Slowly bringing her down and sliding into her slit. Every time her body pulsed around me, I swore I forgot what I was even angry about. Every war I’d been fighting outside this house faded. Every grudge. Every bullet I wanted to put in Dre’s skull. It was all noise and she was silence.
I should’ve let her breathe. Should’ve taken it slow. But I couldn’t. Not with the way her body pulled me in, like it needed me to survive. Not when I needed her like oxygen.
And when she pushed me back, dropped to her knees, and looked up at me like I was something she’d made with her own hands. I almost lost it. Scratch that, I did lose it.
“You gon' keep lookin’ at it like that?” I muttered, chest rising too fast, jaw clenched. “You tryna end me tonight?”
She didn’t answer. She just took me deep, messy, with no hesitation. Like she’d waited for this. Like she’d dreamed about it.
God, her mouth was war. And I surrendered.
“Shit, Stormi; fuck!” I cursed, barely able to keep my balance. She moaned around me, her hands holding me in place like she dared me to pull away. I couldn’t. I didn’t want to.
When I came, it wasn’t quiet. It wasn’t sweet. It was ugly, loud, a groan torn straight from my chest like I’d buried everything in her and it finally came out.
But she wasn’t done. She wasn’t fucking done. Still sucking. Still swallowing. Still dragging her tongue along me like she wanted to memorize the taste of what she did to me.
And she was smiling. Smiling while my knees damn near gave out.
“Yo, you crazy,” I whispered, breathless, laughing even though I meant it.
I cut the shower off with the last bit of strength I had in me, steam still thick in the air, my skin hot, breath ragged. Stormi didn’t move. Still in position, still smiling like she hadn’t just taken the soul out of my damn body and laughed while doing it.
She was trouble. My trouble. The kind I’d ruin the whole world for.
“Yeah? You think that shit funny?” I asked, voice low.
Her smirk deepened. She was proud of herself. She knew what she was doing to me.
I didn’t wait. I grabbed her fast, rough, needy and tossed her over my shoulder like the fire alarm had gone off and she was the only thing worth saving.
“You done woke him up,” I growled, carrying her through the bathroom like a man possessed.
She squealed and laughed, kicking playfully, but I wasn’t laughing. I was starving for her. Desperate to erase the time I’d spent not touching her.
Not feeling her. Not tasting her. Not losing my mind inside the only person who had ever made me feel like home. I threw her down on the bed like a man throwing down a claim. Her breath hitched. I climbed over her with the desperation of a man who had fought God, grief, death, and fear, and still came back to her.
My voice broke when I said, “You don’t even know what you just started. Bend over,” I commanded as I admired every inch of her thick ass body.
I didn’t just want to feel her body. I wanted to climb inside her skin and stay there.
Stormi bent over for me like she already knew I was unraveling. She didn’t flinch. Every sound she made, every grip of the sheets, every arch of her back it set something in me on fire I couldn’t put out. My body moved on instinct. On obsession. On pain I couldn’t speak out loud except through her name spilling from my lips like a prayer I didn’t deserve to pray.
She was shaking, not in fear, but surrendering. Her moans weren’t cute or quiet, they were ugly, honest, and mine.
My hand was at her throat, pulling her up against me, and I kissed her trying to taste every memory, every argument, every tear we’d ever shed together.
“Look at me,” I breathed, voice ragged.
She turned her head, eyes locking with mine.
“I don’t just love you, Stormi…” I paused, gripping her tighter. “…I belong to you.”
Her lips parted like she didn’t expect that. But it was true. Painfully true. If she left me tomorrow, I’d still wake up every day waiting for her to walk through the door. I’d still set fire to any man that looked at her too long in a grocery store. I’d still lay my body across a bullet to keep her safe, even if she hated me. That’s what she did to me.
I watched her chest rising, lips parted, eyes barely open from exhaustion and pleasure. My wife. My fucking wife.
I was supposed to be satisfied. I was supposed to be done. But I wasn’t. Not even close. Every second that passed where I wasn’t touching her made my skin itch. I was starving again.
