Page 179 of The Storm

“Feed me, Nicholas,” I say. “I’m starving.”

“I likeit when you do that,” Nick says. “Call me Nicholas.”

I raise my brows at him while I take a drink of water and pick up my fork again. I’m in the middle of my second helping of his skillet breakfast, sitting in his small breakfast nook, bare feet tangling with his underneath the table.

“Why?” I ask with a small laugh.

“It makes you sound so very prim and proper.”

I spear a cube of potato on my fork. “And that’s a good thing?”

He smirks. “You’re not, though.”

I point my fork at him. “Says who?”

Nick’s quiet grin widens. “Don’t even try,” he says softly. “I know you too well.”

“Okay. What am I thinking about right now?”

He pushes his plate away and leans forward, his head tilted to the side, studying me.

I look back. At his messy hair. The hickey I sucked into his skin on the base of his throat early in the morning. His swollen lips. Bare chest. I’m getting hard again. Insatiable as he makes me, I could crawl toward him, pull his shorts down underneath the table. I could?—

“You want to suck me off,” he says in a low voice.

A throaty laugh escapes my lips. “Your dick is not my whole personality, Nicholas.”

He tsks softly. “It wasyourrule that we’d be honest, Blue, so what’s with the lying?”

His grin is smug now. It’s an I-told-you-so of a grin.

I can’t hide my own smile.

I lean forward too. “Whenever I get myself off, I think of you.”

His exhale sounds like the air’s been punched out of him.

“Proving my point,” he says, his voice thick, eyes hungry.

“And you’re right—I do want to suck you off. It’s one of my most frequent fantasies. Being on my knees for you.”

He closes his eyes and lets out a shaky breath before he abruptly pushes his chair away from the table, gets up, grabs my hand, and tugs me to my feet.

“I wasn’t finished with my breakfast yet,” I say, blinking at him innocently.

He hauls me against him, his mouth crashing down on mine.

“Then again, it can wait,” I say once he’s done kissing the ever-loving fuck out of me.

The bed isa mess of sheets and pillows. I’m lying in the middle of it all, flat on my stomach, my forehead resting on my folded arms. Nick is above me, his lips on the back of my neck. My hips jerk when he bites down on the pulse point.

His hand is shoved underneath my body, fingers wrapped around my cock. He’s not stroking me, just keeping my cock trapped in his fist, but every time I rock my hips into him, I get rewarded with a bit of friction.

I chase it shamelessly, writhing underneath him.

I turn my head and find his mouth in a sloppy kiss that’s all violent need, teeth, and tongues.

He lets go of my cock, and I make a sound of protest, but then he’s kneading my ass and pulling the cheeks apart, cool air hitting my hole. I start to shamelessly fuck into the mattress.