Page 67 of Storm

“I only say what my heart wants you to hear.”

Grey eyes burrow into mine, darkness flickering, clouding his irises, thick with everything unsaid between us. I see the truth in him. This stupid hollow asshole loves me. The idiot fell in love with a half-Halo, a mutt. He shouldn’t waste his breath. He shouldn’t⁠—

His lips open to mine, devouring and possessive. I partake in everything he has to offer me willingly, without restraint.

Fuck.

The way his hands take hold of my body is both punishing and sweet.

I hate it.

I hate it.

I hate it.

I hate him for making me feel. For making me addicted to him. And for making me think it’s something more than pure, sinful lust.

Ring. Ring.

Ring, ring.

Melek’s phone buzzes. A hand leaves my bottom to bash at the nightstand. We get a short break before it starts up again, the sound finally breaking us apart. Both of us disentangle on a groaned exhale. “I’m not finished with you,” my husband says, giving my forehead a quick kiss before he slips from under the covers to answer the person on the other end. I’ve never used a phone before, but if it’s as confusing as the computer in his study is, I have no interest. Give me a book and a garden any day.

Watching his imposing ripped back as he walks away, his hard-on hidden behind black underwear, I try to forget who he is. It proves challenging when it’s staring me right in the face. The commander doesn’t use a greeting, listening intently, swiftly moving towards our closet. I ease back, flipping over to Sunny’s side of the bed. Once I make contact, I snuggle into him. My boy has always been a heavy sleeper. That’s not something I learnt in the lightning fields.

Melek’s voice cuts through the quiet. “Now?” he clips. Melek makes his way from the wardrobe and into the bedroom, shoes in hand, fully dressed in his black on black work clothes, brown hair dishevelled. My lungs constrict.

“Yes. I’m coming,” he answers to the voice on the other line before shutting off the phone and sitting at the end of our bed, putting on his shoes.

I watch his black button-down stretch over his bulk as he bends down to tug on his leathers. He runs a hand through his thick waves—the first sign of any discontent since the call. Said discontentment, I suspect, has something to do with me.

He gets up and faces the bed, staring at me. Bingo.

“I’ve got urgent business with the council.” Staring him down without inflection, I play with Sunny’s hair, trying my best to be nonchalant.

Seeing right through me, he comes closer, sitting down next to our son. “Both of you need rest today. I will get Mia to bring you your meals in bed, as well as whatever else you need.”

We both watch a sleeping Sunny for a minute until I feel his punishing heat. “I’m serious, Storm. Stay in bed.” We still haven’t discussed what made him start calling me Storm.

Stretching out beside his small doppelganger, I twirl Sunny’s hair. “Yes, Papa. We will stay in bed.”

I watch the veins in his neck throb. A hypnotic dance. He leans over Sunny, putting his face in mine. “If I find you disobeying an order again, wife…”

“Yes, yes, husband. There will be hell to pay,” I answer, smiling sweetly at him. I’ve got him wrapped around my finger. We both know it. His punishments have always been for my pleasure—pain was even more of a driving force in my pleasure in our earlier days.

“Fuuuuck.” He pulls away, straightening back to his full height, adjusting the rigid length in his pants, watching me. I know he wants to say more. He doesn’t, opting for obsessively eyeing me down, taking us in like his favourite picture. I return the favour.

Once he has us committed to memory, he walks away. Not a word. Not a huff.

He is the commander again.

Sunny and I try to stay occupied in the main bedroom, but since I feel more than fine, practically bouncing off the walls, and he has returned to his usual ray of bright light, in the afternoon, we creep into his bedroom to play with his building blocks and cars.

In between a particularly harrowing game of man-eating cars and flying peas, Sunny stops and crooks his head, eyes wide, murmuring, “Mama, that green man is here again.”

I get such a fright when I spin around, my heart leaps out of my throat. “Biscuits,” I swear, holding my hand to my chest. Thank goodness that’s all that slipped out. “Give me some notice next time.”

Adam stands leaning against the doorframe, smirking. “Where’s the fun in that?”