Page 75 of Ash Storm

Reka

She woke up slowly, wrapped in a strong pair of arms. There was no doubt in her mind as to who those arms belonged to.

Ash.

Even in sleep, he was protective of her, his thick body warming her from behind.

Reka took a slow, deep breath. For the first time since … since everything had begun, there was no sense of fear or hopelessness.

This morning, she felt rested and strong—strong enough to do everything that she knew needed to be done.

Her cheeks flamed as she remembered their middle-of-the-night activities. Maybe it was her faulty memory, but she couldn’t remember ever orgasming that hard before.

Maybe that’s why you slept so well afterwards.

Ash stirred lightly behind her and Reka froze.

It wasn’t that she didn’t feel ready to face him—it was that she didn’t feel ready to do so with morning breath and a very full bladder.

Moving very slowly, so as not to wake him up, she turned onto her back and slipped out from under his arms. She held her breath, but he didn’t stir again.

She sat up slowly and stood up, only then realizing she was completely naked. Her T-shirt—his T-shirt, she supposed—was on the floor next to the bed, along with her discarded panties.

And that was interesting, because she was pretty sure she’d never slept naked. With any of her previous partners, she’d always gotten dressed again after sex.

She pulled the T-shirt on in a rush, glad that it covered her almost down to her knees, and went into the bathroom.

When she came out a few minutes later, having taken care of business and brushed her teeth, Ash was still asleep, one strong arm thrown over his face to ward off the light.

Coffee.

That was as good a place as any to start.

She made her way quietly to the kitchen area. The wooden flooring felt cool under her feet, but there was still a fair amount of pain as her weight pressed on the cuts and bruises—a reminder of what she’d been through. She wouldn’t be walking far today.

She opened and closed the kitchen cabinets quickly, finding them completely empty. Either Ash wasn’t a coffee person, or he took his coffee elsewhere.

Moments later, Ash padded in from the sleeping area, running a hand through his thick, dark hair in what she assumed was an unsuccessful attempt at taming it. She liked it better like this than gelled back the way it’d been when she’d first met him.

He was bare to the waist, and she couldn’t help staring at his solid, muscled shoulders and chest, the six-pack on his hard stomach. There were bruises on his shoulder and on the left side of his body that showed how hard he’d fought.

For me.

He fought for me.

The black sweatpants he was wearing did nothing to hide his muscular hips and ass.

“’Morning,” he said, his voice deep and gravelly.

“’Morning,” she said. “Thank you for …”

For the best orgasm of my life.

For making me feel whole again.

For …

“… for holding me,” she said lamely.