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Storm.
“Ray! Where are you?” He bursts into the long hall, turns left, then right, his eyes taking in the place. “Ray.”
I push off the wall, and he’s there in two strides, grabbing me in his arms and crushing me to his chest.
“Fuck, I thought you left. I thought they came for you.” He’s squeezing the air out of me, and it shouldn’t feel so good but it does—his hold, his concern. “I thought you were gone.”
“I’m fine.” I glance at the window, but I can’t see anybody. “Storm…”
“I went out running and when I came back I couldn’t find you. I was out of my fucking mind and I—”
“Storm, there was someone outside.”
“What?” He swings me around so that I’m behind him. “Who?”
“I don’t know. A gardener. I think.”
He’s silent for a beat, then, “Can’t see anybody. Did he see you?”
“I don’t think so.”
Storm’s back relaxes as he turns toward me, and even in the dimness, I can see the flash of his grin. “Okay then. How about watching a movie?”
***
We lounge in a TV room with a huge flat screen, watching Spiderman movies, eating microwaved popcorn and drinking beer Storm dug out of the enormous freezer I saw in one of the storerooms. Turns out he’s stocked the pantry with more than a couple of months’ worth of food.
I like that. That’s something I would’ve done if I expected to hole up in one place for some time. I toast him silently with my beer bottle.
“What?” He’s chewing on some popcorn, slumped back on the sofa cushions. He’s changed into a pair of dry shorts, and his hair hangs in his face. He pushes it back with one hand, peeking sideways at me.
“You’re a surprise, Mr. Storm.”
“Because I stock up on microwave popcorn?” He licks his lips and my mouth waters. “And beer?”
“Because you stocked up enough popcorn and beer to last you a year.”
He snickers. “Best movie food.”
“You watch up lots of movies down here?”
“I used to. Before you showed up.” He puts the beer and popcorn on the table, and leans toward me and slings an arm around my shoulders. “Then I got distracted.”
That makes two of us. “You spent a whole month here on your own?”
“Uh-huh. Two actually.”
“Sounds kinda lonely.”
He shrugs, long, dark lashes brushing his cheekbones. “It was.”
Then his mouth is on mine, and the sounds from the movie fade away. He tastes of salt and butter, his lips soft and his arm dragging me closer until I’m almost in his lap. He licks at the seam of my mouth, his hand sliding up, tangling in my hair, and when I gasp, his tongue pushes inside.
Sparks run over my skin. I moan as our tongues rub together and run my hands over his naked chest, over his sides, over the dark lines of his ink.
In a blink, he’s got me on my back. He grabs my wrists and pins them over my head, holding them there one-handedly. I’ve never seen his eyes go so dark. Need twists inside me, sharp and hot. I try to buck my hips, to reach him, but I can’t move, trapped by his weight.
“Fuck,” he whispers, one side of that long mouth curving up. “Look at you.”
