Eye of the Storms (Eye of the Storms #1) Read Online Free Page B

With no bra to hinder, his lips, tongue and teeth generously lingered with tickling swirls and laps of liquid fire. Tugs and nips that tightened my grip– each pulling at some current connected to the fires flaming my innermost core, and pulling stifled moans past my lips.
    This sensory overload came to a gradual end, his thumb brushing one of the damp tips, then my moist lips. His head leaned to mine as he stared into my eyes. His look was heated but with each passing second, he seemed to be banking the embers. I felt a crushing weight. Not the physical one I craved of his body against mine, but a mentally crushing letdown when I saw the resignation in his look.
    “Don’t be mad…” The breath of his whisper brushed my face.
    Mad?
Was there a word for this ugly spectrum of emotions suddenly churning and charring my insides? I wanted to scream in frustration and cry in shame. He was famous. I was a regular person— not a hot groupie. Had I really thought someone like him would waste even a quickie on me?
    Maybe it wasn’t me.
I fought my old self-esteem issues.
He did have a show in two hours… Sports players didn’t have sex right before the game, right? Maybe rock stars didn’t expend the energy right before a show… Idiot. He's some sort of rock star, he likely has a groupie getting him off during the show…
    Extracting an electronic tablet from a drawer just beyond us, he laid it on the counter top. Prideful, I blinked away the ache behind my eyelids to peer as he prompted my attention to the paragraphs on the screen. My peripheral vision perceived a large box of foil packets in the same drawer.
    “I have to do this…” His halting explanation seemed regretful. “And there's no right time or way… Believe me…”
    Somehow, my senses and my mind calmed enough to read, and afterward, I raised my eyes, expecting hidden cameramen announcing some sort of comic reality show to pop out of one of the many paneled doors. Most likely, my expression was comical enough for ratings, but Jack’s return look was earnest and even slightly pleading.
    A minute later, I used a stylus pen and scrawled my name and date into a blank line concurring in writing that I was a willing participant of this passionate encounter and that I wouldn’t speak of it to anyone. I even, as per his instruction, added my thumbprint. Maybe I should have felt offended, but more eminent was the previous pact of his lips, tongue, and touch– not legal jargon on a document. Besides, the look of relief on his face—as if he had worried I might stab him with the stylus and leave—mollified me in a big way.
    Shoving the device in the drawer, he turned back to me, his eyes burning into mine as his lips took possession of mine. His hands curved to my waist, easing me down to the floor. I felt the glide of my shorts down my legs, and automatically stepped from them. Our kiss became separated as he pushed at his jeans, and I took that opportunity to rid my feet of socks and shoes. Straightening, I found his eyes skimming over me, and I was glad I’d listened to Olivia and worn the lingerie from the back corner of my drawer. Standing before him, wearing only a pair of red G-string underwear, I’d never felt sexier.
    And that was good. Because I’d never seen any man as sexy as Jack. He was just stepping from his jeans, and with a little kick, he sent them to the side. My breath came in short pants as I took in once more all that had spellbound me since first laying eyes on him. The shiny, shaggy hair falling over broad shoulders, inked triceps, biceps, forearms—when had I ever thought a man’s forearms were sexy? Yet Jack’s were. Long fingers. Abs tapering into a now bare waist, lean strong hipbones, and between them…
    Holy fuckin' shit…
    I could feel the short hitches of my breath as I admired, and at the same time, craved every inch.
Could I take every inch?
That remained to be seen, but I’d die a happy woman trying. Briefly, my eyes