Page 32 of The Final Storm
“Say it,” he commands. His steady movements bring me to the edge with every thrust forward. I feel my legs shake around him. He pauses while I’m speared on his dick, keeping us connected while he carries us to the bed. I yank my shirt up and he hovers, my hard nipples grazing his perfect chest. “Say it,” he orders, louder this time, moving in rhythm again.
“You’re… you’re m-mine,” I stutter. My back slides along the sheets with every push and pull of our bodies.
“And?” His next thrust is so intense my teeth jar together. He grows inside me and groans. “And?” The rush of pleasure increases when he brings his thumb to my clit. Stroking in circles in rhythm with his movements, I writhe underneath him.
“And I’m yours,” I moan. Heat fills my core, and I claw at his back, closing my eyes and letting the feeling wash over me.
“I’m the last man you’ll ever have inside you. You’re the only woman I’ll take for the rest of my life. This-” he pulls out, pushing a few fingers inside and gripping my pussy with the heel of his hand, “-is mine. And this-” He takes my hand and curls my fingers around his slick, dripping cock, “is yours.”
I almost cry at his words. He fills me with desire and fear and love, so full I could explode underneath him. I nod, and he pins my arms over my head, pushing back inside me once more. The rush of ecstasy overtakes my senses, and I come undone underneath him. My body shakes against his and I cry out, biting down on his shoulder.
One… two… three more thrusts through my orgasm and he spills himself, filling me with his heat and growling into my ear. I wrap my legs tighter around his waist, and he hovers over me, letting every last drop empty into my body.
“I… love you,” he whispers in my ear. It’s broken this time, less sure. The second the sex is over, we’re thrust back into reality. Great sex doesn’t change what’s happened. There’s a chance love isn’t enough, but I ignore it, basking in the moment.
My eyes become heavy, and my limp body rests in his arms.
“I love you,” I say back.
He leans to one side, letting himself slip out and slick my thigh. Pulling me close, I curl into his arms.
“We’ll figure this out,” he says. I’m too exhausted to respond.
Sleep comes, and I welcome it, unaware of the horror it will bring.
Chapter 12
The Body
Samstandsonthebanks of our island, Morgan in his arms. There’s a gun in one hand and blood on his clothes. He moves further away, shrinking before my eyes, while saltwater stings my face and blurs my vision.
“We win again,” I hear a woman say. I whip my head around, looking for who spoke the words, but there’s no one. Sam has disappeared from view, and I’m alone.
I drift out into the ocean, carried away on a boat. BeLew’s voices hit my ears, but I can’t make out their words. Looking out into the water, they appear, splashing around in the violent ocean that swells higher with each wave. The air changes around me, strong winds blinding me, and I rub my eyes, trying to see. The sky darkens into night, and the boys are gone from view.
I rush to the edge of the boat to help them, but I trip over something and stumble to my knees. The obstacle tangles at my feet, and a stench fills my nostrils.Covering my mouth to muffle my screams, I see the lifeless body with blood pooling onto the wooden deck.
I shoot up from the nightmare, gasping for air and reaching out into nothing. The smell still permeates my senses, and I bring my hands to my face, covering my eyes, afraid of what else I might see.
“Wake up, baby. Wake up.” Sam’s voice feels far away, even though he grips my arms, urging me awake.
I’m back in our cabin and naked with Sam. I lower my hands, letting the room come into focus, and the moments before flood back. We fought and made love, and then I slept. Glorious sleep that evaded me for weeks brought me this nightmare. I choke at the thought, wishing the facts were different.
Sam shakes me once more, and his wild eyes meet mine. I’ve scared him, and I don’t know what I’ve done in my vision. I could have said something or thrashed out.
“What did you dream? Was it about Cecilia?” he asks.
I grimace at the sound of her name, a frown crossing my lips in loathing. I don’t want to be repulsed by her. I want to be indifferent, to not care about her existence, but hate fills me up the instant I’m reminded of her presence.
I’m certain the shock she must have felt learning about me must match my loathing. The hatred is mutual, I’m sure, and mine is written across my face, looking back at Sam.
“Please don’t speak about your wife right now,” I bite out.
Sam withdraws his hold and wraps the sheet around my shoulders. His movements are cautious at the sound of my words. “I understand,” he gulps. “What was the vision? It seemed like a bad one. Have you been meditating?”
“I haven’t had the mental capacity to calm down enough to meditate. You know I haven’t been sleeping. I’m a walking zombie, so no, I haven’t meditated. This one was intense enough to push through.”
We both know what that means. If visions come willingly, they could be harmless, good news, even. When they invade my thoughts, despite my objections, the news always scares us. Ominous things come from out of nowhere when my mind doesn’t open to the visions. Without the slow release of what’s coming, the horror from inside me explodes, destroying everything in its path.
