Page 25 of Backlash

“Lucky,” he tries to say it evenly, but his tone is a complete betrayal of the storm on our horizon.

Isn’t that how it’s always been with us? We crave the breeze that blows in while we ignore the blue-black thunderclouds. For us, it’s easier to pretend it’s not coming. We tell this lie. We believe it. We turn our backs to the wind. It’s what makes the squall impossible to overcome. The storm grabs hold before we can break free, capsizes us, drags us below the surface. We drown in each other. I’m tired of it. I want to sail into the storm—standing on the bow, back straight, head unbowed. I want to face what we are and see if I’m strong enough to survive the truth of it. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

“You’re beyond wrong.” His intensity is breathtaking and now it’s in his eyes: the hurricane I’m determined to face. That’s when I realize that he is my storm. He is the danger. I can either sail through him or turn back. There’s no other way to survive him. So why do I melt against the wall? Why do my eyes close, my lips part?

His hand flashes towards me and unties the knot of my robe. It falls open before I’ve processed his intentions. One impossibly strong arm reaches under my right, around my back, and grabs my upper left arm. His body presses me against the wall, his knee pins my legs apart.

“Does this feel real?” he says. I can sense how hard he is fighting to keep control of himself. It should frighten me. Instead, I feel the fabric of my panties soak. He holds me fast against the wall, waiting for my response.

I nod.

His mouth finds mine, desperate and hungry. Frantic to claim me. He takes my bottom lip into his mouth and nips down hard. The sharp metallic tang of iron floats across my tongue.

“Is this real?” he growls between all-consuming kisses. There's no hesitation. He touches me like he owns me. And that's when I realize it. He does.

I can still pull away. I can still stop this. I can sail to safe harbor, but I haven’t made it this far to give up now. On myself. On him. On us.

I bite back.

Sterling betrays little of the pain. Instead, he simply grunts. He is primal. Animalistic. He takes as he gives. His possession liberates me until I can feel it. I can feel every raw, aching nerve in my body.

The fingernails of his free hand scratch me slightly as his hand makes its way to my waiting, bared breast. “And this?” My nipples stiffen painfully, and I moan in spite of myself. “Tell me this isn’t as real as it gets.”

Meeting his gaze as evenly as I can, I shake my head. I can’t tell him that.

“That’s right, Lucky,” he says through gritted teeth.

As if to underscore his point, he bends to take my right nipple between his teeth. He doesn’t bite down, but I feel the threat he will almost hysterically. His hand soothes my left breast, rubbing gently in counterpoint to his mouth, which begins to suck on my breast, hard. I can feel blood rushing in, engorging the nipple, making it more tender.

When at last he releases it from his mouth, the feeling is dangerous and exquisite. Relief at freedom gives way to a painful stab of absence, which itself gives way to a deep ecstasy, throbbing in time with my heart. It feels like he has connected me to the resonant frequency of the universe.

“I know what’s between us is real, Adair. It’s a feeling I have when I look at you. Would you like me to show you how it feels?”

My eyelids flutter, an approving moan slipping past my lips. A wicked grin lights his face, and I realize my head is bobbing furiously, though I don’t think I sent that instruction.

The arm pinning me in place disappears. My body reacts intuitively, attempting to close the distance between us, but Sterling pushes me back against the wall with a palm to my belly. He kneels before me, kisses my navel. His fingers pinch the black lace fabric of my panties, pull it away from me. He lets the fabric go, and the elastic threads snap back into place, giving me a jolt. He does it again and again, always kissing my belly.

Is this what he feels? That I’m a tease, or that he needs to tease me? Or is it just torment? Delicious torment? He doesn’t need to show me that. He always tormented me.

Suddenly I feel the rough skin of his knuckles brushing between my legs. Then, the lace of my panties bites into my hips, followed by the sound of ripping fabric. I feel the shredded lace dangling loosely around my hips, exposing the rest of me. Cold air floods across my sensitive sex and couples with my wetness to send shivers up my spine.

He stands, his wild look reflecting how I feel. Arms wrap around me, holding me close to him. My body finds its shape in him, my curves filling the open space that should never be allowed to exist. Then, his hands move to the last band of fabric hanging off my hips. He finds the seam and slowly pulls it apart. I feel every thread give way. When he rips the last few threads from my body, my breath explodes out of my mouth. Sterling puts his mouth near my ear and whispers, “This is real.”

“Yes.” It comes out in a squeak as I struggle to take in oxygen. My hands grope feebly at the button of his jeans.

“We should be careful, Lucky, we don’t—”

“I’m on the pill.”

It’s his turn to react instinctively. He lifts me from the ground and pins my splayed hips between his chest and the wall. He looks up at me, his face full of naked lust and wonder and reverence. Had it always been there? Had I been too stupid or too consumed with my own pleasure to see it? I feel something fundamental shift—realign. But I don’t have time to consider what it is or what it means, because Sterling frees his cock and plunges inside me.

My arms hook around his neck. My ankles cross above his buttocks. I hold on to him. Sterling’s hands cup the bottom of my ass, supporting my weight but also pulling me wider, so that he can fill more of me.

Restraint has left the building.

He looks into my eyes—and for a moment, he shows me he has nothing to hide, and that I have nothing to fear—and I want this to last forever.

“Don’t,” I pant, “stop…don’t ever stop!”