Page 133 of Finding Storm

His eyes open on mine, bright with lust. “Are you sure?” He’s still slowly fucking me.

“Yes.”

He reaches down between us, briefly pulling out of me. I hate the loss of him, even for just these few seconds. He removes the condom and rids himself of it.

Then, eyes on mine, he slowly slides back inside me.

He’s hot and hard and perfect.

“I … I’ve never done this before. I’ve never gone without a condom before.”

My chest squeezes, as I know that he’s doing this with me. That I’m his first.

He closes his eyes. “Jesus … you feel … I just … fuck, Stevie.” He captures my lips with his and kisses me deeply. As deeply as he’s fucking me.

He grabs my hands and pins them to the bed above my head, and then he starts fucking me with reckless abandon. Almost frantically. And I meet each frenzied thrust. Because I feel the exact same.

This sex is different from the last time.

It’s wilder. Hotter. Inflamed.

It’s like we’re on fire.

My nails rake down his back.

He bites and licks and sucks my skin.

He makes me scream.

And I drive him crazy.

And this is how we spend the rest of our last night together. With Storm bare and deep inside me, fucking me and making love to me, until dawn shows up. And she comes way too quickly.

He pulls me to him, my back to his front. He wraps his strong arms around me. His chin on my shoulder, his mouth against my ear. “When I started driving that day, I thought I was running away from all the stuff I couldn’t deal with,” he says quietly to me. “Turns out, I knew jack shit. I was driving straight toward you, Stevie. And even if I never see you again after today, I’ll never regret it. Never. You’re the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to me.”

My eyes fill with tears again. I feel like I’m going to be doing a lot of crying for the foreseeable future. I swallow down, getting control of my emotions.

“I’ll never regret it either,” I tell him on a whisper. “Even if you do have the shittiest taste in music.” Of course, I had to go with humor. It’s either that or burst into gut-wrenching tears.

He laughs deep. I feel it vibrate against my back, hum in my ear, and wrap around my heart.

He pulls me tighter up against him. I slide my fingers between his, holding his hand.

I close my eyes at the feel of him around me.

When I open my eyes a few hours later, he’s gone.

The closet empty of his clothes.

His car gone from the driveway.

Gone like he was never here.

And, finally, I break down and cry.

Welcome to Los Angeles, the sign says.

Fuck LA. And fuck my life.