…”

He’s breathing hard, and his chest gleams with sweat. He was out running, and I somehow missed him coming after me. The light catches on his sharp cheekbones and bright eyes, turning them to gold.

“Hey,” I say, my mouth dry as dust.

“You were saying goodbye.” His brows come together, and he leans against the gate, so close I can feel the warmth from his body. “Why? Are you leaving?”

“That’s when people usually say goodbye.”

“Why are you running, Ray?”

“Goodbye, Storm.”

“Don’t.” He pushes off the gate and takes my face in his hands. “Stay.”

“I can’t.” The stinging in my eyes is back. I should go before I start bawling in front of him.

“Stay tonight.”

“It’s a bad idea.”

“Why?” he asks.

“You don’t know me. I don’t know you.”

“And that won’t change if you run away again. Do you really have to go?”

I shake my head, torn.

“I’ve wanted you,” he rasps, “from the moment I saw you watching me when I was fixing that fence.”

“You’re lying.”

“Fuck, no, I’m not.” He shifts against me, muscles bulging in his thighs. “You’re so beautiful.”

I lose the battle and a tear breaks free, slipping down my cheek. I lift my hands to his face and cup his jaw, his stubble prickling my palms. Jesus Christ, he’s so gorgeous.

He takes my hands and loops them around his neck. “Why are you crying?”

“I wish…” I swallow hard. “For so much I can’t have.”

“But you can have me. If you like.”

So I do the only thing I can: I kiss him and let the world fade away.

***

He kisses me back, pushing me against the gate. His hands slide down my neck and over my breasts, coming to rest on my waist, and I arch up against him, against his powerful muscles and the cock thickening against my stomach.

He tastes even better today. No wine sparkle to cover his spice, and his lips are salty with clean sweat. Salty and sweet and hot. My tongue tangles with his, and I press myself to him, needing to feel every beautiful inch of him.

Can’t remember right now why I’d better run away. My brain’s taken a hike. I kiss him back, desperate to get more of him. His hand fumbles behind me and the gate swings open. He walks me backward and kicks the gate closed without stopping.

His mouth is nipping at mine, his hands hot through my blouse. He’s moving fast, actually marching me backward, and I stumble.

In one swift motion, he bends, slides his arms under my back and knees and swings me up to his chest.

I squeal and grab at his neck, terrified I’ll fall. He laughs, a delicious, deep sound that vibrates through his chest and into me. He crosses the patio with long strides, bypassing the chaise lounges, and reaches the door.

“In my left pocket,” he says, eyes sparkling down at me. “The key.”

I stare at him, my brain still on lockdown. Finally I release my death grip on the back of his neck with my right hand and reach down. His running shorts are satiny, and I fumble around, trying to find the slit of his pocket. My hand brushes over something long and hard, and he gasps.

He grins down at me, but his eyes are kinda glazed.

“Is there really a key in there?” I move my hand to the side, and a shudder goes through his body. I feel an echo of it between my legs.

“Yeah, there is.”

I finally find the pocket and push my hand inside. I hunt for the key and brush over his hard-on again. He swallows another gasp, his eyes going dark and deep.

“Who cares about the key?” he mutters, his voice hoarse. “Or going indoors. Let’s do it right here, on the doorstep.”

“You really are crazy,” I whisper, my fingers closing around the small key and pulling it out of his pocket. “Anyone passing by can see us.”

“Crazy people don’t care,” he whispers back, and I grin in spite of myself. “Just open the damn door.”

He maneuvers me until I can reach the keyhole. I shove the key inside and turn. He puts his hip to it, pushes, and it opens.

“Now,” he says, carrying me into the cool high-ceilinged mansion and striding around the sunken living room. “Where were we?”

“We weren’t…” I don’t know what to say. Don’t know anything anymore, except I want him to kiss me more, to touch me, and screw everything else.

He starts up a staircase, hefting me easily in his arms. This boy sure is strong. His steps falter a little toward the top, though, and I gasp in alarm.

“Don’t worry.” He smiles. “I’ve got you.”

Yet he limps slightly as he carries me down a long mezzanine, and I remember it’s not the first time. Before I can follow this train of thought, though, or ask about it, he pushes another door open and enters a bedroom.

Has to be a bedroom. It has a bed at its center, but apart from that it’s unlike any room I have ever entered. Back into fairytale territory.

A huge, extra-large, king-sized bed, done in pale gray with white and black cushions is set at its center. A deep red couch and two armchairs with a low, dark coffee table stand by the tall French doors that open onto a balcony facing the sea. Fine white curtains flutter. The long wooden beams of ceiling are painted white. An actual fucking chandelier hangs over us, tiny crystals glittering in the last rays of the sun.

Jesus.

“Should we even be here?” I mutter, my voice barely audible.

“Yeah, we should.” His mouth quirks in a wicked grin. “This is where I should be, right here, with you.”

“That’s not—” That full mouth descends on mine in a crushing kiss, and I moan, stretching out on the soft mattress.

This is wrong. Probably illegal. I bet the owners don’t know he’s been using their bedroom, their bed for God’s sake, to have sex. I bet he was supposed to stay in the garden shed or something, but instead he broke into the house.

Like I did, and the thrill of it, the connection, spreads through me like a gale.

He lowers me on the bed and immediately shifts and covers my body with his, taking my breath away. The room fades. He’s looking down at me, the blues in his eyes glittering, his hands on either side of me, bracketing me in. He does a sort of half push-up, keeping his weight off me.

I want him on me, covering every part of me. Nailing me down. Never felt this way before. Never needed so badly to be filled and engulfed and overpowered. Feels good to give in, to let him in. Feels right.

Reaching up, I grab his shoulders and pull him to me. Need to feel his weight, his solid length, his hard cock between my legs. The dreams that plagued me all night were pale previews of this moment. Our kissing and groping by the pool yesterday was just a warm up. This. This feels like the real thing—the way he finally lowers himself, his hard-on grinding against my stomach, and his mouth eats me up, his tongue licking against the roof and clashing with mine.

His weight feels amazing, the whole package of hard muscle and contained strength pressing down on me. His hips rock, and we both moan when his cock rubs between my legs, over my worn shorts and wet panties. God, I’m so wet I can hardly believe it.

Breaking the kiss, shifting onto his side, he trails his fingertips over my throbbing mouth and down my neck. He tugs at the straps of my blouse and bra, pulling them down my arm, baring the mounds of my breasts, now barely contained in the soft cotton. His eyes follow the path of his hand, and then so does his mouth—soft lips, rough stubble, moving over my breasts. He snags the cotton in his teeth and snaps it down, and my pebbled nipple peeks out.

He gives it a long lick and then cool air rushes over it, dragging a groan from my throat. Pleasure zaps down my every nerve, and heat pools in my belly, gathering into a ball of need. He turns his attention to my other breast, licking and lightly biting my nipple until I’m writhing underneath him, my insides clenching so hard I think I might come just from that.

“I need to be inside you.” His voice is a low growl, and it rolls over me like a rough caress.

“Please,” I whisper, barely able to recognize my own voice, distorted with desire. “Please, Storm.”

“I’ve fantasized about this,” he says, reaching below the pillow and pulling out a string of condoms. He grins at me. “Hoped you’d let me.”

“You jerked off?” Oh God. I snap my mouth shut. What’s come over me?

His smile slips a little. “Yeah. Thinking of you. What—?”

“I’d love to see it.” More heat suffuses my face. Okay, time to shut up now, Ray. He’ll think you’re a pervert.

I’m normally not that bold. It’s not like I’ve had lots of sex or any kink in my life, as in, ever. Just being with him takes away my fear.

Or maybe the lust is so great fear doesn’t stand a chance.

His grin returns full-force. “Keep saying things like that, and I can’t guarantee I won’t come all over the sheets right now.”

And it shouldn’t make me even hotter—the thought he can lose control from my words, from the image of me watching him jerk off.

I’m warm all over, too warm.

“But first…” He lets the condoms drop on the mattress beside me and kisses me, a savage invasion, his tongue thrusting into my mouth, sending an aching pulse between my legs. Then he bows his head, breathing hard. “I need you naked. Under me.”

Oh God, yes. He pulls on the hem of my blouse, and I arch my back to let him take it off me. He tugs on my bra, and I reach behind me for the clasp, undoing it and freeing my breasts.

He licks his lips, draws in a ragged breath—then sits back on his heels and drags my shorts and panties down my legs. He throws them off the bed, and they land somewhere on the floor. I don’t care where.

I don’t care about anything but him, inside me. I feel like I’m going out of my mind, craving him like an addict.

I reach for him. My turn to undress him. His swollen cock pushes against the thin cloth, clearly outlined, and I rest my hands on it, feeling his thickness, his length, cupping him through the material. He stills where he’s kneeling on top of the covers, then hisses out a curse. His hands come to rest over mine as I tug on the waistband of his jogging pants.

“Let me,” I whisper.

Panting, he rests his fists by his sides and looks down, at my hands. The way he can’t seem to catch his breath, that’s so sexy. I wrestle the elastic over his hardness, and it juts out, flushed and big, the head wet with precum.

Oh wow. He’s going commando, I think dazedly, my mind misfiring. I stare at his cock—so hard, trembling against his belly, and my mouth waters—at the sight of him, at the musk of his arousal that’s filling my senses, the strain in the lines of his body as he fights not to move. I dance my fingers down the length of him, and he jerks, teeth gritting.

“Goddammit.” He grabs my wrists, his breathing coming faster, and he bares his teeth in a wolfish smile. “Have to be inside you now. I need it, Ray.”

No argument from me. I tug on his hold and he lets go. He reaches for the condoms and tears one open with his teeth, then sheaths himself. It shouldn’t be so sexy, how he rolls the rubber over his hard-on, but God, it is. I can imagine his strong hand wrapped around his cock, stroking and pulling, and a flush spreads over my breasts and neck.

Holy crap, I’m getting obsessed with watching him jerk off. Get a grip, Ray.

Then he’s pushing me down on my back, his hardness pressing between my legs, and my thoughts unravel again. Happens an awful lot around him, and now, with the head of his cock rubbing against my folds, it’d be a miracle if I can still manage the basics, like breathing.

“Look at me,” he whispers, leaning over me, the muscles in that perfect chest clenching, shadows flitting over his face as he drags his cock over my cleft, one slow, heavy slide that sends sparks flashing in my eyes. “Look at me, Ray.”

A moan escapes me as he does it again, and I blink, trying to focus on his face. “Okay.”

He lowers himself more, on his elbows, his hands framing my face. “Do you want me inside you? Say it.”

Oh God. My breasts ache, my sex clenches. “Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“I want you.” I swallow. “Inside me.”

“That’s it. I’m gonna fuck you now,” he whispers, and I shudder. “Ready?”

He gives me no chance to reply, instead dipping his head, licking at my mouth. The kiss starts of soft, then goes hard and deep. He sucks on my upper lip, then the lower. His tongue collides with mine.

Good thing I never got to reply, because nothing could prepare me for the long, burning slide of his cock entering me. I arch on the bed, lifting my knees to his sides, taking him in. He releases my mouth, letting my cry break free, still pushing into me, filling me up until I can’t take any more.

I claw at his shoulders, needing something to ease the impossible pressure inside me. “Storm…”

He shifts, pulls back an inch or two, and slams back inside. My hips lift clear off the bed and a wail leaves my mouth. It’s pain and pleasure, a fine edge that cuts through me, leaves me reeling. I tremble beneath him, try to move, but I’m pinned like a moth to a canvas.

“Beautiful,” he breathes and pushes himself up again, drawing out, pushing back inside. And again. “So beautiful.”

Oh God, yes. The pressure transforms into blinding pleasure, and I rock up to meet his thrusts. His eyes go hooded and his mouth tense as he grabs one of my legs and wraps it over his hip. His next thrust pierces me so deep I cry out his name.

Shit, shit. I’m going to fall apart. The clenching starts in my core, spreading outward, ripples and waves.

He grunts. “Oh fuck, I can feel it. I can feel you.” His movements grow faster. He’s pounding into me, his jaw clenched, his chest glistening with sweat, the muscles in his arms quivering as he fucks me hard. “Come for me, Ray.”

And I do. I moan when the pressure snaps, and my body goes supernova. Unintelligible words tumble from my mouth. I thrash and rock, the pleasure drowning me. It goes on and on. He slows down for me, lets me contract around his hard length until I think I will weep from it.

Then he picks up the rhythm again, plunging into me so hard the bed rattles. I’m still clenching around his cock, shuddering with the aftershocks, when he mutters a curse and shudders, buried to the balls inside me.

“Fuck…” He jerks, his hips rolling in one long, deep thrust. “Oh Goddamn, Ray…”

He groans, the sound rumbling in his chest. He bows over me, that strong body shaking, and I feel the twitch of his cock and the heat of his come through the thin condom.

His arms give way, and he sprawls over me, panting harshly. Cursing, he twists and shifts to avoid crushing me. His arms come around me, and he rolls us on our sides.

Still connected. His cock twitches again inside me, and I moan as he pulls me against his chest. He rocks his hips, and even half-hard, he feels delicious.

“Dammit, girl,” he whispers in my ear. “You’re dangerous. You feel too good.”

He does, too, and he’s a health hazard—too handsome, too sexy—but he shifts again, and pushes deeper into me. Jesus, he’s hardening again. He lowers his head and licks over my nipple, teasing it with his tongue, and anything I might have said is lost in a moan. He sucks and bites and soothes with his tongue, while his cock swells inside me, and I can’t fathom what he’s doing to me.

He rocks into me, reaching with one hand for the condoms strewn on the covers. “Stay tonight,” he whispers against my breast, his words from earlier on, and circles my hard nipple with his tongue. “Say you’ll stay.”

He draws back, shoves into me again, slow, deep thrusts that have my eyes rolling back in my head. Another orgasm is building deep inside me, and I can tell it’s going to break me to pieces.

“Yes,” I gasp, “yes.”

Just for tonight. Just for this, and to forget reality for a little while longer. Crap, I can’t even remember what I’m running away from anymore.

STORM

This girl is driving me nuts. She’s so sexy. She enjoys my dick inside her and my mouth on her and isn’t afraid to show it. And yet she yields to me, lets me hold her, move her, tell her what to do, and that turns me on like nothing else. She’s soft inside, like melted caramel, molding herself to me, following where I tread.

But that’s not all there is to her. Somewhere in her demeanor there’s a hint of steel. Secrets. Fear. Determination. She’s soft for me, because she wants me, she likes what I’m doing to her. She digs me. Has she told me a word about her past? About why she’s running?

No. Not a single word. Not a single clue.

Not that it would stop me from kissing her, fucking her sweet pussy. She’s like silk wrapped around my hard-on. So fucking tight. So fucking hot.

Pressure coils behind my balls. It’s not as urgent as the first time around. I think I can last more than thirty seconds this time.

Maybe. If she stops writhing against me, tightening around me, milking my cock with every twitch. Fuck.

The condom packages crunch under my hand, and I curse. Gritting my teeth, I pull out of her, inch by excruciating inch. She gasps and digs her short nails into my arms. The light sting goes straight to my cock, and I have to stop, still half-buried inside her, until I can wrestle the impending orgasm back.

“Condom,” I grind out and make another attempt to withdraw.

Her dark eyes are shiny and unfocused, but her grip on my arms eases, and grabbing the base of my dick to avoid coming all over her pretty tits, I pull out completely.