Page 3 of The Final Storm
He trails his fingertips across my thighs. “I’ve got quite a view from down here,” he smirks. His hot breath sends goosebumps across my flesh.
“You don’t find me…” I wave a hand over my body. “I don’t know.”
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” Sam warns. He pushes my skirt up my thighs, exposing more skin, and kisses the inside of my knee. “You’re so perfect.” His mouth trails the inside of my leg, moving the fabric up as he goes.
My breath catches, and I place a hand on the back of Sam’s head, pushing my fingers through his hair. It’s longer than normal, messy, and unkempt. Perfect to grab onto when he tucks his face between my legs.
“We have some time,” Sam murmurs into my skin. My skin flushes with the thought. I always want Sam, but lately, I’m insatiable. All I can seem to think about when I’m not stressing over our future is his mouth — his cock.
A few days ago, I made him fuck me in the woods when he should have been chopping wood. Not that it took much convincing. I slipped my panties off and handed them to him. Less than ten seconds later, he laid down on the dirt, holding his hard cock in his hand for me to ride.
Fuck, I love his dick… his tongue… him.
I curl my fingers, running my fingernails across his scalp, pulling his hair at the roots. I don’t have to push or urge him forward. He moves my panties to the side and slides his tongue along my crease, circling my clit, and making me moan too loud.
“Shhh,” he hums into my folds. The house is full of people, and I’m grateful the first thing Sam fixed in this place was a lock for our door.
I bite my bottom lip, forcing myself to keep silent. He wraps his hands around my thighs, locking me in place, and I release my hold on his hair. Leaning back on my elbows, I stifle the moan at the back of my throat.
His tongue moves in a familiar pattern, circling my most sensitive areas and plunging into my center. Sam knows how to make me come fast and hard, and he’s not holding back tonight.
“Fuck, you’re so good at this,” I tell him between quick pants of air. “I’m so close. Your cock, I need it.”
“No,” Sam says and yanks me harder against his face. He speeds up his movements, almost vibrating his tongue against my clit.
The heat rises from my center, and I clutch onto the sheets, balling my hands into fists. Soft cries escape my throat, and my legs shake, barely a tremble at first until I’m losing control of my muscles, my legs twitching without my command. My skin mists with sweat, and I let my head fall back, making my dress fall slightly in front. Peaked nipples hit the cold air, and Sam glides one hand up, catching it between his fingers.
“Don’t scream when you come,” he says and runs his tongue down my center in one languid lick. “You make too much noise and I’ll stop. And you don’t want that, do you?”
I shake my head, my hair tickling my shoulders. Every sensation is heightened, and I can’t control my quaking body.
“You’ll be a good girl,” he orders, sliding one finger inside my cunt. “Not a sound when you soak my face.”
“I-I’ll be quiet,” I stammer. “Please.”
He pushes a second finger inside me and moves his mouth to my clit, suckling and circling in the perfect rhythm. I fight the urge to scream out, and a trickle of sweat slides down my chest between my exposed breasts. The crash of my orgasm comes fast and hard, making my entire body clench in a moment of pleasure. The waves of relief move through my limbs until the moment passes and I go limp, scooting away from Sam’s tongue. The sensation is too much after I’ve come, and he chuckles between my thighs, placing kisses on my damp skin.
“How do you want me?” I whimper. “I can’t leave you like that.”
A series of knocks hit the door, presumably from a group of eager boys.
“I guess we didn’t have as much time as I thought,” Sam says, licking his lips.
“I think we could…” I trail off, seeing their shoes make shadows under the door.
“My sons are pacing right outside. No doubt they’re trying to listen in, itching to leave. Let’s get your boots on and go.”
My breathing stops for a moment, and when I relax, a jagged exhale leaves my body. We consider BeLew our children, and they called me Mama on the Thalassa, but this is a first. Sam has never referred to them as his sons, and the revelation makes me forget all the chaos bobbing on the water outside our door, if only for a moment.
Sam remains silent, moving back on his heels and grabbing my shoes.
“Is it odd that I just called them my sons? I didn’t realize it until I said it,” he admits.
I nod without words, parting my lips to respond, and then closing them again.
His hand drifts along my calf until he reaches the heel of my foot. I feel him slide a sock on, and then my boot follows. “It feels right, though. It feels like they’re my sons.”
His eyes reach mine, so pure and full of hope. My heart clenches with the fear that all this could crash around us. “They are… your sons,” I smile. “It’s strange, but what hasn’t been lately.”
