The kids start screaming on TV and my chest is heaving, my pulse flaring, and I open my mouth to tell him to put the fucking gun away but I can’t speak and when he turns to me, his eyes are so wide, all words seem to leave my brain.
I take a breath in through my nose, trying to calm my heart rate and find my voice. “Storm,” I finally manage to say.
He blinks once. Then he glances at the gun in his hand as if he doesn’t quite remember how it got there. Slowly, he takes his finger from the trigger, then he sets the gun on the coffee table, aimed away from us. But he doesn’t sit.
“Storm,” I say again, and his gaze comes back to mine. “Why did you bring a gun into my apartment?” I feel like it’s one of those things you shouldaskbefore you do. You know, etiquette. Especially since it’s only us here. Why would he need a weapon?
I know his family dabbles in weird shit and Remi told me he apparently deals drugs but I’ve never seen any evidence of it and I’d rather not be a part of it. One of many reasons this is nothing, despite what feels like chemistry between us.
He brushes his fingers over the sides of his head, through his black hair. “Sorry,” he says as he drops his arms to his sides. “I just…”
“Thought you’d need to murder someone at my place?”
He looks right at me and without missing a beat, he says, “Yeah. The fucker who took you on a date.”
For one second, as he holds my gaze, I feel a chill of fear for Dax. It’s silly, because he’s not here, and Storm doesn’t even know his name, and besides all of that, Storm doesn’t care.
And all I can think to say is, “Shut the fuck up.” Because he’s scaring me, because I’m annoyed he brought a gun, because he doesn’t care about anything. Does he?
He smiles. A rare Storm smile which isn’t eerie. A dimple pops in his cheeks, his teeth show, straight with sharp, pointed canines.
“Make me,” he says.
And I don’t know why I do it, or what I’m thinking, but my body is full of nervous energy I lunge across the couch and wrap both my arms around his middle. Then I use my bodyweight to drag him back and down.
He easily comes on top of me, and he’s a hell of a lot taller and weighs more based on the crushing feeling I get underneath him. The scent of him is sexy and when he’s got both hands planted on the couch on either side of my head and he’s looking down at me and my arms are still around his middle and we’restaring at one another in darkness as the actors breathe heavily on TV…
I want to fuck him and I don’t care the couch is white and I’m on my period; it’ll wipe off anyway, it’s real leather. And this doesn’t have to mean anything. I fuck boys for fun now; he should probably know that about me.
His eyes search mine and I see the muscles of his triceps bulge out of the corner of my eye but I don’t look away from him.
“This didn’t work out how you thought it would, huh?” he whispers in the dark.
I flex my fingers and my nails find the hard muscles of his back. “What are we doing?”
“You keep looking at me like that, and I know exactly what we’ll be doing.” There’s an underlying threat, and like everything he says, the words are injected with a gravity which is hard to play off.
“Storm.”
“Sloane.”
I part my lips but I don’t know what I’m going to say and it doesn’t seem to matter anyway because he dives down and angles his head, his lips a breath away from mine.
“Kiss me,” he whispers over my mouth.
“No.”I don’t know why I don’t. It’s not like I don’t kiss boys I feel less for. But something about tonight feels too heavy. The fact he’s here, and not with Cort and Remi. The fact he brought aweapon…
“Sloane.” He says my name again, but it sounds needier.
My eyes flutter closed and I trace my fingers up his spine, over his hard shoulder blades, up his throat, his skin hot, all the way to his face. I cup his sharp cheekbones in my palms, and I still don’t look at him as I run my thumbs over his lips, parted and wet for me.
“Sloane.”It’s a guttural sound, then he turns his head and bites my thumb, only to suck it in his mouth the next second.
A gasp escapes me, but I don’t dare open my eyes.
His mouth is so hot and wet and he’s sucking my finger so good and… He bites me again, gently, then he speaks against my hand. “Kiss me or push me away.Please.”He shifts his hips, and his cock is hard against my core. Maybe I could give in.
He rubs himself against me again and my thighs fall open wider. He dips his head, and his lips are on my neck when he groans once more.“Please.”
