Page 50 of Storm's Deliverance

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

STORM

The whirringsound of a blender screams through me. I squint, lifting my head, groaning as I look around the bright room. Fuck, it’s too bright. “Ughhh,” I groan, flopping my head back down on the pillow.

“I would have thought you knew not to mix your drinks by now,” a deep voice mocks. It takes a moment for my hungover brain to catch up. Drix?

I lift my head again, trying to force my eyes to open a fraction more as I roll over onto my back. My eyes land on a sweaty bare-chested Drix. I must be dreaming. I blink once, twice, but when nothing changes, I frown, looking up at him.

“Drix?” I murmur.

“The one and only. Here, drink this,” he says, holding out a glass of green liquid.

My stomach recoils. “God no. Thanks,” I say, covering my mouth with my hand, fighting the urge to not throw up. I take few deep breaths and once I’m satisfied I’m not about to empty the contents of my stomach everywhere, I push myself up to a sitting position and clasp my head. “I thought I told you to take me home,” I state, remembering that part of the night.

“I was going to, but it was late. Enzo was dropping Maisy home, and he wasn’t planning on going home, so he just dropped us back at mine. Don panic, I text your dad,” he says, taking a sip of the green sludge he just offered me. I can’t help but appreciate his toned tattooed body as he drinks. My gaze trails down his body, to his grey jersey shorts, and the very visible outline of his junk right before my eyes.HOLY FUCK!He finishes drinking it and catches me looking. “Getting a good enough look there, BB?”

I quickly look away, feeling my cheeks heat, lifting the blanket to cover my embarrassment. “You have that thing practically in my face. Where else am I supposed to look?” I protest.

He smirks, enjoying my suffering far too much. “Sweetheart, if it was in your face, you wouldn’t be able to talk.”

I drop the blanket and surge to my feet, instantly regretting that decision when the room spins. “Whoa!” I mutter, holding out my arms to try and steady myself. Strong arms wrap around me, holding me tightly. I blink, steadying my vison, and look up into Drix’s opulent blue eyes.

He tucks a strand of my hair affectionately behind my ear, and flashbacks of last night replay in my mind; us in a similar situation, kissing. My eyes flicker to his mouth and he grins.

“Remembering last night?” he teases.

I shove at his chest, but he doesn’t release me. “Reliving the horrors, yes,” I quip.

His grin deepens. “The only horror of last night was your singing in the truck. Never have I heard Foo Fighters The Best of You sang in that pitch before. Fucking lucky the windows in Enzo’s truck didn’t break,” he taunts.

I give him a snarky laugh. “Ha ha, so funny. Now, can you let me go?”

“What? You’re not going to beg?” His grin widens, that dimple in his cheek deepening.

My gaze narrows on him. “I’m too hungover for your games,” I sigh.

He surprises the shit out of me by pressing a kiss to my temple before stepping back. “I put fresh towels in the bathroom for you, and one of my T-shirts is in there for you to change into. Don’t be long. I’m making us pancakes,” he casually states before walking over to his kitchen.

I look around the room. Clearly I’m still drunk, or maybe my drink was spiked. Sure, that’s got to be it. I will soon see pink elephants dancing around the room. I make my way to the bathroom of his apartment, stripping off before I step into the hot shower, moaning at how good it feels. I reach for the body wash, and as the scent of Drix fills my senses, I close my eyes, feeling my body relax.

Finishing up, I step out and quickly dry off. I wipe the mirror and look at my reflection. Most of the bruising on my face has gone, but the small scar on my lip will be a permanent reminder. I drop the towel and look at my body; the bruising on my ribs is still visible, but thankfully the pain has eased, and I only get the odd twinge. I pull on Drix’s T-shirt before heading out to the kitchen. The smell of bacon and pancakes is making my stomach rumble, and surprisingly, Drix is still shirtless, but he’s now dressed in a pair of jeans, his hair damp at the ends. He turns when he hears me enter, and his eyes sweep over me with a hunger I’ve never seen before.

I don’t shift awkwardly. Instead, I stand firm, folding my arms over my chest in a silent challenge. He places the towel over his shoulder and stalks towards me. It’s not a casual walk, but predatory. He stops mere inches from me, tilting my chin up before he leans down and presses his mouth to mine. It’s a soft, yet possessive kiss that causes butterflies in my stomach, butit also sends a million confusing thoughts whirling through my head.

Did I miss something? Did something happen last night that I don’t remember?

He steps back and heads back over to the pan on the stove. I stand there, statue still. “I’m sorry, have I woken up in another fucking dimension?” I blurt out.

He throws his head back and roars with a deep laughter as he turns around and plates up two servings of food. “You remember what I said to you last night?” he asks.

I nod. “I think so,” I mutter, frowning down at my coffee. Surely I’ve forgotten something.

Drix carries the frying pan to the sink before crossing to the fridge. He pulls out a jug of orange juice and pours us each a glass with infuriating calmness. “I said when you trust me,” he says, setting the jug down. “When you’re ready. Remember that?”

I glance up. Of course I remember. I remember every stupid word. “I remember being incredibly frustrated,” I retort. “I practically offered myself to you on a silver platter.”

His mouth twitches, then the bastard actually laughs. “You have no idea how hard that was.”