Braving the Storm (Crimson Ridge #2)

Chapter 20

M y door is stuck.

Every single rational part of me is screaming, begging on bended knee, pleading with that door to pop open. To give me the excuse I’m searching for.

I should want to escape this man.

No part of me is supposed to feel the call of that beckoning finger of fate, the tingling allure of sliding across that space between us, to willingly get any closer to my uncle.

A girl like me is meant to desire someone else, anyone else. Not the brooding, tattooed, sinfully hot cowboy with startling blue eyes.

Until now, we’ve avoided talking about things that have happened, neither of us seemed at a juncture when we might muster up the courage to figure out what the fuck keeps swirling and developing in the ether. All I know is that my body has pleaded with me all day for this man, at every moment and every turn. Watching him on the ranch, working with their cattle, riding his horse with all the skill and ease of a cowboy who would undoubtedly know how to use those skills in other ways. All while being jostled around in my own saddle until my nerves were frayed to pieces.

I barely held it together.

Now here we are, separated by four feet of bench seat, the very location where we’ve already crossed lines we shouldn’t have once before.

Unfortunately, for my sanity’s sake, my moral fiber, my ability to think clearly about any of this, I can’t bear to consider spending another night in that house, another night sharing a bed lying next to a man who I am agonizingly drawn to, a man I cannot touch, without my lungs bursting.

“Slide over.” His eyes glitter. The way he says those two words makes my pussy clench in memory of what happened the last time I obeyed that same order.

There is a part of my brain that knows what I’m supposed to do in this scenario. Who is implicitly aware of the right course of action to be taken in this moment.

I slam the door in that bitch’s face.

The woman inside me who doesn’t give a fuck, who is so sick of being denied what she wants, is a slut for this man.

She willingly does as he instructs.

“Fine.” Trying to sound disaffected, I give in, shifting my weight, inching along to the driver’s side, and get to the edge, he doesn’t move.

The temperature outside may be dropping rapidly, but my entire body feels like it has gone up in flames. I’m trapped here, peering up at him, and my brain feels like it has gone blank.

“Would you have gone home with him yesterday? If he asked you?” The man before me looms large, filling every inch of the open door, both palms flexing at the point where he grips the roof. He leisurely rests both hands, with arms extended above his head, filling and consuming the only available exit, like a god.

Fuck. There’s no way I can answer him honestly, without giving him more fuel to taunt me about my crush, or whatever this fascination is. So, I settle for petulance by rolling my eyes. “I don’t need to answer that.”

“Briar. Humor me.” He’s gentling me. Giving me that husky voice, the one he uses when he coaxes the horses. Still. Not. Moving.

“No. I’m not playing that game.”

I can’t do this push-pull. I can’t play this fucked up version of truth or dare. I’m so messed up in the head that all I want is for this man to show me more than the couple of glimpses he’s given me now of how naturally my body responds to his instruction.

Of course, I’m going to have to find a way to satisfy that craving elsewhere.

Swinging my feet out the door, our legs are entwined, my bent knees brush the front of his shins, and the only option left is to shove past him. All I have to do is duck beneath his arms, to try my best to avoid looking at the perfectly fitted jeans right at my eye level, but as I do so my boots barely hit the ground.

My uncle—the man I’ve quickly become enamored with—circles my waist before I can run away, just like last night, and hauls me back. Spinning me around, slamming my front against the side of the truck, it happens so quickly that I flatten both palms in order to brace myself.

Trepidation, excitement, and delight rush through my veins in a heady concoction of feelings that shouldn’t coexist.

I’m caged in, and definitely, absolutely do not wish to be released.

“ Storm .” My voice is breathy and needy; a white plume gusts past my lips with the chilled air temperature now that the spring sun has set.

He makes a dark noise, sounding pleased and tortured that I’ve called him that for the first time since I arrived here.

“Truth time. If you were with him… letting him show you things… who would you be thinking about?”

My back presses against his broad chest. The warmth of him blankets me as it did last night and my fingers curl against the cold metal on the side of the truck. I see the sight of his tattooed hand placed just beside mine. S.T.O.R.M. in black ink stares back at me, and right now, I would do incredibly slutty things to have that hand on me.

“Come on, little thorn. If he touched your sweet pussy, who would you have thought about?”

Swallowing down a whimper, a swarm of butterflies explodes in my stomach.

“What does it matter?” All notions have flown out of my head, and my blood races around my body, responding to the acres of contact between us. His arm banded across my stomach, his tight hold on me, that connection running the length of my spine.

“Would you be lost in the moment with your only thoughts being of him? Would he have you panting and writhing and desperate for him and him alone?”

“I don’t know why this matters to you.” I want the fact that he’s asking to mean something it doesn’t, and short of admitting that there is no earthly possibility of me being with another man and not thinking about St?rmand Lane, I don’t know what to say.

His mouth finds my ear, leaving goosebumps flying across every inch of my skin when he rumbles out his words. “Wouldn’t you prefer to learn with someone you can trust?”

“I’d say I can’t trust anyone.”

Storm’s fingers glide down the front of my jacket. His jacket. The one I can’t bring myself to stop wearing because I’m addicted to his scent.

With practiced efficiency, he unfastens the front, allowing the opening to hang freely.

“You liked what we did in the truck.” It’s a statement. A fact he knows to be true.

“Maybe.” Fluttering wings have taken off, causing a riot in my stomach.

He chuckles. “It’s ok to admit you did. I won’t tell anyone… besides, you trusted me last night.”

I pause, but my hips betray me. Giving away my immediate answer to that question when they follow his fingers softly tracing over the waistband of my jeans .

God, this man is too skilled, too expert in this. He’s got a bevy of women ready to throw themselves at his feet, or get up to whatever leads to losing their sanity and beauty products in his truck. Why the hell is he even looking twice my way?

“I liked it,” I breathe out, feeling shaky, but not wanting to break this spell.

He hums, a sexy, masculine noise, and that tattooed hand that had been pressed to the metal of the truck dwarfing mine, lifts and snakes down my belly.

My stomach caves as he uses both hands wrapped around me to deftly unbutton my jeans. There is every chance my heart may escape my throat, it’s thundering so hard.

“Wh—what are you doing?” A gasp bubbles up.

“Tell me, if you’d gone on your little date… and afterward he took you somewhere nice and private, if he slid a hand inside like this, and found you drenched, would it be his hand you wanted touching you, or someone else’s?”

As he murmurs those devious words, trapping me and enthralling me, because I can only pay attention to the place his fingers are on my body—on that band of flesh where my underwear sits, directly above my aching pussy—I lose focus far too easily.

Somehow, I’m supposed to locate words, when the only thing preoccupying my brain is each glide and searing, exploratory brush of his fingertips. No matter how hard I seek, not a single, adequate one is to be found.

Instead, I give him a hitch in my breathing, and what comes out as a tiny moan of pleasure when the calloused fingers I’ve watched handle horses and metal and show so much skill in every single thing this man does, make contact with my bare skin.

“Easy. Just breathe for me.” His voice is like gravel and honey as he nudges his nose along my jaw. At the same time, one hand dips beneath the fabric, moving lower and lower, and despite him telling me the opposite, I forget how to use my lungs.

“Oh god.” Another desperate little noise escapes my lips. My fingers curl, nails scraping against the faded paintwork. How am I still standing? I’ve never had anyone touch me like this before, taking their time, teasing my body, exploring me gently. He presses against my lower stomach, adding a firm, soothing pressure to the softness there, and makes a satisfied noise before reaching my pussy.

“Jesus,” Storm exhales against my neck as his fingers discover the truth.

I’m soaking wet.

“We can’t…” My protest is futile, dying on the night air when his thick fingers dip into me, exploring and finding my swollen clit. We’re out in the open, surrounded by trees, the darkening sky, and a scattering of stars.

Even though logically, rationally, I know the nearest person is miles away it still sends a shiver running through me at the illicit nature of this moment all the same.

My heartbeat thuds relentlessly between my legs.

“Feel how wet you are, I’ll bet you’re aching, aren’t you, darlin’?”

He’s absolutely right. At the sound of his voice, my pussy clenches, my blood floods with lust, and I’m so tightly wound it feels as if I’m ready to explode.

Storm rubs his fingers through my slickness, massaging and taking his time, driving me insane as he briefly circles over my clit, then moves away. Over and over. It’s like he’s got hours at his disposal. There’s no hurrying at this moment, not like last night when he dry-humped me into the mattress, with both of us seemingly out of our minds and swept up in some sort of frenzy.

This experience, right here, is like he’s savoring the most intimate part of me, and it alters my brain chemistry entirely with each firm stroke.

“You thinking about him right now?”

Holy shit. There’s an edge to his voice that wasn’t there before. If I didn’t know better it might sound a lot like jealousy, or something possessive, controlling at the very least. I don’t hate it. In fact, that makes a part of me melt even more rapidly. As he presses his mouth against my ear, hot and wet, his touch intensifies, unraveling me faster and faster.

I swallow thickly. “No.”

A rich, satisfied sound coats me from head to toe. “I need to know… If you did go with him, and he put his mouth on you—”

A moan bursts out of me when he circles my clit, hard. Jolting beneath his touch, my nails scrape the side of his truck. It’s all too much. He’s too much. I’m so hopelessly and woefully inexperienced at any of this. My sweep of desire cuts him off as I blurt out my confession before he can finish his question. “I don’t know—I don’t know what that’s like.” My outburst flies in the night air with a loud whimper.

He stills his fingers.

“No one has ever had their mouth on you?”

Oh fuck, I didn’t mean to tell him that, but my mind is scrambled, and my body is a mess of desire and wanting to come. I shake my head, suddenly feeling the scalding burn of shame hit my cheeks. Is he going to think less of me? How goddamn unwanted I’ve been that no man has ever desired me enough to reciprocate in that way.

“Fuck.” Storm’s mouth drags down the side of my neck, leaving a wet trail in his wake. “No one has taken care of you at all, have they, darlin’?”

He keeps toying with my body, gently edging me with clever circles and movements. Those strong fingers wedge lower, lower, lower inside my jeans until he finds my entrance and presses inside. Playing and teasing and stroking deftly at my center. All I seem to be capable of is a series of whimpering noises, panting, desperate breaths on the crisp night air. Simply dissolving for this man.

“You’re so fucking soft, so wet, so perfect. I shouldn’t be allowed anything more with you. There’s no way in hell I should be allowed to touch you like this, but I can’t fight it.” He nips my earlobe with his teeth and holy shit, that feels so good.

“I know it does.” His words are wicked and low.

Oh my god, I’m pretty certain I moaned all that out loud, even though I didn’t intend to.

“You deserve to be taken care of… to have everything you want.”

Storm begins to place kisses along my neck, my jaw, all while he fingers me so slowly, and torturously. Playing my body so that I dangle on edge, leaving my hips chasing each motion—following after each glide through my drenched core—as he presses inside me, then drifts back up to my clit.

“Please.” I don’t really know what I’m begging for. To make me come? To fuck me? To let me go before I ruin everything?

With the hand not shoved down the front of my panties, he skates his palm up over the layers covering my body until he reaches my neck. Just like the first night in the bathroom, he wraps his hold, firmly cupping my jaw, except this time it’s entirely different. Storm demands that I turn for him, and of course I do.

Of course, I allow him to tilt my head, positioning my neck just how he wants me.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” his murmur is so close, so unbelievably seductive.

At first, my lust-hazed mind doesn’t understand why. Then I feel it. His lips, warm and tasting like the night air, the hint of spice and mint and masculinity that is him, all invade my awareness as he presses his mouth to mine.

He kisses me with the same determined, sinfully commanding strokes of his fingers.

I’m done. Disappeared high into the sky overlooking this mountain. My knees might buckle any second because this kiss, from a man who is so much older, who is so forbidden, who I’m not meant to feel the surge of intense heat and desire for… he takes something that is supposed to be wrong and transcends that into something heart-stopping.

St?rmand Lane kisses me and it feels as if he just flipped my entire life on its head.

My whimpers flow into his mouth, and each drag of his lips against mine feels like we’re losing control. His stubble rasps against my skin, and the sensation is utterly consuming, leaving me drugged and unable to want anything but him .

I don’t want him to stop.

I can’t stop.

With a groan that I drink down, I feel his tongue slide against mine, pressing past my lips and exploring my mouth. God, had I ever even been kissed before this man crashed into my life? Whatever I experienced prior to this moment doesn’t bear mentioning, nothing but a weak imitation of what a kiss should feel like.

His mouth and tongue create a warmth like firelight that builds from my toes, sending shivers and sparks right through to my fingertips.

This man is giving me a perfect preview of what he can do with my body, if only I’d let him.

“Storm… Please…” My moaning and begging into his mouth causes his fingers to slide from my jaw, resting against the column of my throat.

“Do you want to learn how good that will feel for your body?”

The sound that comes out of me is far too desperate, but it seems to please him. Calloused fingers press tighter against my neck, not restricting my breathing, but it does something to me having him hold me like that all the same. His other hand mirrors the movement with a firm, possessive, cupping hold beneath my panties.

“Let me teach you, darlin’. Let me teach you what it feels like to come with a man’s tongue in your pussy.”