Page 77 of The Storm

I’m not a fan.

You came in his mouth.

He jerked you off.

Yeah. Yup. That happened.

Fuuuuuck.

I rub the back of my neck and blow out a breath.

I’ve never reacted to anybody like this. He looks at me and I want. He touches me and I lose all coherent thought.

I want more. I want so much more that even thinking about that elusivemoremakes my knees weak and my cock twitch in anticipation.

I have no idea where he stands. He runs hot and cold with all the predictability of ocean waves during a storm.

He makes no sense.

He’s mercurial to an abnormal degree.

I don’t know what he wants from me, or if he even wants anything at all.

What’s worse? I don’t know what I want either.

NINETEEN

INDY

Turnsout getting a blowjob from the guy across the hall who seems unsure about whether he hates you or not at any given moment on the day before your graduation is one of those things you’ll begin to regret.

I run into Nick in the kitchen the next morning after successfully hiding in my room for most of the previous day. I have no idea what to say to him, so I opt for a wide-eyed stare. And all I can think about when I look at him is him on his knees in front of me.

I let him blow me in the boat shed, where anybody could’ve easily walked in on us. I don’t know how we got to that point. I’m not somebody who does dumb, crazy shit.

“Eggs benedict.” Mom slides a plate onto the table, grabs my shoulders, and marches me to the chair. “We’re running a bit behind schedule. It’s all good. Everything’s fine. No need to worry. But I’d start eating if I were you. Dia!”

She only waits for a beat before she marches out of the room. A second later I hear her footsteps on the stairs, and it’s just me and Nick.

My face heats, even though I’m not even looking at him. My pulse does some acrobatics. I brave a glance at him.

He’s lounging in his chair, long legs stretched out in front of himself, eyeing me calmly.

I look away.

But I can’t do the smart thing and stay away.

“What?” I ask.

His eyes move up and down me. Several long sweeps. My face is on fire.

“You’re blushing,” he says.

I grit my teeth. He could have the courtesy not to mention it.

“It’s a sunburn.”

He tilts his head to the side. “From what? The intense sunrise yesterday morning? I didn’t know we’d gotten to the burning-us-alive part of climate change already.”