Page 35 of Between Passion and Revenge, Part One (The Griot Chronicles #1)

“We still have so much to get to know about each other, Shae, but from the moment I met you, when you crashed into me in front of the Econ building, I’ve felt that warmth.

I felt that sense of connection and rightness and home.

And I’m so damn tired of denying it—denying myself.

By most people’s standards, I’m not a good person, Shae.

I don’t come from good people, either. But when I’m around you, all I want to be is good.

I feel good . And when I look at you…really see you…

I can’t help but feel like you feel that way, too. ”

He brushes some of my hair behind my ear, then finally stops touching me.

Damn him for making me like this.

His declaration of not being a good person feels false in a place deep inside me. Maybe it’s my spirit.

But…he’s right. I do feel it. I haven’t been able to name it until he’d laid his cards out on the table, but as he says the words….

What’s the harm in admitting the truth to myself?

Just then, the sight of Daddy’s disapproving face flashes in my mind, and it’s like hitting a brick wall.

Oh. There’s that—my entire life that hinges on my ability to focus and follow the plans laid before me.

Plans that, unfortunately, don’t have room for the all-consuming hurricane that is Storm Alexander Sandoval.

Something that feels like dread settles in my stomach, making my guts clench.

“Storm—”

“I want you to think about what I’ve said, Shae. Don’t give me an answer now, because I’ve just laid a whole helluva lot at your feet and it’s gonna take time to process.”

I suck in a breath, thinking really hard about inhaling and exhaling because my body seems to have forgotten how to do that.

“I want you to be sure about us, baby, because this isn’t a decision that can be rushed on your end. I know you’re scared, but if you think on it and decide you want to walk away, I’ll honor that decision. But I hope you’ll listen to your heart and let us be what we’re meant to be.”

He reaches out again, and this time, I realize with great mortification that I’m crying.

“Don’t cry, Sweetness,” he murmurs, wiping away my tears with his thumb.

Everything feels like so much, like I’m spinning in a tornado, and everything, all my responsibilities and goals are swirling around me, waiting for me to catch them.

Waiting for me to keep them, and myself, safe.

But in the cacophony, nothing, and I mean nothing, makes any damn sense.

Nothing except Storm.

When our lips touch, it takes me a second to realize I’m the one who jumped on him. Crawling onto his lap, I straddle him, mentally damning the thick tights I wear and hiking my long skirt up to my waist to get as close to him as possible.

I register the feeling of his broad hands on my hips as he groans, and I grind down on him, feeling a near delirious wave of excitement and desire and want, fucking want , as I feel his hard length pressing against my heat.

“Storm,” I whimper, breaking the kiss as a shot of lust shoots an arrow to my clit when he pushes up, rocking harder into me, and clutching my ass in both hands.

“Fuck, Shae,” he says, panting as I lean into him more, my hands somehow finding their way beneath his shirt.

I count the ridges of his abs, lightly scraping my fingernails up and down his chest and reveling in the purely masculine growl that comes from somewhere deep inside him.

“I’m trying to be good, baby, but you’re making it hard. ”

Hmm, hard.

“Girl, you’re trying to kill me,” he says, rocking his hips up again. “Yeah, hard.”

I must have said that out loud.

“I just want….”

I know what I want. I want him. I want this. I want the reality he described when talking about his best friend’s parents and what he craves in his life.

It’s so real I can almost touch it, taste it.

“Touch me, Storm,” I whisper, diving in for another kiss. He freezes, and I take his hands and put one on my breast and, with a wantonness that is completely foreign, I put another beneath the waistband of my tights, over the soaked crotch of my panties. “Touch me.”

He groans again, but it’s like something snaps and next thing I know, the hand that was on my breast is now behind my neck, and he squeezes, directing me to look him dead in the eyes.

“You want me to touch you, Sweetness?”

I moan again as his fingers begin a slow rub over the hot button separated by plain cotton.

“Yes, Storm. Please,” I whisper.

“Are you mine, Shae?” His words are just as low, but I can’t think, I can barely breathe as I rock into his palm, seeking more, more….

“Storm, please,” I cry, and I allow the wall to fall as I look into his eyes, trying to communicate all the things, all the conflicted thoughts jumbled in my brain.

And because we’re whatever we are, he understands what I’m trying to say.

“Okay, baby,” he says, his voice calm, even though his heart races beneath my palm, and lust dilates his pupils.

“I can make you feel good, Shae. Is that what you want?”

I nod. I think if I don’t come soon, like, in the next ten minutes, I might actually have a heart attack and die.

He grins a bit.

“Okay, baby.”

Before I can ride his fingers to completion, he flips me on my back, settling me on the couch to face him with my legs spread.

“Storm?” I suck in a breath that turns to a bitten-off whimper when his hands go to the sides of my tights, hooking my panties along for the ride.

“Don’t worry, Shae. You’ll get your orgasm, but we’re going to do it this way.” Then, with a slowness that feels criminal, he pulls the fabric down my legs and off my body.

Chest heaving, my eyes bulge when he spreads my legs wider, putting one limb on the back of the sofa and the other off the couch cushion, anchored to the floor.

“Touch yourself, Shae.” His voice is muted, but it’s like the vibrations take up the space and land in my neglected cooch.

“What?” I reply. “You want me to?—”

“Touch yourself, Sweetness. I want to see you get off for me.”

“But you’re not going to do it for me?” I blurt out, resisting a pout, even as the command in his voice has me getting wetter.

“No,” he says, his voice sharp. “I’ll only finger you if you’re mine. So I’ll ask again: Are you mine, Shae?”

I stare at him, the words right on the tip of my tongue. But I can’t say them. I can’t, I just?—

He startles me when he leans close to my pussy, as if he were about to go down on me, but instead of licking me and sending me into outer space, he spits on my lips, the slick of his saliva sliding toward my ass.

I should not be so turned on by this.

“Touch yourself,” he commands, this time taking my right hand and placing it on my pussy.

Thoughtless, I begin a slow circle with the pads of my fingers, bowing when the pressure feels so damn good. I’m already close. I’m so close.

I begin to close my legs, but Storm puts a palm on the inside of each knee.

“No.Keep them open. I want to see everything. Now fuck yourself, Shae. Make yourself come.”

Ho. Ly. Shit.

I do what he tells me to, settling into the familiar patterns I use to get myself off quickly. Two fingers slide into my channel while the heel of my palm presses against my button.

He hisses when I pull them out, spreading my lips apart to show him every-damn-thing.

“Keep going, baby,” he whispers, not taking his eyes off my slit for several hot moments. Then, his eyes train on my face…and they don’t move. “Don’t fucking stop until you gush on my couch.”

A wild thought breaks through the haze: I’m about to mess up this man’s expensive-ass furniture.

“Storm,” I whisper, slowing my movements, but he surprises me when he grabs my wrist.

“Shae,” he says, his voice so low it causes a shiver down my spine. “What did I say for you to do?”

I stare at him, my mouth wide open just like my legs, and with his name on my lips, I circle my spot once, twice….

“Here’s my pitch, Sweetness,” he says, grinning and keeping his eyes fixed on mine. “Because I want you to envision what it’ll be like when you’re my girl.”

That. Those last words, “my girl,” has me releasing a strangled moan. My hand picks up the pace, and his grip on my wrist keeps my movements tight.

“Imagine it’s next spring. You’ve got every damn thing you want lined up in your life. But instead of the loneliness you feel with every accomplishment, you have someone to celebrate with.”

I know my face is doing all sorts of things, but he keeps his grasp firm, so I listen.

“And not only are you celebrating with a man who believes in you, because you’re the most intelligent, vivacious, fucking beautiful goddess to walk this earth, you’re with a man who understands you. A man who knows you don’t actually give a fuck about the accolades. Not really.”

It’s like he’s looking into my soul as those words settle, terrifying me. Because if he’s right….

“You’re held and supported so you can do whatever it is you want to do in this life. Not what your parents want you to do. Not what Asheford-fucking-University wants you to do. But what Shae Olivya Rivers wants to do.”

He startles me when he removes my fingers from my pussy and slides them between his lips, wetting them even more. Not that I need the extra lubrication. I’m damn near a faucet down there right now, and almost as a physical complement, a rogue tear plops into the shell of my ear.

Removing my fingers in a slow slide, he places them back on my pearl, but he doesn’t move them. “And when it’s just you and me, rocking together and taking over this shit in ways the establishment says we fucking can’t, we fucking will.”

“Storm, I’m not sure I’m ready for this. This is—” I choke off the words when he slides my fingers back inside me, this time, his thick middle finger joins my slender digits, stretching me in the most delicious way.

“ Fuck , Shae. I told myself I wouldn’t touch you, but your pussy feels—” He groans and slides my fingers in and out, his thicker digit stretching me.

“When we’re together, Shae, it’ll be so damn hot.

Because I know after all the fucked-up shit that’s happened in my life, all the fucked-up shit I’ve done, you were made for me. ”

Our pace quickens and my thighs tense. I know I’m seconds from coming because of his words and the feel of his hand has me so damn keyed up I can’t stand it.

I can’t. I can’t, I can’t, I ca?—

“Storm, god, ” I shout, my back bowing off the sofa as a deep, quaking orgasm rips through my body, shooting from my core and robbing my brain of blood.

“I’d choose you every fucking time, Shae,” he says, and through my slitted eyes, I see the naked truth that should terrify me and have me running from this place and never looking back.

But instead, I say his name.

Once, twice, over and over as sobs wrench from my chest. I’m not even sure why the hell I’m crying like this.

Maybe it’s from the intensity of the moment, the depth of his feelings and desire for me.

Maybe it’s because I know I should do everything within my power to honor the sacrifices my family has made for me, and doing so doesn’t leave space for Storm Sandoval.

But when his arms circle around me, pulling me back onto his lap and close to his chest, I know that, if anything, I’m safe enough to be his.

Even if it’s just for a moment.