Finding Storm

by Samantha Towle

  It’s fast. Fucking lightning fast.

  I also don’t care.

  Her fingertips touch my lips. She replaces them with her mouth.

  “Don’t … you want me?”

  My head jerks back. I stare into her eyes. “You are all I want. I just want to do this right. I don’t want you to regret anything.”

  She sucks her lower lip into her mouth, biting on it. “I could never regret anything with you.”

  I also don’t need to be asked twice.

  I turn Stevie, putting her back to my chest. I pull her skirt up and part her legs with my hands on her thighs, spreading her open for me.

  Starting at her chest, I run my hand down between her tits, down over her stomach, until I reach her pussy.

  I let my fingers brush over the cotton fabric of her panties.

  She shudders against me.

  She’s soaked.

  “This for me?” I ask.

  She nods.

  “Do you like these panties?” I say against her ear.

  “I can live without them.” Her words are breathy. She’s panting.

  I can smell her lust from here. It’s fucking intoxicating.

  I lick the shell of her ear, making her groan. “Good.” I grip the elastic with my hands at one side and snap it. I do the same with the other side, and the fabric is gone. Tossed aside and forgotten.

  I cover her pussy with my hand.

  Her head falls back against my shoulder, her pussy bearing down on my hand, needing the contact.

  “Storm …” she moans.

  “I’ve got you, babe. I’ll take care of you.”

  She’s hot and wet and everything I’ve ever wanted.

  I slide a finger inside her.

  She’s so fucking tight.

  I pull my finger out and put it in my mouth, sucking her off my skin, needing to taste her.

  Her head is turned to mine, eyes wide and on my mouth.

  I grin.

  My hand goes back to her pussy, and I slide my finger between her soaked folds.

  I bring it back to her mouth.

  “Taste yourself.” I run my finger over her lips, coating her mouth.

  Her tongue darts out and licks her juice from her lips.

  “You taste so fucking good,” I tell her right before I cover her mouth with mine and plunge my finger back inside her pussy, fucking her with it.

  God. The feel of her body pressed up against mine. The sweet scent of her perfume. The hint of crisp apple that I can smell in her hair.

  The way she tastes … like pure sex.

  Her skin.

  Her mouth.

  Her.

  She’s everything.

  I feel drunk off her. And it’s not just her body. It’s her mind. Her smart mouth. Her zero tolerance for my bullshit.

  She’s a fucking queen.

  And I adore her.

  Pushing up her shirt, I pull down the cup of her bra and roll her nipple between my finger.

  She’s panting and groaning, her hips moving restlessly against my hand.

  I add another finger, sliding it inside her, widening her up.

  “God, Storm,” she groans. Her head turning into my neck, she starts kissing me there.

  “That’s it, baby.” I tug on her nipple, increasing the pace of my hand, speeding up, letting the heel of my palm press against her clit with each return back into her pussy I make.

  She moves, hitching her hips forward, and her hand snakes between us. She cups my cock through my jeans, squeezing it.

  “Fuck, baby,” I moan.

  Stevie tugs down the zipper and gets my dick out.

  Her hand is on me for the first time.

  And I’ve died and gone to fucking heaven. I feel like I’m being touched for the very first time.

  I grab her chin and turn her face back to mine, and I kiss her. Hard and heavy. Thrusting my tongue in her mouth the way I’m thrusting my fingers in her.

  I drag my thumb over her clit. She cries out into my mouth.

  I start circling her clit with my thumb, teasing her.

  Her hand squeezes my dick and starts pumping it up and down in the limited space we’ve got, urging me on, wordlessly telling me to give her more.

  So, I do. I stop teasing and stroke her clit, giving her what she needs.

  The only sounds are of our hot, wet kisses and out-of-control breaths. My hand slapping against her pussy with each drive in my fingers make. My low groans with each squeeze and stroke of my dick.

  What I wouldn’t give to be able to spread her out right now and eat her pussy. Make her come with my mouth.

  But nothing will get me out of my car with her. I’m going nowhere, and neither is she until she’s screaming my name and I’ve got her cum all over my hand.

  And also, my cum all over her hand and back. Because I am so fucking close to coming, it’s not even funny.

  I sink my teeth into her lower lip. “You keep doing that, and I’m gonna come, babe.”

  She squeezes my dick. “I want you to come.”

  “You come first. That’s just the way it is.”

  I drag the tip of my callous thumb over her clit. She shudders.

  “You like that?” I ask.

  “Yes,” is her breathy response, and she gets even wetter against my hand.

  My fingers are soaked. And it’s so fucking hot.

  “Faster,” she tells me.

  I give her what she wants. I move my thumb faster, gliding it over her clit.

  I can tell she’s close. So, I pinch her nipple with my fingers, gently tugging on it, giving her more, taking her there.

  I kiss her neck, licking and sucking on her skin.

  “Storm … please … I’m close … so close …” Her incoherent words ramble off into nothing.

  I feel the instant her orgasm hits. Her hand stops moving on my cock. She squeezes it hard, and it’s pleasure-pain.

  Her pussy tightens around my fingers. Her body stiffening against mine. She cries out my name, and it’s the hottest fucking sound in the world.

  I pump my dick in her tight fist and spill a few seconds later, coming all over her hand and back so fucking hard that I’m pretty sure I black out for a few seconds.

  “Fuck,” I breathe against her neck, pressing kisses against her skin, unable to stop touching her.

  “Yeah,” she agrees.

  “You okay?” I ask, reluctantly sliding my finger out of her. I cup my hand over her pussy, still needing that contact.

  Her eyes turn to mine. “I’m more than okay.” She gives my cock, which is now flying at half-mast, a gentle squeeze.

  Jesus, I’ve just come, and I’m still semi-hard. That never happens. It’s her. Because of her.

  “Are you?”

  I smile and brush my lips over hers. “The best I’ve ever been. Although we are kind of messed up.” I indicate to the stickiness between us.

  She laughs. “I don’t care. It was hot. It is hot.”

  And I don’t disagree with that. Because it was hot.

  It was the single hottest sexual experience I’ve ever had. And I’ve had a lot of experiences in my time.

  Who knew fingering Stevie to orgasm while she jacked me off in the front seat of my car would be it for me?

  But it is.

  She’s it for me.

  If this is all I ever have with her, I will die a happy man.

  But also, now that I’ve had a taste, I definitely want more.

  Just imagine what it’ll be like when we do finally have sex.

  It’ll be fucking explosive.

  One thing I do need to know now though …

  I reach over and turn on the overhead light.

  She squeals in protest at the blinding light, covering her eyes with her hands. “What are you doing?” she complains.

  “Just checking something.”

  “What are you checking?” She drags her hands from her face.

  I peer down at her che
st. Yep, it’s red. And I don’t know why, but that makes my dick rock hard all over again.

  I drag my finger over the red skin on her chest. “From the moment I met you and saw how you blush on your chest, I wondered if it also went red when you orgasmed. It does.”

  She blinks back at me.

  “It’s really fucking hot,” I tell her. I drag the palm of my hand over her tit, cupping it, and press my hand up hard against her pussy.

  I watch her pupils dilate. Her fingers flexing against my hard cock.

  “You in a rush to get home?” I ask her.

  She shakes her head. “No.”

  “Good, ’cause I’m nowhere near done with you.” I slide a finger back inside her, loving the sound of the surprised gasp she makes, catching it with my lips and swallowing it down.

  “Turn the light off,” I tell her. “So, I can make you come again.”

  Stevie and I are out in town, getting ice cream together. We just went to the cinema, and when we got out, she had a craving for peanut butter cup, so here we are.

  We’ve been going out more together over this last week on dates, for dinner, picnic in the park. We’ve even been out on her dad’s boat again.

  It’s crazy to think I’ve been here almost two weeks. It feels like longer, but it’s still not enough time either.

  But then all the time in the world still wouldn’t be enough with Stevie.

  I have been getting more relaxed around here, not worrying so much about getting recognized. And if anyone has figured out who I am, no one seems to care.

  I like this town. I’d like it even if Stevie wasn’t here.

  But I like it even more because she is.

  Ariana Grande is playing in the background—“God Is a Woman.” And I’m thinking she might be right because Stevie is pretty fucking heavenly.

  And … the cheese just keeps coming.

  I swear, if Stevie heard half the shit I thought about her, she would piss herself, laughing.

  I’m smiling at the thought while watching her lick the ice cream off her spoon, wondering how soon I can get her home and get my tongue on her, when my cells starts to ring.

  Getting it from my jacket pocket, I see that it’s Zane calling.

  Something heavier than rocks drop into my stomach.

  There’s only one reason he’d be calling, and it’s not for a chat.

  “I gotta take this,” I tell her, standing from my seat. I press a kiss to the top of her head. Walking out of the ice cream parlor, I answer the phone as I go, “Zane.”

  “So, you do know how to use your fucking phone.”

  I let out a breath, readying myself for this conversation. “Sorry I haven’t been in touch. I’ve been taking some time off.”

  “Yeah, I know. You done?”

  “I don’t know …”

  He laughs without a shred of humor. “That was me giving you the chance to say the right thing. You didn’t. So, now, I’m fucking telling you that you’re done. You’re gonna get your ass back here and get this album written, or I’m bringing in songwriters, and you’ll be playing someone else’s music for the foreseeable future.”

  “But—”

  “Shut the fuck up, Storm. There’re no buts. You come back to LA and get in the studio, or you can kiss good-bye to any artistic control over the songs that go on the album.”

  “Jesus, Zane. Come on. The date we’re supposed to start recording isn’t until—”

  “A month’s time.”

  Shit, is it?

  Pulling the phone from my ear, I glance at the date on my phone.

  Fuck, he’s right.

  I put my cell back to my ear. “Look … you don’t need to bring anyone else in. I’ve been writing while I’ve been here. It’s good stuff. Really good. You’ll like it.”

  “You’d better fucking hope I do. Bring the songs into the studio with you tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?” I almost fall over in shock. “Zane, I can’t—”

  “Do I sound like I’m asking? Your boys have been covering for you for the last few weeks. But, ultimately, you’re the songwriter. Get your ass back here and do your fucking job.”

  Pausing, I sigh. “Have you spoke to Jake?”

  “I speak to Jake more than I speak to my wife. Your fucking point is?”

  “Well … is this him telling me to come home?”

  Zane laughs. “I’m not Jake’s fucking errand boy. Whatever the hell family shit you have going on, I don’t care.” He enunciates each word clearly. “This is me, the VP of the label your replaceable band is signed to, telling you to get your ass back to LA and start working on this fucking album ASAP. We invested money in you. I expect to see a return on it.”

  Jesus. I have to go home.

  Swallowing down, I say in a quiet voice, “There’s no movement on tomorrow at all?”

  “No. I’m running a business here, Storm, not a fucking preschool.” Then, he hangs up on me. Which is usual protocol for Zane.

  Fuck. I have to go back tomorrow.

  Fucking fuck!

  I’m not ready to leave Stevie.

  But if I don’t go … the album will be screwed. I can’t have other people writing the songs. We write our own music. We always have.

  Fucking Zane.

  Though I can stand here and blame him, he’s only doing his job. Doing what I’ve seen Jake do to other bands over the years. The world doesn’t stop turning just because I decide I need to step off for a while.

  And I do need to go back and face Jake, Tom, and Denny. I have to sort things out with them.

  I might still be angry with them over what they did. But they’re my family.

  The only family I have.

  Palming my cell, I open up the Messenger app.

  I open the group text with the boys, firing off a message, letting them know that I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon and to meet me at the studio.

  I’m not leaving tonight. I want one more night with Stevie.

  I’ll drive back early tomorrow morning.

  An ache pierces into my chest at the thought of driving away from her tomorrow.

  Don’t think about it.

  Just focus on what needs to be done.

  I open up another message to send to Jake, Tom, and Denny, asking if I can see them tomorrow night to talk.

  I don’t bother to wait for the replies to come back in.

  I’ve got this one night left with Stevie. I’m not wasting a second of my time with her.

  I’ve also got to figure out a way to tell her that I’m leaving.

  Even though I know she knows it’s coming at some point, the coward in me—the one who doesn’t want to say the words out loud because when I do, it makes them real—doesn’t want to tell her.

  But I know I have to.

  I take a deep breath. Pull the door open and walk back inside.

  Stevie’s still sitting right where I left her.

  Pain lances across my chest, almost taking my breath away.

  I knew leaving her would be hard. I just didn’t realize how fucking hard.

  “Hey.” I sit back down across from her.

  She puts her spoon down in her bowl.

  “Hey.” She smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her gorgeous eyes. “Everything okay?” she asks, referring to the phone call.

  No, babe. It’s really not.

  I should tell her right now.

  But I don’t want to do it here. I’ll wait until we get back to the B&B.

  So, I force a smile, reach over, take hold of her hand, and say, “Yeah, babe. Everything’s fine.”

  “Everything’s fine.”

  That’s what he’s said twice now when I’ve asked if he’s okay.

  But it’s clearly not fine. He’s been off since he took that call half an hour ago at the ice cream parlor.

  He was quiet the whole car ride back. He smoked two cigarettes on the way back with his window rolled down.

  He didn’t even ask m
e if I minded.

  That’s not like Storm.

  And I said nothing. Which is unlike me. I didn’t even give him shit when he flicked both the cigarette butts out of the window.

  I did make a mental note whereabouts he ditched them, so I can go back and pick them up.

  Just because we’re having problems doesn’t mean the marine life should suffer for it.

  And now, we’re walking up the stairs to his room at the B&B, and the tension is palpable.

  I feel like I’m walking the green mile, heading for my execution.

  Honestly, I would rather be picking up his cigarette butts from the roadside right now than walking up these stairs with him.

  My legs feel like lead. Hands clammy. Heart heavy in my chest. Rocks in my stomach.

  Because I know what’s coming.

  This last week, I’ve felt it coming like the sands of time. The grains have been slowly slipping away into the bottom of the hourglass.

  And whatever the phone call was … it was the last grain to fall.

  Time has run out.

  He’s leaving.

  He’s going back to LA.

  Storm hasn’t been able to look me in the eye since he came back in the parlor. And that’s not like him. Usually, he can’t keep his eyes or hands off me. It’s one of the things I like about him. How tactile he is.

  But there’s been nothing.

  And it’s fine. I was expecting this.

  Okay, it’s not fine.

  But it will be.

  I think.

  Maybe.

  Probably not.

  Fuck.

  We reach his room, and he unlocks the door and lets us inside.

  I step aside, and he shuts the door behind me.

  Usually, I’d kick my shoes off and climb onto the bed. Storm would jump on me, and we’d make out for hours. That, or I wouldn’t even make it to the bed before he was tackling me onto it.

  Guess those days are over with now.

  Because right now, I’m hanging by the door he just closed.

  He’s crossed to the other side of the room without even looking at me.

  The silence is evident. It’s painful. I could carve my name into the air; it’s that thick.

  I silently watch him as he takes off his jacket. Hangs it on the back of the chair. Kicks off his shoes. Empties his pocket of his cell and wallet and the ticket stub from the cinema. He puts them on the table. Then, he takes off his ball cap and places it on the chair. Runs his fingers through his hair.