Page 197 of The Storm

“It’s late,” I whisper. “I have to get going.”

It’s been weeks of forcing myself out of his bed in the middle of the night and dragging myself home through the cold, then falling into my empty bed. Alone.

It’s getting more and more difficult every time I do it.

I never want to leave.

That’s exactly why I have to go.

“I had plans for you,” he says.

I laugh. “What kind of plans?”

“I was going to wake you up by going down on you. And that’s just the start.”

“Yeah?”

“There are follow-up ideas. Many. I have an excellent imagination.”

He grabs my jeans and tosses them onto the other side of the bed.

“I know.” I smile. “I’ve been on the receiving end of your imagination.”

“You should sit on my face.”

I blow out a shaky breath. “Nicholas…”

“Blue.” He gets on his knees and knee-walks to the edge of the bed. His knuckles graze my stomach when he grabs the hem of my shirt and pulls me toward him until he’s kissing me.

I never want to leave.

And that’s exactly why I have to go.

In theory.

In practice, I need very little convincing to fall back into bed with him.

And stay the night.

I set all those rules, and then I just break all of them, one after another.

I set new boundaries, and then dismiss them.

It’s frustrating as fuck.

Because it’s going to hurt.

It’s going to break me.

He’sgoing to break me.

And I do absolutely nothing to protect myself.

FIFTY-NINE

NICK

I’ve usedanger as my armor for a long time. It’s easy. I hold a grudge like nobody’s business. Always have. I hide behind it. Build walls out of it. It’s so easy. You don’t have to confront anything when you’re angry.