8. STORM

“Storm…” Nick begins, but I place a finger against his lips.

“Shhh,” I soothe. “I’m not doing anything I don’t want to do.”

I rise from my chair and slide over to his. My stomach is in knots – I haven’t done anything like this since I was with Brian Sorensen in high school, and even then it was only because it was the thing teenage couples were expected to do. It was about fitting in, being normal, like all the other kids.

Now, none of this is even remotely close to normal, and I don’t care.

“But…” he breathes.

“No buts.”

I can read his mind: he thinks I feel obligated to do this in return for everything he’s done for me. The ironic thing is that’s exactly what Arkady did expect from me – hell, what he demanded from me. And it was the last thing on earth I wanted to do with him.

Nick hasn’t asked for anything in return, and that’s why I want this so much. I have no idea what the hell I’m doing, but I know that I want to do it. That I want to touch him, feel his skin against mine. To let him know how safe I feel with him. How cared for.

The cherry on top is that he’s so fucking hot. That jet-black hair. Those smoky, smoldering eyes. That deadly body that looks more like it was chiseled by a sculptor than molded in a gym. Even if we’d only passed on the street instead of everything else that’s happened between us, I would have stopped and dropped my sunglasses to get a better look. He has to have noticed me staring at him at least half a dozen times since I’ve been here.

I straddle him on the chair and wrap my arms around his thick neck, laying another slow, wet kiss on his lips. This time he responds more strongly and clasps his own powerful arms around my torso, so that my breasts are mashed against his heaving chest.

My heart is hammering inside me, and the delicious, warm ache between my legs is undeniable. There’s no way I could ignore the steel hardness of his shaft through the thin lycra of my yoga pants. My hips respond on their own, independent of my conscious mind, grinding back and forth against him.

“Storm,” he sighs as his lips break away from mine and find the curve of my throat. His tongue is fire against the delicate skin there, making me clutch him even closer.

“Nikolai,” I whisper in his ear. “That’s sooo good.”

A moment later I feel his hands under my shirt, deftly unhooking my bra. His palms are warm and rough as he slides them up and over my breasts, making my already stiff nipples ache even more. Hands that can splinter wood with their powerful strikes roam across my skin so gently that it makes me shiver.

Nick is the first person to ever touch me so intimately. The thought makes my hips grind even harder against his erection, sending an unstoppable thrill up through my core.

“Oh, God,” I pant in his ear as my orgasm starts. It’s already beyond my control. Then his hot tongue hits my nipple and I’m gripping his shoulders with my nails, bucking against him, riding the wave as it lifts me up, shuddering in ecstasy for the first time with a man.

And that man is Nick.

The electric current takes over my entire body, shaking me with undeniable passion until I’ve lost all control over myself. The world consists of nothing but Nick’s body and mine, together, linked in a way I’ve never known before. A way I never understood was possible.

For one brief, shining moment, my life is pure pleasure, and I savor every single last drop of it as I ride the wave until the very end.

As the sensation ebbs, I feel naked and embarrassed and sexy and connected, all at once. My chest is heaving against his, exhausted and exhilarated. His grip on me hasn’t eased one iota since we started, letting me know that everything is okay, that I’m safe with him, no matter what happens.

Our mouths meet again, more gently this time. Familiar now. A coda to the symphony of sensuality I just experienced.

“That was so…” I sigh. “So…”

“Intense,” he finishes for me, his breathing labored but steady. “For me, too.”

My eyes widen. “Did you…?”

“It’s – it’s been a long time,” he says with a sheepish grin. “Sorry.”

I grasp his neck and bury my face in his throat.

“It was my first with a man,” I whisper. “And it was incredible.”

He’s quiet for a few moments before saying: “How can that be? You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve met in years.”

I hug him fiercely. I know what he’s trying to say, and it’s so sweet it makes me want to just crawl inside his clothes and hold him like this forever.

“No questions,” I whisper. “Remember?”

He nods, his breathing somewhat under control again.

We stay like that for a long while – me still straddling him, our arms around each other, each face buried in the other’s neck.

“We should do something,” I suggest finally.

“I should – uh, clean up,” Nick says.

“Okay. While you do that, I’ll clean up supper. It’s the least I can do.”

I pout a bit as I slide off of him, then grip the edge of the table to steady myself. My legs are like the egg noodles in the stroganoff right now.

As he walks toward the doorway of the kitchen, I take his arm gently.

“We’re still good,” I say hopefully. “Right?”

His palm glides across my cheek a moment before his lips part mine for a final kiss, making my rubbery legs feel more like water.

“We’re more than good,” he says, touching his forehead to mine. “And we’re going to get even better, if we give it time.”

“Time,” I grin. “Absolutely.”

He smiles and strides into the hallway as I start searching the cabinets for Tupperware containers for our leftovers.

It takes me almost a full minute to realize I’m humming Chopin’s Prelude No. 15.