Riding the Storm (47 page)

good
job.

When
she
heard
him
groan
her
name,
the
sound
forced

from
deep
within
his
throat,
she
lifted
her
head,
but

continued
to
let
her
hand
clutch
him,
caress
him,
stroke
him.
“Umm?”
she
responded
as
she
moved
her
mouth
upward
to
take
a
tiny
bite
of
his
neck,
branding
him.

“You’ve
pushed
me
too
far,
Jayla,”
Storm
growled,
as
the

need
within
him
exploded.
With
one
quick
flick
of
his
wrist,
he
tumbled
her
backward,
ignoring
her
squeal
of
surprise.
But
she
didn’t
resist
and
instead
of
moving
from
him,
she

moved
to
him,
reaching
up
and
looping
her
arms
around
his
neck
as
he
placed
his
body
over
hers,
pressing
his
erection
against
the
heat
of
her
feminine
core.

“Gotta
get
inside,”
he
whispered
brokenly
as
his
hand

clutched
her
waist,
his
thighs
held
hers
in
place.
Taking
her
arms
from
around
his
neck,
he
captured
her
wrists
and

placed
them
above
her
head.
He
looked
down
at
her,
met
her
gaze
at
the
same
time
he
pushed
himself
inside
of
her.

He
gasped.
The
pleasure
of
being
inside
of
her
was
almost
too
much.
He
tipped
his
head
back
and
roared
an

animalistic
sound
that
mirrored
the
raging
need
within
him.
Then
he
began
moving,
in
and
out,
straining
his
muscles,

flexing
his
pelvis,
rolling
his
hips
while
holding
her
in
a
firm
grip,
rocking
her
world,
just
mere
seconds
away
from

tumbling
his
own.

The
bed
started
to
shake
and
the
windows
seemed
to

rattle,
but
the
only
storm
that
was
raging
out
of
control
was
him,
pelting
down
torrents
of
pleasure
instead
of
sheets
of
rain.
He
didn’t
flinch
when
he
felt
her
fingernails
dig
deeper
into
her
flesh,
but
he
did
groan
when
he
felt
her
inner

muscles
squeeze
him,
clench
him,
milk
him.
The
woman

was
becoming
a
pro
at
knowing
just
what
it
took
to
splinter
his
mind
and
make
him
explode.
No
sooner
had
he
thought
the
word,
he
felt
her
body
do
just
that.

“Storm!”

And
while
she
toppled
over
into
oblivion,
he
continued
to
move
in
and
out,
claiming
her
as
his.

His.

The
thought
of
her
belonging
to
him,
and
only
to
him,

pushed
him
over
the
edge
in
a
way
he
had
never
been

pushed
before.
He
thrust
deep
into
her
body,
burying

himself
to
the
hilt,
as
his
own
release
claimed
him,
ripped
into
him—not
once,
not
twice,
not
even
three
times.
The
ongoing
sensations
that
were
taking
over
his
body
were
more
than
he
could
stand.

“Jayla!”

And
she
was
right
there
with
him,
lifting
her
hips
off
the
bed,
opening
wider
for
him,
moving
with
him,
as
they
drove
each

other
higher
and
higher
on
waves
of
excruciating
pleasure.

The
first
light
of
dawn
began
slipping
into
the
windows,
fanning
across
the
two
naked
bodies
in
bed.
Jayla
slowly
awoke
and
took
a
long,
deep
breath
of
Storm
and
the

lingering
scent
of
their
lovemaking.

It
was
there,
in
the
air,
the
scent
of
her,
of
them—raw,

primitive—the
aftermath
of
her
crying
out
in
ecstasy,

clutching
his
shoulders,
pushing
up
her
hips
while
he
drove
relentlessly
into
her,
going
as
far
as
he
could
go,
then

tumbling
them
both
over
the
edge
as
their
releases
came
simultaneously.

She
closed
her
eyes
as
panic
seized
her.
What
on
earth
had
she
done?
All
she
had
to
do
was
open
her
eyes
and
glance
over
at
Storm
who
was
lying
on
his
side
facing
her,
still
sleeping
with
a
contented
look
on
his
face,
to
know

what
she
had
done.
What
she
needed
to
really
ask
herself
was
how
had
it
happened
and
why.

Storm
had
a
reputation
of
not
being
a
man
who
looked
up
a
woman
for
a
second
helping.
Once
an
affair
ended,
it
was
over.
If
that
was
the
case,
then
why
had
he
dropped
by?

What
was
there
about
her
that
had
made
him
come
back

for
more?

Jayla’s
features
slipped
into
a
frown.
Although
most
women