Page 91 of Through the Storm

“Hopelessly attached.”

She laughs. “That’s better.”

“How can I not be?” I brush my thumb over her bottom lip, “You’re my impressive girl. A Division 1 cheerleader who happened to also write a fucking book. A few fucking books.” My thumb traces a slow line at her side, absent but intimate. “That’s badass.”

She swallows.

I lean in just enough that she feels my breath against her cheek.

“It’s hot,” I murmur.

“Really?” she asks quietly.

“Yes, really. I’m in awe of you,” I say. I kiss her temple. Then again, lower this time. Slower. Like I’m not in a rush, like I want to remember this.

“Watching you stand on your own like this, with your chin held high through everything,” I murmur against her skin. “Yeah. That’s absolutely my weakness.”

She turns toward me, forehead resting against mine. “Good,” she whispers, and she reaches for my shirt, gathering the fabric in her fist.

“And you’re?—”

“Ben. Stop talking.” And she kisses me.

My hand tightens slightly at her waist. When I kiss her back, it’s slow and reverent. “Tell me to stop,” I whisper.

She doesn’t. Thank fuck.

Instead, her fingers slide down my chest.

“Ben.” The way she says my name, steady and sure, destroys whatever restraint I had left.

I stand first, then hold out my hand. She takes it like she already knows where this is going. We barely make it upstairs. I shut and lock her bedroom door behind us, and my mouth finds hers again. The kisses are deeper now. Hungrier.

My hands brace on either side of her head, and she gasps onceagainst my lips, then grabs my shirt and drags me closer. I kiss along her jaw, her neck, lingering just long enough to make her breath hitch.

“I need more,” she breathes.

“You drive me insane,” I groan.

Her head tips back, giving me more access.

“Jesus, Katy,” I say, my voice low and rough. “I want you.”

The world narrows to me and her. I make sure she’s ready, my fingers slow and deliberate.

“Fuck,” I whisper. “Is this all for me?”

She nods, flushed and breathless.

I pull her underwear down in one sharp motion. They tear, but neither of us cares. I shove my pants down just enough, hands shaking with urgency.

I pull back just enough to look at her, my hands steady at her hips, thumbs pressing in like I already know how much she wants this.

“Turn for me,” I say gently.

She doesn’t hesitate. I guide her carefully as she shifts, one hand firm and supportive at her waist, the other bracing her until she’s settled comfortably on her hands and knees.

“Perfect. Just like that,” I murmur.