Storm Damages

by Magda Alexander

  “Bedroom?” His voice turns deeper, huskier. He’s through playing games.

  “Upstairs.”

  My legs, wrapped around his waist, don’t slow him one bit. On the way up the steps, I nibble every inch of skin my lips can reach. He tastes of sin and heat and delicious man. When we arrive in my room, he stands me up next to the bed and pushes everything to the floor—quilt, blankets, pillows. Only the sheeted mattress remains.

  Barely coherent, I explain, “I’m on the pill, so you don’t have to worry about getting me pregnant. I have condoms.” My voice comes out in a whisper. I’m not trying to be sexy. Just finding it hard to breathe.

  “No worries. I brought my own.” From his slacks, he fishes out a string of prophylactics. Six of them for the extra-large man.

  “Awfully ambitious, aren’t you?”

  “I believe in being prepared.” He’s dead serious.

  Whoo! I reach for my blouse, but he stops my hand.

  “Don’t. I want to strip you.”

  I shiver, loving the command in his voice.

  He toes off his Oxfords, sheds his socks, all while keeping one hand clamped around my back. Is he afraid I’ll run away? One handedly, he unbuttons his shirt, lets go of me only long enough to slip if over his head. He’s hard all over, tanned all the way to his waist. I run my hands up his steely arms, ripped abs, defined pecs. Perfect, except for the blemish that mars the upper part of his chest. A scar several inches wide.

  “What’s this?” My fingers brush the thick ridges.

  “Gunshot wound.”

  “Honduras?”

  He nods.

  That injury must have hurt like a son of a bitch. “But you—”

  He takes my hand, kisses its palm. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  I don’t like to talk about my scars either. Not that he’ll ever discover them. Mine are on the inside, where they can’t be seen. “I’m so sorry you got hurt.”

  His only acknowledgment is a brief nod before he unhooks his belt, slips it off. Unlike his shirt, which he’s thrown on the floor, he coils the belt on my night table, right along the condom six-pack. He shucks off his slacks, faces me wearing nothing but his boxer briefs which detail his erection. He’s huge and hard and thick. I lick my lips, anticipating the taste of his cock.

  He palms my ass, raises me so he can get to my mouth. “You’re so fucking hot, Elizabeth. I can’t get enough of you.”

  Something twinges inside of me. A longing that things could be different, so I could have him more than one night.

  Lips locked, we fall on the bed, him on top, me underneath. While he hovers over me, we continue to kiss. I thread my fingers through his businessman’s cut and tug. “You should let your hair grow longer.”

  “Maybe I will. For you.” He licks up the side of my neck, nuzzles my ear lobe. Sweat trickles between my breasts, and I’m dripping below. If he gets anywhere near my pussy, I’m going to blow.

  I trace the blond treasure trail that runs from his belly button to the edge of his underwear. His blazing gaze follows my hand, but he doesn’t do anything to stop me. Through his briefs, I stroke the head of his penis, trace his erection, cup his balls, and his stomach muscles tighten up. He groans when I pull down his briefs, baring his cock. I scoot down to tongue the head, circle both hands around his erection, stroke the hard silk of him.

  He grunts. “Keep that up and I won’t last five minutes.”

  For a couple of seconds, he allows me free reign, but then he takes control. “I see I’m going to have to take firm measures with you.” He pulls me back up and, curling his fingers around mine, pins my hand above my head.

  Jagged shards of memories flash inside my head, and I freeze. “Please don’t.”

  He releases me immediately and falls back on the mattress, gazing at me out of worried eyes. “Sorry. I didn’t mean—”

  I place two fingers against his lips. “It’s okay.” I hate it that my past still haunts me and has killed the mood. I liked him soaring over me. I like the playful side to him. Eager to recapture the buoyant feeling, I trace his golden skin with my tongue, play with his nipples, suckle them with my tongue. The flavor of his skin reminds me of a spiced punch I’d once drunk which went to my head. I suspect he’ll intoxicate me as well.

  He shudders beneath me and his eyes close. “You’re killing me, love.”

  “Well, we can’t have that.” Eager for the show to start, I peek up at him through my eyelashes. “Fuck me, Storm.”

  “Not just yet.” Rising, he slides me under him again, but with his weight on his elbows, I can’t feel his body on me.

  “Are you fine with this?” he asks.

  I smile. “Lower.” I wrap my arms around him and urge him down.

  He dips down to nibble the sensitive skin of my throat, and his chest brushes against my breasts. Wanting more than a kiss, I entwine my legs around his and rub against his bulge.

  He groans, but maintains the same maddeningly slow pace, kissing and nibbling his way across my shoulders. And then he stops. Just stops and gazes down at me. “You are so beautiful.” His knuckles brush against my collarbone. “Your skin’s like warm cream.”

  Oh, my. I think he really means it. Totally seduced by his gentle touch, the timbre of his voice, I shiver with red hot need. Desperate for him, for what he can give me, I press my groin against his erection. “I want you inside me, Storm. Now.”

  He chuckles and lifts away from me. “So impatient.”

  “It’s been a while.” I say disgruntled, and rock against him once more. How many times do I have to do this before he gives me what I want?

  Finally, finally, he palms my ass and grinds his erection against me. I gasp for breath. Heat skitters down my legs. Eager for him to get on with it, I rub against his chest.

  An avid expression spreads over his face, and he cups my breasts over my top. “You don’t have a bra under here, do you?”

  “No.” I crave him inside me so badly I hurt. “Condoms are on the table.” I remind him, in case he forgot.

  But busy as he is rolling up my top one inch at a time, kissing every spot he bares, he ignores the hint. He reveals more real estate, nips the underside of my breasts. I can’t take much more of this slow torture of his. He reaches underneath my blouse, kneads me, plucks the nipples with his thumbs.

  "You have beautiful breasts, Elizabeth.”

  “How would you know?” I challenge him. “You haven’t seen them yet.” I sound peeved. Can’t help it. I don’t like men taking their time with me.

  “I don’t have to see them to know so. Trust me on that.” He edges my blouse up until I’m fully revealed to him. His gaze smolders as he takes me in. “Such pretty nipples." They pebble into hard little nubs. As promised, he strips off my top and my cami, before he curls his tongue around one tip, suckles gently. I’m trembling so much, the whole bed shakes. If he doesn’t get on with it, I may go up in flames.

  But he keeps licking, suckling, playing with me. "You taste like peaches. Wonder what the rest of you tastes like?"

  My breath hitches.

  “May I?” He points to my groin.

  My heart pounds. For a second, I hesitate, before I give him a less than lover like response. “If you have to.”

  “If it’s not your thing, I won’t.”

  I’ve never allowed a man to go down on me. But him? Yeah. I want him to do this more than my next breath. “It’s okay.”

  “Only okay?” His brow scrunches.

  “I’ve never had a man—” The unspoken words hang in the air between us. Embarrassed to admit such a thing, I twist away from him.

  He cups my chin, turns my head. His troubled gaze seeks mine. “Why not?”

  I shrug. “Too intimate.” And a fear of losing control.

  “We don’t have to. If you’d rather not.” He’s so earnest, so damned polite.

  I grab his hand, push it between my legs. “I want you to, Storm. Don’t make me beg.”


  He grins, like I’ve handed him the key to the candy store. “I’ll be the first to learn your taste.”

  “I guess.”

  He shucks off my jeans. My thong is toast once more. The man has serious issues with underwear. And again he stops to take me in. “I love your body.”

  “You do?” I’m confused. He only dates models and actresses, all of whom are rail thin. Something I’m not.

  “Yes.” His irises glow crystal bright. “You’re all curves.” He leans in to nip my waist, rasp his tongue over a hip. When he brushes that rough thumb over my sensitive clit, I arch, almost coming off the bed.

  “Easy, love.” He lays a strong hand over my trembling belly. “We have all night.”

  His tongue finds my pearl, flicks me. All warm breath, he suckles, gently at first, more insistently when I moan. Oh, sweet God in heaven. Beneath his clever tongue, I writhe, clench my hands on the sheet while I fight the urge to beg for more.

  “You’re beautiful here too, Elizabeth. Such a pink and pretty pussy.” He slips a finger into my sheath. “So tight. How long has it been?”

  “A while.” I roll my hips, seeking more of the same.

  He stops what he’s doing to stare at me. “How long, Elizabeth?”

  I don’t want to tell him, but I sense he won’t go on until I do. “Three years.”

  His gaze grows confused. “Why?”

  “School, work.” I’m not giving him more of an answer than that. My hands trail to his ass and squeeze. “Now, go on.”

  He slides another finger into me, and a third and thrusts, gently, as if he’s afraid of hurting me.

  Damn it. That’s not what I want. “Harder.” I demand. “Faster.”

  Pleasure glows deep in his eyes. When he complies, my panting echoes in the room. I bite my lip to keep from begging him.

  While I thrash mindlessly on the bed and my blood pounds through my veins, he keeps up the relentless pace. He’s enjoying doing this to me. My quaking reaches epic proportions. My core tightens up. And a fever rises in me, unlike anything I’ve known before. I’m one second away from coming when he twists his fingers and hits an erotic spot. I convulse in the most intense climax of my life.

  While I’m still shaking and twitching, his hands go to his boxers. He tosses them to the side and his hard, thick cock rises high and proud. The purple head weeps, eager for my pussy, eager for the pleasure it will wrench from me. He grabs one of the condom packets, rips it with his teeth. Boneless, I watch while he slips it over his erection.

  His fingers graze my thighs, his mouth follows before he spreads me wide. Once more he teases my folds apart, finds my clit again, leans down to suckle me.

  Again? “Storm, I don’t know if I can—”

  “You will.”

  He’s right. The excitement builds once more when he circles my pearl with his tongue and laps up every drop. Shameless, I wrap my hand around his head and grind into his greedy mouth. Everything tightens in me, and I gasp short, desperate breaths. I can’t believe I’m coming again. He spears me with his tongue and I come apart, flailing on the bed, screaming his name.

  I’m still lost in the mindless aftermath, when he clutches my hips, presses that massive erection against my opening.

  “Look at me.” He orders.

  Slowly, my gaze engages his.

  “I’m going to fuck you like you’ve never been fucked before.”

  I don’t doubt him for a second.

  He fills me slowly. It bites, his first penetration. He’s too thick, too big, too hard. I grip his shoulders to keep from twitching away, and when he retreats and thrusts a little deeper, I clamp my lip to still a scream.

  “Sorry, love.” He drops a kiss on my shoulder as he maintains that relentless rhythm.

  “’S okay.”

  “No, it’s not. You’re just so fucking tight.” He presses a thumb against my clit. My whole body spasms and I moan. He keeps up that persistent motion against my nub while he slides deeper and deeper, inch by inch. Suddenly, his hand abandons my clit. I’m momentarily bereft until he curls his hand around mine and brings it back to my pulsing pearl. “Touch yourself.”

  It’s not like I’ve never done it before. I flick my clit and my body clenches hard around his cock.

  Clutching my hip, he jerks. “Bloody hell.”

  I smile, glad I got some of my own back.

  Resuming his lazy rhythm, he continues the push and pull, each surge more powerful than the last. And wondrously, my body adjusts to him. When he hits rock bottom, he’s just this side of pain.

  He pulls out almost to the very tip of him, and I protest. “Don’t leave.”

  “Never.” He lunges all the way and something zings. Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod. I seek the right word for the way I feel but it eludes me, lost in the fucking madness. Right now I’d do anything this man asked of me.

  Still I retain enough presence of mind to fight back. On his next surge, I shift my hips forward and push.

  His careful rhythm becomes a thing of the past. He pounds in and out, hard, punishing strokes. A freight train of an orgasm is bearing down on me, stronger than the ones before. I can’t stop it. All I can do is hang onto him. When it hits, I bow off the bed.

  He thrusts hard one last time, shudders and comes in one massive stream. “Fuck!” He shudders one last time before collapsing on me. I don’t mind. I love the heaviness, the musky scent of him. He curls around me and breathes one word. “Elizabeth,” making it sound like a prayer.

  We remain motionless while our hearts thump away and I try hard to catch my breath. His cock twitches inside me, setting me off again. Orgasms I understand, but no one—ever—has given me aftershocks.

  He presses a soft kiss against my lips. When he slowly draws out, little sparklers go off inside of me. No doubt about it. The man is a sex god.

  “Loo?” he asks.

  I point to the door that leads to my bathroom. He rises, and I swivel my head to catch his hard ass before it disappears from view. I’m too exhausted to do anything but lay there. If the place catches on fire, I doubt I’d have the energy to rise.

  A minute later, he’s back with a glass of water. I gulp it down, swallow every drop. He crawls into bed, folds me into his arms. Eventually, our pulses find a saner rhythm.

  During past encounters, five minutes after I was done, I climbed out of bed, got dressed and left. And yet with him, I don’t say anything, don’t push him away, lost as I am in the aftermath.

  He trails a hand up my side, lifts my mane and blows a cooling breath on my neck. “I love your hair.”

  The bane of my existence? “I can’t do much with it.”

  “You try so hard to tame it, but in the end it does what it wants.” He brushes a strand of hair from my lips, kisses me. “I’d love to take you to dinner sometime this week.”

  In a flash, the afterglow dissipates, vanished by his words. “Don’t make plans beyond tonight. I told you. Only one night.”

  “What if I want more?”

  Why is he doing this? I warned him how it would be. Turning my back to him, I sit up. “You can have any woman you want, Storm. You won’t be hurting for companionship while you’re in town this week.” I’ve seen the looks sent his way by some of the women who comprise the negotiating teams, never mind the three chippies from the bar.

  He sits up as well, drops a kiss on my shoulder, strokes my arm. “I don’t want another woman. I want you.”

  I hitch my shoulder to forestall another brush of his lips against my skin. Sex is one thing. Something beyond that? No. “Why? I’m not your type.”

  “Who’s my type?”

  “Models, actresses.”

  “Those women, most of them, go out with me to be seen on my arm. They don’t mean a thing to me. They’re a distraction. A way to pass the time.” His hand skims down my back like I’m something precious to him. “But you’re more than that.”

  “What am I then?” I doubt the truth of h
is words.

  “Someone special. I want to know you better. I want to spend time with you this week.”

  An easy lay, in other words. Can’t blame him. Not really. During the day he needs to concentrate on the deal. At night, he can have the sure thing—me. “Sorry. That’s not going to work.”

  “Maybe we can figure out a way—”

  “No, we can’t. Tonight. That’s all you get.”

  I can see he isn’t convinced, but he wisely chooses not to argue further. “Well, then, let’s make the most of it. Ready for round two?”

  I nod, and he reaches for another condom. Now that he knows what I like, how I like to be touched, he takes even longer with me, caressing me until I tremble with urgent passion. I don’t hurry him this time. But let him do what he will. Only then do I realize the true danger of him. With his soft kisses and tender words, I could learn to crave this man.

  Chapter 7

  ______________

  STRIDENT VOICES WAKE ME from the soundest sleep I’ve had in weeks.

  “Who the fuck are you?”

  “Elizabeth’s guest. Who the hell are you?”

  “Casey Jackson, her roommate.”

  Shit! I throw on the closest thing, Storm’s shirt, and tear down the stairs and into the kitchen where Casey and Storm stand, squaring off against each other. Storm in his boxer briefs, baseball bat in hand, ready to take a swing at Casey who’s wielding his biggest carving knife in his hand.

  “Who the hell is this fool, Lizzie?”

  “Your flatmate’s a bloke?”

  Why didn’t I tell Storm my roommate’s a guy? But I can’t think about that now. I need to get this situation under control. Fast. Before somebody gets hurt. “What’s going on?”

  “I came down to get my mobile from my jacket and caught this person slipping into the house. Thought he was breaking in, so I grabbed the nearest thing—”

  “—my Louisville Slugger.” Casey growls.

  Now we’re in for it. Storm put his hands on Casey’s most cherished sports memorabilia, his Mickey Mantle-signed bat. Even I’m not allowed to touch the damn thing. Well, I’m about to touch it now. “Calm down. Both of you. Storm, give me the bat.” I demand, sticking out my hand.