Page 191 of The Storm

“You have no idea what a relief it is to hear you say that,” he says.

“Because?”

“I have a weakness for sophisticated men. Ones who really enjoy the classics. Can quote stuff. It gets me really hot when people can quote stuff.”

I swallow hard. The room is suddenly way too warm, and my stomach jolts violently at his proximity.

“It’s a good thing I can’t do that, then,” I say. “And I’m not that sophisticated either. So you’re safe, pretty much.” Safe and way too close for comfort. “Unless you like obscure references to articles from old rowing magazines. I’ve got plenty of those.”

“Ah, shit,” he says in a low, rough voice, leaning closer, his lips hovering only inches away from mine now. “That’s like my kryptonite.”

“Oh.” I exhale. “That’s bad. Because I can tell you all about how the 2k erg has always been a daunting task.”

“Has it?”

I nod. By now, our foreheads are touching.

“It’s a real pain in the ass.”

“Maybe you’re doing it wrong.” He puts his hand on my hip and slides it behind me until he’s grabbing my ass. “If you do it right, it should feel good.”

“Are you still talking about rowing?”

“Is rowing a euphemism? Because in that case, yes.”

He brings his mouth down on mine without waiting for a reply. I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him closer while he pushes me against the wall. His body molds to mine like it was made for me. Like somebody took exact measurements and made him fit against every dip, curve, and bulge.

We shouldn’t do this.

But I couldn’t care less about should and shouldn’t right now.

Instead, I kiss him harder.

His tongue brushes mine. He tastes young and wild and free and makes me feel like it, too. Like no time has passed since we were kissing just like this in my old boat shed. Or on the roof of my parents’ house. Like maybe there are still parts of us that are those same two carefree boys with their whole lives in front of them.

A surge of yearning rushes through me.

His fingers move into my hair, and he tugs my head back, pressing his lips down on my neck. I yelp when he bites the hickey he left there last night, and my cock jerks. His other hand goes to the front of my pants, and he cups my dick. I moan into his mouth at the electricity that arcs down my spine at his touch.

I’m dizzy with lust immediately. No slowly easing into it; I just want him. More than anything or anyone in my whole life. It’s the simple truth.

I surrender. For good.

I want him.

I’ve always wanted him.

I will always want him.

I want him forever.

I shove my hand between us until I feel his stiff length sliding into my hand. Fucking hell. I run my fingers up and down, heart jumping every time his cock flexes in his pants.

Nick’s hand stops moving, and his eyes go hazy, half-lidded with desire, lips slightly parted, tongue swiping over his lower lip, leaving it glistening wet.

His eyes meet mine when I pull the waistband of his sweatpants away from his body, then lower until I find the tip of his cock. I raise my hand and drag my tongue over the pad of my thumb before I rub it over the head.

He blows out a shaky breath and looks down between our bodies. At his own hand cupping my balls through the fabric of my pants. My thumb massaging the slit of his dick, spreading the saliva and the drop of precum that pushed out a moment ago.