Chapter 45 A Good Girl

Chapter 45 A Good Girl

STORM'S P.O.V

Liberation. It was the thing I felt the most now that I had come to terms with the fact that he was more than what I knew of him, and yet, I wanted this. I felt liberated in the belief that this was not some coming together of bodies because I wanted to escape Marcus, or because reporters were hounding us, or because the celestial powers of his coronation had made it inevitable.

The raw desire that I felt, uninfluenced by circumstances or other people, was what made all of the difference.

My back hit the glass walls of the shower cubicle, just as his tongue traced the seam of my lips, demanding entrance and finding it in the exact same breath.

I almost broke in his arms, my hand looping around his neck, my fingers burying in the soft hairs at the nape of his neck.

I broke the kiss for a second, a long trail of saliva hanging between our lips for a moment before it severed, much like the inhibitions that had driven the rest of our kisses.

My eyes trailed below his face, to the tattoo on the side of his neck, the tattoo on his arm, the carefully curated pecs, the abs below. I leaned forward as he pressed my back on the glass, moving closer, till not even light could pass between this.

"I want this," I whispered, my chest heaving. "More than I have wanted anything else."

His fingers dug into my inner thighs, before smoothening over the place with gentle, toe circling caresses. He leaned up, taking my lips again, hungry, needy, building up to the high we both needed.

I wrapped my thighs tighter around his waist, chasing friction, chasing need. He laughed, that sultry, sensually evil laugh that sent heat blooming in all the wrong or right places, before pushing his hands up my inner thigh, dangerously close to the crease between my hips.

I shifted, his name leaving my lips as he broke the kiss, then ran his fingers down the sensitive skin on that crease, causing me to shudder, my mind immediately going blank.

Nothing else mattered more than the feel of him between my legs, his fingers running along my skin like he was discovering me for the first time, like he was mapping the intricate strokes of a painting that had survived everything.

He placed slow, open mouthed, hungry kisses down my neck, heat blooming with every trace of his lips, as he made his way down my neck, my collarbones, then down my chest, his tongue lapping around a single bud.

"Anders," I whispered, arching back into him, my fingers tightening in his hair, and pushing him a little more into my chest, as his tongue lapped around the sensitive aching bud slowly, his hand cupping the other one, pinching between his index and thumb, causing a string of curses to fall off my lips.

"Please," I whispered, pushing my hips forward. At this point, I wasn't sure what I was begging for.. probably everything. But I am feeling pretty greedy tonight.

He pushed me forward, till my legs left his waist and rested on his shoulders, till his hand extended upwards to cup my chest, till his tongue lapped slowly on the very lowest strip of skin below my navel. I found myself shivering, not from the water still pelting down on us. Not from the fact that I was completely bare, even though that was part of it.

He pushed me up more, holding me back against the glass, his fingers dipping low, between my thighs.

"Fuck, Anders, I..."

"Tell me to stop," he whispered, kissing his way up my inner thighs. "Tell me I am far too dangerous to mark you. Tell me you are scared I will hurt you."

He never stopped kissing my thighs, till his breath ghosted right at my core, till I could barely move without feeling him right where I wanted him.

"I want you to hurt me," I whispered, my voice breaking on moans that his fingers kept pulling out of me. "I want you to stop fucking respecting me. For tonight."

He gave a small laugh, then kissed me. Wet, open mouthed, tongue, just not against my own tongue, or the lips on my face.

"Fuck," I breathed, my heels digging into his shoulders, trying my best to hold on as his tongue lapped slowly against my folds, his fingers pushing past every barrier.

My head fell back on the glass, my hands raking in his hair, in my hair, as pleasure crested and wiped every other thought away.

Before I could blink, he was hovering above me in bed, the sheets underneath us wet from the shower, the sound of water still filling the room since neither of us had cared enough to turn the shower off.

His hand pressed down on my hip bone, keeping me steady, as he leaned back down between my thighs, pushing one leg up, my feet planted on the bed. Completely open, completely his for the taking.

He leaned up again, kissing me slow, letting me savour my taste on his tongue.

He leaned back a little, his eyes darting across both of mine, his fingers never pulling out of me.

"I will need you on your stomach, Storm," he whispered, leaving kisses on my earlobe, the sensitive edge of my neck, my shoulders. "I will need you to lift your hips for me."

I swallowed hard, nodding, my knees shaking and weak, yet knowing I wasn't stopping this for anything.

I turned, his fingers still in, a whimper leaving my lips as I felt his fingers twist inside of me. His hands gently held mine above my head, my face pushed into the pillow, his free hand wrapping around my hair, causing my arch to go even deeper.

He gave a small laugh as he kissed down my spine, down to the dimples beneath my back.

"Such a good girl," he whispered, parting my legs even further, then spent the rest of the night showing me just how rewarding it was to be his good girl.