Page 56 of Storm's Deliverance

“I know.”

“I’m not the man who kisses you and walks away. I can’t do that anymore.”

“I know,” I repeat.

“I’m not the man who changes his mind tomorrow.”

“I know,” I sigh. A coy grin playing at my lips, I shift slightly grabbing the hem of the t-shirt and lift it over my head discarding it on the ground.

His gaze still searches mine, looking for even the smallest trace of uncertainty, but all he finds is me. Finally. Then he breaks. Not with words, but with his eyes. They travel over me slowly, deliberately, drinking me in as though he’s committing every inch of me to memory. His gaze lingers at my hip, locking onto the small black heart tattoo with the lettersBBinked inside. His breathing catches as his thumb brushes over it with almost painful tenderness.

“When did you get this?” he asks, his voice so low it vibrates straight through me.

I glance down, smiling. “I figured if you were going to call me that, I may as well own it. I got it the week I turned eighteen. Had to go out of town so no one would tell my dad.”

His thumb traces the heart again. “I am the only one who calls you that.” It’s not a question. It’s a statement; a possessive one. “Only me.”

I meet his eyes. “Only you.”

His gaze snaps back to mine, and something dark and primal is igniting behind those blue eyes. His hand glides slowly upward, dragging over the curve of my waist before skimming higher. Feather-light. Agonisingly slow. His fingertips barely brush my skin, making me shudder harder than if he’d grabbed hold of me. His hand reaches my jaw, his thumb stroking across my bottom lip.

“You sure?” he asks quietly.

I groan dramatically. “Jesus fucking Christ, Drix.” I gesture down my body. “I’m naked on your fucking breakfast bar like the main course at a Michelin-star restaurant.”

His lips twitch.

“I’m literally offering myself to you.” His smile widens. “So, stop looking at me like I’m about to break.” I cup his face. “I’m not broken.” I make sure to hold his gaze. “I’ve got scars.” My voice softens. “I’ve got cracks.” I brush my forehead against his. “But I’m still me.” Silence. “I wanted you to help me find myself again.” A small smile touches my lips. “You did.” I swallow. “So, stop treating me like I’m made of glass.” His jaw tightens. “You either want me...” I whisper, “...or you don’t.”

His eyes flash. “I’ve wanted you since I was old enough to know what wanting someone meant.” The confession steals every ounce of air from my lungs. “I’ve spent years pretending friendship was enough.” His thumb strokes over my tattoo again. “It never was.” Emotion crashes through me as he leans in until his lips barely brush mine. “There is no going back after this.” His voice is rough. “This isn’t just us ending years of pretending.” His forehead rests against mine. “This is me finallycalling you what you’ve always been.” My pulse hammers. “My woman. My ol’ lady.” The words hit me like a physical blow.

A slow smile spreads across my lips. “Then for fuck’s sake,” I whisper. “Claim me.”

The last word barely leaves my mouth before every ounce of restraint inside him shatters. His mouth crashes onto mine—not gentle, not hesitant, not cautious—Just possessive, hungry, and certain. He kisses me like a man who’s been starving for years and has finally been told he can feast. Like he’s terrified I’ll disappear if he lets me go. Like he’s making damn sure I never doubt who I belong beside again. A broken moan escapes me as I throw myself into the kiss, my fingers tangling in his hair.

His hands finally stop behaving. They move over me with a confidence they’ve earned after years of denying themselves, claiming every part of me.

“Drix...” I gasp against his mouth.

He growls softly. “Mine.” The single word sends a shiver racing through me. He says it again against my lips. “My BB,” he whispers between kisses along my neck. “My stubborn girl.”

I laugh breathlessly. “Took you long enough.”

He lifts his head, a grin flashing across his face. “You have no fucking idea.” He kisses me again, slower this time, deeper. Every touch feels like a promise. Every kiss feels like years of restraint dissolving.

When he finally tears himself away, his chest rises and falls heavily. His eyes are molten, locked entirely on me. I instinctively move towards him.

He lifts one finger. “No.” The command stops me instantly. “I want you right there.” His voice is rough with effort. “Just like that.” He looks at me like he’s trying to burn the image into his memory forever. “So fucking beautiful.” The raw sincerity behind his words makes my heart ache.

“I’ve imagined this...” he admits quietly. “So many fucking times.”

I grin. “I hope reality lives up to the fantasy.”

His smile is pure sin. “BB...” He shakes his head slowly. “It fucking surpassed it the second you told me to claim you.” He pauses. “You’ve always been mine in here.” He taps his own chest. “I was just waiting for you to choose me back.”

I smile through the emotion threatening to overwhelm me. “Deep down I always did.”

“I know.” He pauses. “But hearing you say it...” His hand settles over the little black heart tattoo. “That’s something I’ll carry with me for the rest of my fucking life.” He removes his hand from me, and I want to call out in protest. He slowly, so painfully fucking slowly, unbuttons his jeans, dropping them to the floor, and kicking them to the side.