Page 74 of The Storm

My fingers dig into Nick’s biceps, and my hips push forward.

Groans and panting fill the boat shed. We’re fueled by the same desperation. The same forceful need.

We’re hurtling through the air, and there’s no parachute, but I don’t care. I’ve never felt this kind of reckless freedom before.

I tense with anticipation when he stops kissing me. We’re both panting, looking at each other. Waiting.

Nick takes the hem of my shirt and wrestles it off. I watch him in all his handsome glory as he grabs the back of his jacket and flings it over his head.

His bare chest heaves in a lone shaft of early morning sunshine as he studies me for a hot beat.

Then his mouth is back on mine. His hands cup my ass, and he effortlessly lifts me up. I wrap my thighs around his hips, and we both groan when our cocks brush through our shorts. My back slams against the wall.

He’s kissing me like his life depends on it. I grab his shoulders for balance, my mouth still fused to his.

There’s an air of panic in this lust. Neither of us seems to want to stop, but at the same time we’re both afraid the other will come to his senses.

He lets go of my ass, and I slide my legs back down until my feet are on the floor. He’s still plastered against me, toes to knees to hips to chest to mouth, but now his hand moves between our bodies, over the bulge in my shorts.

Time seems to slow to a crawl. The world narrows to just us two and his hand cupping me. His hot breath tickles my ear.

“You’re hard.”

I choke out a laugh. “Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Makes me think.” He wraps his fingers loosely around my dick and starts to rub it slowly. “If I do this… are you going to get harder?”

My cock jerks against his palm. His teeth rake over my earlobe, and his fingers trace the outline of my cockhead.

“Do you think I could make you come like this?” he asks.

I swallow. Forming words seems like an impossible task.

He squeezes the head of my dick. My erection thickens, and he starts pumping his hand up and down my length, the slippery material of the board shorts a frustrating barrier between my dick and his hand.

“I think we’ve already established that you can make me come like this,” I manage to say.

He keeps stroking me with lazy movements.

Without any warning, he drops to his knees.

I can’t speak.

I can’t even breathe.

He hooks his fingers around the waistband of my shorts and tugs them down. My cock springs free and slaps against my abdomen. There will be no subtlety here.

He stares at my cock for a second and then looks up and meets my eyes. He slides the pad of his thumb over the slit of my dick, eyes still on me.

“You’re wet,” he murmurs. “Is that for me?”

I let out a hoarse laugh. “No, no. I’m just really into boats.”

He raises his brows. Leans closer. Lowers his head. Nibbles at my hip bone. I breathe out in a rush. My dick jerks again. Our gazes are still locked.

I’m shaking with the effort of holding still. Of not arching into him. Of not begging.

Come on. Come on. Put your mouth on me. Touch me, suck me, jerk me off. Dosomething.