Storm

by Jo Raven

  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.

  Shit. My cock throbs in my hand as I pull off the used condom and tie it off. I let it drop to the floor.

  Fuck, I only just came, and I’m ready to go again. Can’t remember this happening to me since I was fourteen and jerked off to pictures of naked girls in magazines. This girl is all my fantasies put into one—her juicy tits, het curvy legs, her sweetness, and those big eyes…

  Cursing, I tear a foil open with my teeth and snap on the new condom, trying to picture something else, anything else but her, as I pull it on snug and tight. She tugs on me, mewling her need, and my mouth twists in a grin.

  God, she’s something else. I bend over her, stroking dark strands of hair out of her eyes and gripping her chin. I want her to look at me as I enter her. I want her to know who I am.

  Even if she doesn’t really know. Fucking secrets. Paranoia.

  Then I’m thrusting into her, into her tight heat, and everything else melts away. Fuck the world. Fuck my fear. Fuck you, fate. Tonight there’s only me and her.

  Her legs lift and wrap around my hips without prompting, her arms curl around my neck, and her inner walls grip me in a vise.

  “Storm,” she whispers, her eyes black with arousal, and I know what she needs.

  I stop moving.

  “Tell me how badly you want to come,” I whisper back and lick at her mouth. I see the flush spreading on her cheeks and down her neck. She likes it when I demand things from her, when I push her. “Tell me, Ray.”

  “Very badly.” She moans and lifts her hips, trying to force me to move. “Storm.”

  “What?” I give a small thrust, and fuck, my balls are about to detonate. “What do you want?

  “You.” She grips my arms and shakes me. Or tries to. Her eyes are brilliant over her flushed cheeks. “I want you, Storm.”

  Something twists inside my chest, and I don’t even know why. She wants my cock, that’s all. And I’ll give it to her because I want her to the point of bursting.

  Damn my mind for playing games on me, making me think there’s more to her words, and more to what I feel about her.

  I was planning on pushing her more, demanding she tell me what she wants me to do to her—because, man, that’s goddamn hot. Instead, I thrust into her, hard, to stop my thoughts and drown the strange longing in a rush of sensations.

  But it’s not enough. Even after she moans my name and comes apart, even after I lose control and pound into her, pleasure exploding my mind into smithereens, I want.

  I want more.

  And as I curl up with her, tuck her head under my chin and inhale the blossom scent of her hair, as I pull her arm over my chest and her smooth legs tangle with mine, as I stare up at the ceiling, listening to her breathing even out…

  I need her. In the cold places inside me, something is shifting like a forgotten bullet, lodged in my chest. It hurts worse than broken bones, and at the same time, it feels so fucking good. She’s getting under my skin, burrowing into me.

  I don’t want to let her go.

  Chapter Five

  RAYLIN

  Sunlight teases my eyes.

  Okay, let me rephrase: sunlight hits my eyes like a hot poker and ow, it hurts. I turn on my side—and smack into a body.

  A warm, hard body. A scent of male spice and musk. Muscles rippling on a washboard stomach, black and red ink curling over flaring ribs, and further down…

  I open my mouth, try to breathe and fail.

  A very naked, very hard cock, large and curving upward. A pearly drop glistens on the crown, as if winking at me.

  I look up and Storm winks at me¸ too, his blue eyes amused. “Morning, Sunshine.”

  I scramble backward. Whoa, just one sec. Rewind.

  Making up my mind to go. Passing by the house to say goodbye to Storm. Finding Storm and… Oh my God. Sex. Hot sex in this enormous, filthy-luxurious bedroom.

  Heat washes over my skin. I scoot back—or try to. A muscular arm wraps itself around me and drags me back to that ripped chest.

  “Where are you going?” My cheek is mashed to his pec, a pretty hard pillow, but it smells of him, and I can’t help drawing a deep breath of his musk. “It’s too early. Stay.”

  He keeps saying that. Stay.

  My heart clenches. I’d love to stay, stay with him, stay here, in the now, with no worries other than what to have for breakfast—preferably by licking the dips and planes of his muscled chest, and then moving lower, to taste his cock, and…

  “Where did you go?” he whispers, and I jerk a little, realizing I’ve been straining to catch another glimpse of his hard-on.

  “Nowhere.”

  “Yet.”

  Yeah, that’s right. But I don’t want to think about that right now. I let my hand drift over his chest, to the shiny red scar there, and then lower, where I discover more. A fine, white scar marks his skin from his side to his stomach. “How did these happen?”

  He says nothing and I glance up, into his face. His eyes flash a darker blue. “What’s the matter, Ray?” he whispers in my ear. “Want to kiss and make it better?”

  Fire spreads over my neck and face. God, I can almost feel the flames. “No.”

  Because I do, and I’m not talking about the scars.

  “I love how you always blush like that. Does it happen often?”

  “No.”

  “So this is just for me?”

  I huff. Walked right into that one. “Nope.” My hand inches lower. Almost there.

  “Who are you, really, Raylin O’Brien? What are you hiding?”

  The air freezes in my lungs. I let my hand drop on his chest. His face is impassive, his eyes blank and clear—too empty, mirrors hiding some strong emotion. His heart hammers under my palm, his chest rises and falls swiftly.

  “Why are you asking? We spent the night together. It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

  He licks his lips. “And if I want it to mean something?”

  My chest squeezes. “You don’t know me.”

  “Exactly my point.”

  “Storm…”

  “Because what if I want to know you?” He exhales, his arm tightening around me. “What if I don’t want you to go?”

  “You serious?”

  He stares down at me, and the emptiness in his gaze slips a little. Need. Pain. It’s as if he really doesn’t want me to go. Like the thought of my going hurts him.

  Like it hurts me.

  Oh, stop it.

  What’s the harm in telling him a few things about me? Hoping he’ll open up, too, and tell me about himself. Funny how much I would like that.

  “Tit-for-tat,” I decide, because why the hell not? I’m leaving soon anyway, and this has nothing to do with him. He’ll be safe. “I tell you something about me, you tell me something about you.”

  Come on, Storm. Say yes. What do you have to hide? Break and enter, like me? Petty thefts? Or something worse, like me?

  Oh God, I hope not. I want him to be a good guy, to be as beautiful inside as he is outside. He can be my beautiful fantasy, a bright memory to carry with me when I’m gone from here.

  “Okay,” he says, sounding doubtful, and I give myself a mental high-five.

  Can’t really relax,
though. Giving away anything about myself is like pulling teeth. Maybe it’s safe, but my body reacts as if I’m about to jump off a cliff.

  “How old are you?” he asks, and I’m so tense, I giggle a little at the question.

  “That’s what you’re curious about?”

  He grins down at me, and I will not melt at the cuteness and sexiness of it. “Maybe.”

  “I’m nineteen. And you?”

  “Just turned twenty-one.”

  “Just?”

  “Last week.” Before I can ask more, he dips his head for a quick kiss that steals my voice. “Why did you come here?” he whispers against my lips. “What’s in Boca Raton?”

  “Apart from you?” I tease.

  He tenses, those powerful muscles in his chest and arms standing out. “What are you—?”

  “What did you do?” I poke a finger into the middle of his chest. “Spill, Storm. Are you wanted by the police? What the hell did you do to be hiding out here?”

  He stares down at me, those deep blue eyes wide. And then the strangest thing happens.

  He relaxes. He goes utterly lax against me, and his eyes flutter close. I swear a ghost of a smile flits over that full mouth. “The police?”

  “Why else? You broke into this house, right?”

  “You mean, like you did with the house down the beach?”

  My turn to stiffen with shock. “You don’t know that.”

  “But I do. That’s what I was coming over to tell you last night before I found you here. The owners are already there, picking the last of their things. I saw their car and the movers’ truck arriving. I raced like hell to tell you, but you were already gone.”

  My mouth is hanging open. “I don’t believe…”

  Crap, I do believe him. Well, then. That’s a bit hint from fate, isn’t it? Time for me to go.

  As if sensing my thoughts, he shifts onto his side and wraps both arms around me. “So why did you come here, Ray?”

  Damn. “It was a random place. Florida. Never been here before in my life. Figured it was far enough.”

  “Far enough for what?”

  Christ, no. “I wanted a break from my family. My dad is a messed-up bastard.” Which is close enough.

  “So you hopped on the first flight to anywhere? A bit extreme, isn’t it?”

  Not about to tell him I hitchhiked and caught buses all the way here.

  Instead I shrug, as much as I can in the circle of his arms, swallowing down bitterness. “Yep. That’s me. Extreme. Now, you.” I sneak a hand up to his cheek. “Why are you here? Why are you hiding?”

  “That’s two questions.”

  “Yeah, it is.” I stroke his face until his gaze locks with mine. I can’t decipher what’s going on behind his eyes right now. Anger, maybe. Frustration. Conflict.

  “I’m here because I know this place. I used to come in the past, but so many years have passed nobody will think to look for me here.”

  Ice trickles down my spine. “And who’s looking for you? What have you done, Storm?”

  Crap. Could it be I’m lying in bed with a guy who’s in as much trouble as I am, if not more?

  “I haven’t done anything wrong,” he says, and his heart is steady against my own. No telltale signs of lying. Is he that good? My hand wanders down his neck to rest on his chest again. “Relax.”

  “You broke in here,” I say, testing.

  “Told you, I’m housesitting.”

  Still no flutter under my palm. No sweat running down his temples. “And the owners let you use this room because… What, they like you?”

  “Something like that.”

  Damn him. Why am I grinning now? “Something like that, huh? Okay, fine. Maybe you didn’t break in. But you did something and now you’re hiding.”

  “Define, ‘something’.”

  “Something wrong.”

  “Done lots of wrong things.”

  “Like?”

  “Like getting tats and a motorcycle, then leaving home and trying to find my own damn path. Got into trouble, worked in bars and construction, got into fights.”

  Doesn’t sound that bad to me. God knows for my family that’s run-of-the-mill. “Bet your parents didn’t like that.”

  “My parents are dead.”

  Oh God, I didn’t expect this. “I’m so sorry.”

  He says nothing, his expression closing off. His heart hammers under my palm as his gaze goes distant.

  I strain upward until I can reach his mouth. I make an awkward job of it, trapped as I am in his arms that are like steel cables around me. I pepper his chin and jaw with kisses, then come back to his mouth, and this time he’s looking right at me, his lips parting under mine.

  Trapped between us, his cock stiffens again, poking me in the stomach, and I suck in a sharp breath. The kiss turns hard and hot, with teeth and tongue, and I moan.

  He draws back, panting. “My turn.”

  I can’t speak. Can’t think. My body throbs. “What?”

  He licks his lips, and I stare at his mouth, almost going cross-eyed with the effort. “The truth.”

  “Told you.” I’m so wet I can feel it between my legs. I need him inside me.

  “No, you didn’t. Why did you run so far, and where you were planning on going last night?”

  Crap. It all crashes back down on me—the fact I should go, the fact the house, my house… the house I broke into isn’t available to me anymore.

  “Does it matter now?” I twist in his hold and manage to slide out of his arms. I scoot back to the edge of the enormous bed. “I don’t even have a place to stay anymore. I have to leave today.”

  And that’s the truth I have to face.

  ***

  He watches me as I hunt for my clothes in the four corners of the room, his mouth a thin line. He leans back against the iron headboard, his sculpted arms folded over his chest. He doesn’t look happy.

  I’m not, either.

  Clothes. When I get dressed, everything will be clearer.

  Right.

  For some reason my panties are under the bed. They are wet and smell of sex. Not quite sure how I should feel about that, whether to grin or cry, so I let them drop on one of the armchairs and look for my shorts.

  “Ray…”

  “What?” I keep my back to him. I’m still naked, and I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly feeling exposed.

  “Stay here, with me.”

  I turn to look at him, frowning. “What are you talking about?”

  “You heard me. Stay. Stay longer.”

  “You serious?”

  “Hell, yeah. Why not?

  I shake my head. It might be nice, to hide from the real world a little longer. To explore Storm’s body and mind. Crack the Storm codex.

  But… “I still don’t know you, and you still don’t know me.”

  His brows draw together, and his jaw clenches. “To hell with that. What more do you need to know? I’m not a serial killer, Ray. I won’t hurt you. I haven’t done anything wrong, and I don’t think you have, either.”

  “And you know that, how?” I pull on my panties, my shorts, and spot my bra by the coffee table. I put my arms through the straps and clasp it at my back. I walk around the bed and lift my blouse from its foot.

  He runs a hand through his dark hair, letting out a sigh. “What else do you need to know? Just tell me.”

  I close my eyes, torn. It isn’t you, I think, and the urge to laugh like a crazy person grips me. It’s not you, it’s me.

  He swings his legs off the bed, and I do my best not to stare at his body and his cock, now lying semi-hard against his strong thigh. “So you’re really leaving. You won’t give this a chance.”

  I pull the blouse over my head and tug it down. “I can’t.” I need to put some space between us. His proximity is wreaking havoc with my mind, my attraction to him drowning out logic and caution. “I just can’t.”

  He stands up quickly. “Ray—” He slams a hand into
the wall to steady himself, his mouth twisting into a grimace. “Fuck.”

  Holy shit. I sprint to his side and put a hand on his arm, steadying him, taking in his pale face. “Are you okay?”

  He shakes his head. “It’s my leg.”

  “What’s wrong with it?” I try to look down, but he grabs my waist and drags me against his tall body. “Tell me.”

  “Car accident,” he whispers, his mouth on my hair. “Drunk driver slammed into us.”

  “What happened?”

  “Broke my leg.” He draws a deep breath, his broad chest rising and falling. “And damaged my spleen.”

  The surgical scar on his side.

  Christ. “When was that?”

  “Four months ago.” He curses softly, his body tensing. “Why the hell am I telling you all this?”

  “Because I asked?” Four months. My heart is racing. Get a grip, Ray. It was months ago, and he’s mostly fine now. “And the older scar?”

  “Knife wound. Got caught in a bar fight last year.”

  “Sounds like a lot of bad luck.”

  “Doesn’t it?” He shift his weight and mutters a curse under his breath.

  “Need to sit down?”

  This time he releases me. “I’m fine.”

  “But you’re in pain.”

  “I said I’m fine.”

  “I don’t believe you.” His face is still pale, and a line sheen of sweat is coating his forehead.

  He frowns. “I pushed myself too hard these past few days. I’ll just ice my leg down. It’ll be okay.”

  But now I’m more reluctant than ever to leave. “I’ll go look for an ice pack. Or peas. Or whatever you have. I hope it’s not only lasagna.”

  “We finished the lasagna. Ray…” His face is open, raw, unsure, hopeful.

  “Just tell me this.” I poke a finger at this chest. “Tell me, Storm. What were you doing in the fucking storm that night? The night I found you.”

  His mouth quirks a little. “You kiss your mother with that mouth?”

  “Not funny.” I roll my eyes at him. “What were you thinking?”

  He’s still leaning heavily into the wall. He licks his lips and looks away. “I needed to feel alive.”

  “By dying?”