Page 79 of The Storm

“Why are you here?”

I expect something glib or dismissive.

He slides his thumb over the champagne bottle label, brows furrowing lightly.

“It seems I’m having some difficulties keeping my hands away from you.”

That’s a level of honesty I did not expect.

“Seriously? You’re just… coming out and admitting that? Just like that?” I ask.

He shrugs. “Guess so. To be fair, it seemed like the fastest way to solve this problem.”

Yeah. Okay. So this is about sex. That’s all there is to it. I let the knowledge settle for a bit. It’s somehow tempting and disappointing at once, but I don’t want to admit either, even to myself.

Doesn’t stop my dick from twitching at the implication.

I hold my hand out for the bottle.

“Share,” I say.

He hands me the champagne, and I take another drink while I try to mull it over.

“I’ve never had sex on a roof,” I say.

I put the bottle down, lean toward him, and kiss him. Just because… because I want to, mainly. This isn’t like the other times I’ve kissed him, with my heart trying to pound its way out of my chest and adrenaline playing havoc in my veins. There had been an element of desperation in most of our kisses so far. Fast and hard. Shallow breaths and a kind of helplessness.

My hand goes to his thigh as I balance myself above him. The only points of contact between our bodies are our lips and thehard muscle beneath my palm. I slide my hand higher until my fingers disappear underneath the edge of his shorts.

Nick grunts, his thigh tensing for a moment. I like the reaction, so I push my hand higher until my fingertips graze his balls.

It’s an unexpected combination of vulnerability, helplessness, and power. His mouth is soft and pliant underneath mine, and he gives me all the control.

I kiss him deeper, sliding my tongue over his lips and, when he opens them, inside his mouth. And he kisses me back, slow and responsive. There’s the feeling of a lazy summer’s day in this kiss.

I move. Slide into his lap. Straddle him. And all the while, we keep kissing.

There’s no palpable desperation or helpless desire, but the fact that this time every move and touch is deliberate makes this moment have more gravity. I could write every other encounter off as insanity; something that was somehow not up to me.

This is a choice.

Nick is hard in his shorts, his breathing too fast, his skin ridiculously hot to my touch. His shoulder muscles are corded and tight, quivering with tension.

I slide closer, moving until my ass rests on top of the hardness of his cock. A spiral of heat builds in my belly like a tightly coiled wire.

A harsh exhale escapes Nick’s lips, but he stays still. The only movement he makes is to press his fingers into my thighs. It’s almost as if somebody is pointing at me and telling me that the stage is mine, and where I would’ve thought it’d make me nervous, instead, there’s a thrilling surge of power rushing through me.

I slide my thumb up his hip to his chest and over his collarbone. I trace it to the hollow of his throat and up his neckbefore I cup the side of his face. He tilts his head back the slightest bit, giving me better access, deepening the kiss.

I feel the vibration of the helpless groan that escapes his throat, and his fingers tighten almost painfully on my thighs when I experimentally roll my hips forward.

I press closer. The desperation sneaks back in. The kiss turns harder. Wilder. Deeper. Wetter.

I’m rocking against his cock, and his hands are on my hips now, urging me on. My head is empty other than the demanding rhythm ofmore, more, morethat keeps repeating in my brain.

The dress pants I’m wearing are too tight. The friction the zipper pressed against my cock creates is bordering on uncomfortable, but I can’t stop. I keep rocking my hips against him, closer and closer and closer in tiny increments until that slow progression becomes too frustrating, and it’s driving meinsaneand how do I getmore? That’s the thing with Nick—somehow I always end up wanting more.

I squeeze my eyes shut and bear down on him. A low noise that doesn’t sound like me at all comes out of my throat. Part desire, part desperation, part frustration.