Page 23 of Between Passion and Revenge, Part One (The Griot Chronicles #1)

STORM

“ F uck, Storm ,” Shae moans, and the sound is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard. I’m licking into her greedy cunt, sucking on her clit and the sensation of her pussy gripping my fingers has my neglected dick leaking pre-cum.

It’s been more than a month, at this point, since I last fucked—which is wild in itself. There’s no moral reason for my new-found celibacy; no one seems important enough to steal my attention away from all the shit happening in my life.

Well, no one except Shae. I’m so fucking glad I waited for Shae.

Her hands plunge into my hair, and she tugs.

“Please,” she whimpers. “Please fuck me. Please come inside me.”

Her pleas are the sweetest song.

I kiss a trail along her flesh, tonguing her belly button, suctioning one perfect nipple into my mouth. When we’re face to face, her eyes are glassy, slightly unfocused.

“Please, Storm.” The words are a prayer.

My cock drips as I rub against her lower lips, and I’m resisting every instinct to rut into her like an animal.

But then she runs her hand down my ribs and across my hips until she grasps my dick in her delicate palm. I shudder when she presses me there.

Right there—at her opening.

“I need you inside me now, baby,” she whispers against my lips. And when I claim her mouth, I claim her body, surging into her on a smooth thrust. The sensation overwhelms all my senses as her walls clamp onto me, squeezing.

Not letting me go.

“Fuck, you’re tight, Sweetness,” I grind out.

“I’m sorry,” spills from her lips, and I release a feral growl. That’s the only way to describe it.

“What did I tell you about your ‘sorrys,’ Sweetness?” I hold her gaze for one heartbeat before withdrawing nearly to the tip and pounding into her so hard she shifts up the bed, and her tits bounce with the force.

“Storm, Storm, Storm…” She takes everything I have to give her—every inch of my dick, every corner of my soul.

“You’re mine, Shae,” I rasp, snapping my hips into hers as if I could merge our bodies into one. “You’re mine .”

“I’m yours,” she confirms, her words broken. And then she squeezes around me, coming hard on my dick, and it’s game over because?—

My eyes snap open, and I’m ashamed to say my hand is already wrapped around my hard-on, squeezing just beneath the head as I spurt hard against my bedsheets like a teenager.

My cold bed sheets. Where I’m alone and there’s certainly no Shae present.

“ Fuuuuuck,” I groan, stroking angrily to wring out my orgasm. Since I’m already diving down the road of depravity, I might as well get the best nut out of it possible.

My heart hammers against my chest as I slow my movements in time to the weakening contractions of my dick, stroking, stroking, until there’s nothing left in me.

So I’ve reached the wet dream stage of obsession.

My chuckle falls flat in the empty room.

I wipe my hands on my already dirty sheets and flop back on my pillows. And I smile.

It’s Sunday. At least I get to see Shae today.

I’m proud of myself for not abducting her from the hospital and hiding her away in my apartment. Instead, I’m giving her space, allowing her to set the pace of this thing brewing between us.

Our relationship.

I respect her—her brain, her body, her agency. She’s no one to fuck with, and she doesn’t need me to fight her battles, but that doesn’t mean I won’t watch over her from afar.

That doesn’t mean I won’t do what’s necessary to keep her safe.

I’ll make sure Shae is happy and protected, even if it turns out she’ll never come to me.

Even if that means killing someone who would do her harm.

She’ll come around. I know she will. I’m not the only one feeling this.

I stand from my bed, grateful I sleep naked and don’t have to worry about stripping sticky boxers from my body. Moving to the bathroom, I start up the shower and wash my hands.

Keeping my eyes fixed on the faucet, I avoid my reflection in the mirror.

I’m a murderer now.

I close my eyes and grip the quartz countertop, the water still spiraling down the drain. I expect to feel a lot more from what I did Thursday night. I anticipate some surge of guilt over taking a life and search for a sense of morality that would demand I turn myself in and confess my crimes.

But what I should feel isn’t there. I feel nothing about the fact I killed a man because that man would have hurt Shae if I hadn’t been there. He would likely have done worse.

And for him even thinking of it, he deserved to die.

So yes. I’m a murderer. But that’s just a matter of fact. Nothing more.

And for Shae? I’d do it again in a goddamn heartbeat.

I turn off the taps and lift my head, looking in the mirror.

Do I seem different? Can anyone see me and tell something happened that fateful night at Velour?

I turn left, then right.

There’s no difference.

No difference except everything is clear now. Shae Rivers is mine: my obsession, my desire.

Mine.

Later, I’ll evaluate why I’m so damn drawn to her…why I’m so fixated with everything Shae Rivers. But right now, I’m following my instincts.

And if I’m really fucking honest, I’m following my heart.

I shower quickly to wash off the sweat and cum, and step back into my bedroom with a towel wrapped around my waist.

A notification flashes on my cell, and I pick it up with a weird feeling sitting in my chest.

It’s okay if you get tied up today and can’t make it.

The corner of my mouth lifts.

Is that your way of uninviting me?

I push send and stare at my screen as text bubbles appear and disappear.

Not at all!

I just didn’t want you to feel obligated.

Not that you feel anything in particular about dinner.

More text bubbles appear and disappear before she stops typing altogether for a full minute.

I want to be there, Shae.

More bubbles, more silence, and then:

Okay.

Pure energy surges through me when I put my phone down and strip my bed after I’m dressed.

My phone beeps again, and something in my chest jumps as I pick it back up, ready to go back and forth with Shae.

The smile falls off my face when I see Bambi’s name instead.

Are you ignoring me?

I’m immediately irritated. I wasn’t so far gone that night not to realize the emotions swimming in Bambi’s eyes as she stared up at me. She’s usually always kept her crush in check—never crossing that boundary.

But lately, it seems like she’s holding onto me tighter than ever.

In the past, I’d tolerate her clinginess. After all, what my brother did to her is beyond fucked up, and even so, when he died, I think a part of Bambi died along with him.

It’s fucked up to say, but I feel responsible for Bambi, yet for the first time I can think of, I want to release and be released from that bond.

My phone pings again.

I’m sorry. It’s just a lot is happening over here and I could use a friend.

Fuck. Well, when she says it like that, what the fuck am I supposed to do?

I release a prolonged growl and think of how to respond, coming up blank. I finally land on:

I’ll hit you up later today.

There. That’ll do.

My phone lands on my bedside table with a muted clack.

I’m turning the dials to “Bulky Bedding” when the sound of my front door clicking shut has me on full alert.

I don’t want to call out in case it’s an intruder, so I move silently from the laundry room back to my bedroom. I ease open the door with my back facing my bed, and shout when I see Riale sitting on my bare mattress.

“Riale, what the fuck are you doing in my apartment?” I swipe a hand down the side of my face, mostly angry he managed to come into my apartment and slip past me.

He pats the bare mattress. “Have an accident?” His smile mocks me, so I shoot him the finger.

“Again, why are you here, Riale?” For a moment, I dread the idea that maybe someone found out, or someone’s asking around about the guy.

Jaxon Samuels. Senior investment banker at Riddington Bank.

He might be missed.

If he is, we’ll fix it. Money fixes everything.

The thought brings peace and disgust.

“Your father is here,” he says, his voice dropping low and all signs of humor fading from his face.

Fuck.

“As expected,” I drawl, rolling my eyes and keeping my voice as low as Riale’s. Of course, I’d expected my father to show up at some point, and I’m a little surprised it’s taken him more than a day to make contact.

“What’s his mood like?” I murmur to Riale, and he grimaces.

“Storm.”

My father doesn’t have to yell, despite being in the other room—the kitchen, if I had to guess from the direction of his voice. Still, his displeasure is unmistakable.

It’s time to face the music.

I leave the door open, and predictably, Riale follows.

When I enter the kitchen, my father sits at the island with his phone in his hand. Dad flicks through several screens quickly, ignoring me when I cross the room and pull an energy drink from the fridge.

Taking a long pull and draining half of my Red Bull, I stare at my father while he taps away at the keyboard, a severe frown on his face and the skin between his eyebrows tensing.

He pauses for a second, still staring at the screen, and I take the moment to speak.

“Good morning, Pops.”

Dad continues to stare at the screen unblinking, as if I haven’t said anything, but with a quick jerk, he reaches into his pocket and tosses the keys to my Porsche on the marble between us.

I palm the fob, letting it anchor me and take another long drink.

“Well,” Dad says, leaning back and dropping his phone on the counter. “You don’t have to worry about your little mishap. Everything’s taken care of. You don’t have to be concerned about that coming back around.”

He places his hands in a steeple beneath his chin, leaning to rest his elbows on the white surface. I hum in response and take stock of my space.

My apartment is neat but sparse. I’m only here to sleep, study, and sometimes eat. Not that I’m a gourmand. My culinary repertoire consists of take-out or microwave meals. Thank God for Marcella, Dad’s chef. Every week, she drops off frozen meals that I only have to pop in the oven.

“That’s good to know,” I reply coolly, then raise the can to my mouth. I let the fizzy liquid sit on my tongue for a moment before swallowing, and the stretch causes the shallow cut at my side to tug and burn. “Thank you. Both of you.”

I put the drink back on the countertop and point my attention to my father first, then to Riale, who leans against the wall in silence.

“Now,” Dad says, his voice calm, “do you want to tell me what the fuck actually happened?”

The temperature in the room seems to drop several degrees, and Riale and I share a look.

“I walked in on an attempted rape. Someone I know. So he had to be stopped.”

I pinch my lips together, biting back the words I want to say, that I didn’t intend to kill him.

But fuck if it felt good to do so.

You’re a fucked-up mess, Sandoval.

Dad hums, nodding once as he studies me, then he releases a sigh that seems to come from his toes.

“I’m proud of you, son.”

My eyebrows go to my hairline because this is not what I was expecting him to say. I know my father is a little bent—he’d have to be to have covered up the mess Rainn caused with Bambi. But for him to say he’s proud of me?

I don’t look at Riale this time.

“Thank you,” I reply, fighting to keep my voice even.

“You did the right thing. Some people just aren’t fit to be on this planet,” he says, still keeping a bored look on his face. His phone beeps, and he flicks his eyes down to the screen, reading the message, before looking back at me.

“However,” he says with another one of those soul-deep sighs, “you’ve caused fuck-all of a mess, son.”

His expression cracks then—only for a moment. But in that second, I see something that has me deeply concerned.

He looks…afraid.

“What do you need me to do, Dad?” The words come out through cold lips.

Dad’s phone pings again, and he looks sick when he looks down at the screen. This time, he picks it up and seems to contemplate his response before tapping a few letters on the screen.

“I don’t need you to do anything, Storm,” he says once the message sound goes off in a woosh. “Just…stay focused on the semester. You’ll be done soon, and things will be easier.”

I don’t know what he means by that at all.

“Anyway, I’m going to be out of town for a week or two. Headed to the Caribbean,” he says, standing and putting his phone in his jacket pocket. “I might be hard to get a hold of, but Riale will be here for you.”

He doesn’t look at me; instead, he moves toward the front door, about to leave my apartment without saying goodbye.

“Dad, wait.” I rush behind him, putting my hand on his shoulder. This close, I discover the gray hairs that were sparse the last time I saw him are beginning to take over his temples.

“Tell me what’s going on,” I say when he turns to face me. And there he is: the hardened, aloof business shark who has amassed billions for himself and his clients. The man who didn’t shed a tear at his son’s funeral, the man who has been more of a ghost in my life than anything.

“No, Storm,” he snarls, his voice frigid. He stands straight, not a muscle moving. I feel like a child again, standing in front of him after getting a bad grade at St.Regis Prep.

I want to press him, but I know it won’t do me any good.

“Fine,” I bite out and take a step back. “See you later.”

Before I can go far, my father surprises the fuck out of me when he grabs my shoulder and pulls me into a tight hug.

I can’t remember the last time my dad hugged me, and the fact he’s doing it now is more than confusing; it’s bewildering.

Still, a small part of me—the part of me that craves his approval, attention, and love, holds on to this embrace.

Who knows when I’ll get one from him again.

“Stay safe, stay focused,” he grinds out close to my ear.

With a pat on the back, he releases me, squeezes the back of my neck while peering into my eyes, then departs.

Just like that, my father is gone…and I’m left staring at the other side of the door.