Page 81 of The Storm

The low moans that spill from his lips, his hot breath on my back—I lose whatever finesse there might have been. I suck him fast and sloppy, desperate to get him off. I take him so deep it makes me gag. It makes his cock even slicker with saliva and makes him moan even louder.

His body grows tighter and tighter, muscles tensing, abs contracting.

“Blue,” he rasps, tapping me on the shoulder. “Fuck. Blue,” he says again. The tapping intensifies, but then it’s too late anyway. He comes with a loud curse and a long groan, cum flooding my mouth. So much of it I struggle to swallow it all.

I push back up on my knees, wipe my wrist over the side of my mouth, and take my own aching dick in my hand. Nick’s eyes are hazy from his orgasm. His finger is still inside me. He pushes it deeper, and I start to jerk myself off. He bats my hand away and takes me in his hand.

It’s fast, and my body arches and twists, and those desperate noises can’t be coming from me. It has to be somebody else. I thrust into his fist, and it’s wet and slippery and so good my brain feels like it’s short-circuiting. His fingers tighten, and then I’m shaking and thrusting and shivering and coming all over his stomach.

It’s a surreal form of peacefulness I feel, slumped against him on the rooftop, naked, satiated, under an endless canopy of stars.

Pulling apart and letting reality back in kind of ruins it.

Most of me expects him to take off. Climb back inside the house and disappear for the foreseeable future. But instead, he stays put. There’s an awkward moment of covering up, and then I sit back down next to him. After a bit of silence, I turn my head and look at him.

“Want to go again?” I do my best to sound flippant. I don’t want to care. I don’t want his answer to matter. I want to be unemotional and unruffled. Maybe I can even pull off glib?

He glances up at the sky, eyes moving over the dark blue to the stars hovering above the bay.

“Yeah,” he says in a low voice. “I think so.”

There goes my plan to not care.

I blink. And stare.

He turns his head to look at me again. His hair is a mess. His dark eyes spark with amusement the longer I stare.

And he’s so handsome it’s difficult to concentrate. Or think. Or breathe.

“You should really tell me to fuck off,” he says. “Preferably for good.”

I don’t say anything because I honestly don’t know what to say.

Eventually he nods, and there’s a physical weight to that nod that I can’t unpack.

He tucks that nod away and raises a brow at me.

“Want to take a shower?”

“Yeah,” I say.

He licks his lips in an uncharacteristic show of hesitation. “With me?”

I hesitate too, but then I can’t help the small smile. “Yeah, I’ll take a shower with you.”

I sneakback into my room under the cover of darkness. After our shower, I somehow ended up stumbling into Nick’s bed. Where we got each other off again. A couple of times.

And now he’s asleep, and I’m sneaking out. I tell myself it’s because I need to get some sleep before I start my job tomorrow. Mostly it’s to avoid the inevitable.

I’m pretty sure he’d freak the fuck out if he found me in his bed in the morning. Even without me there, there’s a good chance he’ll wake up in the morning having changed his mind. Again. I’d rather not be there for that.

Back in my room, I lean against the door, close my eyes, and tilt my head back.

I kind of wish I’d stayed with Nick. Just to know what it felt like falling asleep next to him.

I don’t know where that thought came from.

But I do know it’s bad.