Page 195 of The Storm

He sucksme off against his front door, sneakers still on, my pants around my ankles, my bare ass against the cool door.

My hands in his hair.

My cock so deep down his throat that when I come, I swear I see stars.

I also swear this is it when I drag my ass home later that night.

This was definitely the last time.

He comeswith a row of throaty curses, his balls slapping against my ass when he empties himself inside me.

My arms give out, and I collapse on the bed. He yelps when he falls on top of me.

I land in the middle of the wet spot I painted on his sheets a moment earlier and snort out a laugh. His chest vibrates against my back.

“What?” he asks, lips tickling my earlobe. He bites down on it gently.

I shake my head. “Nothing. ’S not important.”

He pinches my ass, and I give him a halfhearted glare over my shoulder.

“Tell me,” he says again. He catches my earlobe between his teeth and pulls. “I want to know why you laughed.”

“Why?” I ask with a yawn, closing my eyes. Just for a moment though. I have to get going soon.

“It’s you, okay? Which means I want to know.”

I try to ignore the way my chest jolts.

“I’m lying in a wet spot,” I say. His mouth stills on my neck, and I start to laugh again. “Not the great, life-changing musings you were expecting?”

He groans and rolls his hips.

“Fuck, that’s so hot, though.”

He’s already getting hard against my ass again.

I turn my head and look at him. “Really?” I keep my voice even. Dry.

Even though everything inside me is humming with a dangerous, vibrating desire that’s getting stronger and stronger with every moment I spend with him.

We don’t really talkabout what we’re doing.

I just show up at his place, night after night.

And then there’s this one evening when I ring his buzzer, and he doesn’t answer. And instead of going home, I wait. And when one of his neighbors comes out, I slip through the door behind him then go and stand by Nick’s door. Like a fucking stalker. And I do realize this is fucking pathetic, and what the fuck am I even doing here? Go the fuck home, Indy.

But I wait some more.

Nick comes jogging up the stairs about twenty minutes later, all out of breath. He sees me, his shoulders relax, and he walks straight into me.

“Got held up. And my phone died,” he says, just before he backs me into the door and kisses me.

“How long have you been here?” he asks when he pulls away long enough to unlock the door.

I wave him off. “Just a little bit.”

And it’s terrible.