Page 43 of Equilibrium
Of course, he had a dimple. Of-fucking-course.
This would’ve been much easier if he had a tiny dick, shitty personality and I don’t know, a beer gut maybe. Not that there was anything wrong with that, but he just had to have it all.
“Are you still with me, babe?”
No, I was on my way to fucking Neverland to meet Peter Pan. I swear to God, Tinkerbell or some shit sprayed that fairy dust on me, because I never went quiet like this. Never, ever, especially not when a guy smiled at me.
Was my life really that fucked up that even the smallest smile from somebody I kind of liked made my brain all mushy?
Let’s not answer that question.
“Y-Yeah,” I stuttered, and I wanted to fucking facepalm myself. I went head-to-head with men way bigger than me. I probably killed more people than I could count, but one tiny smile, and I’d gone stupid.
I was enveloped in that scent that was all Storm. Dude could bottle it up and sell it. Women all around the world would go crazy over it. Cinnamon and leather mixed with the lingering scent of cigarettes.
Or maybe it’s only you going crazy over his scent?
I showed middle fingers to my inner bitch as he took a hold of the helmet I still held in my hand and placed it on my head. I almost wanted to hold my breath—emphasis on almost—because I was getting dizzy from his sheer presence, but I also didn’t want to pass out. If swimming in Croyford Bay with Ava and some of our other friends taught me anything, it was that my lungs had the capacity of a little squirrel and holding my breath was not an option.
He pulled the straps lower, caressing my face with his knuckles, still smiling like he won the lottery.
It was illegal being this good looking, and it wasn’t fair for the rest of us. How was I supposed to have any coherent thoughts when he looked like that, with his smiling face and the soft way he observed me?
“Now,” he murmured, “you always need to make sure that the straps are tight enough. Otherwise, the helmet doesn’t have any function.” He clicked said straps together beneath my chin while I wordlessly stared at the alien in front of me.
What happened to mayhem, murder, and all the other shit people said about him?
“Now you’re all set.” That fucking smile stayed on his face throughout the whole thing, and the urge to plant my lips to kiss them came out of nowhere. As if sensing where my thoughts went, he took a step back, creating a distance between us.
The distance I hated.
God, I was messing this whole thing up. Maybe if I could figure out what I really wanted and stop being a whiny bitch, I could figure out the rest of the shit that was no doubt coming.
“Let’s go,” he called out to me, as he sat on his bike. My limbs felt heavy, but I willed my legs to move toward the beautiful machine he was straddling. There were too many things rushing through my head, but one thing at the time. Right? First, I was going to talk to him. Then, I was gonna get out of here, find Maya and disappear from the face of the earth.
Amazing plan, wasn’t it?
Placing a hand on his shoulder, I lifted my right leg and sat down on the comfy leather. When I kept my hands in my lap, waiting for the bike to be turned on, he looked over his shoulder, frowning at me. What did I do now?
With one swift movement, he pulled both of my hands with his own, trapping them at his stomach. My front was pressed to his back, and my lips were inches away from the back of his tattoo-covered neck. Tips of a black wing were peaking there, disappearing underneath his shirt, and I cursed myself for the lack of time I had to trace each of the patterns he had with my fingers, with my tongue.
The bike rumbled between my thighs, sending little shocks of pleasure to my center. I felt the same way when I rode with Atlas, but the close proximity I was in with Storm had a completely different effect on me. His muscles strained as he pressed on the handlebar, slightly leaning forward, taking me with him.
“Hold tight.” I could barely hear him over the rumble of the engine, but I pressed my hands against the hard planes of his stomach waiting for us to move. He once again looked over his shoulder, a smug smirk I wanted to smack, painted on his face.
Pretty bastard.
As soon as he moved us away from the makeshift parking lot, I moved one of my hands lower, reaching the hem of his shirt. His head snapped from the road to my hands, and I started laughing, knowing that this wasn’t in any of his plans. As soon as my fingers touched the soft skin of his stomach, just above the waist of his pants, he took a sharp breath, looking from the road toward me.
I planted my chin on his shoulder, lifting his shirt higher, and touching more and more of his skin, until both of my hands were plastered against the soft yet hard surface of his abs, stroking, taunting, teasing, until one of his own stopped my ministrations.
His breathing was shallow, and the wild look he sent my way was enough to know that he wanted to be anywhere else but on this bike and on this road. I couldn’t just let him smile at me like that, rendering me speechless without a little retribution.
“Babe,” he warned. His voice mixed with the wind was almost inaudible, but I was close enough to hear every syllable grunted.
“Just drive, Storm.” I smirked. “I’m getting impatient.”
I have never beento Santa Monica before. Not that I didn’t want to, I just wasn’t allowed.
