Page 51 of Between Passion and Revenge, Part One (The Griot Chronicles #1)

SHAE

A s Storm bottoms out inside me when I rock down on his dick, all I can think is that I’m failing epically at this whole just-have-fun thing.

“Fuck, Sweetness. You have no fucking idea how insane it is being inside you.” Storm thrums my clit as I ride him in the driver’s seat of his Porsche. He decided to take us up the spiral of his parking garage so we could look out over the city from one of the highest points around downtown.

Luckily, it’s deserted this high up.

“Storm,” I whimper. “I’m gonna come.” The inside of my thighs are on fire both from the friction of rubbing against his bunched jeans and the fact that he ripped a hole in my stockings to get access to my pussy.

Storm presses harder on my clit, using his other hand as a collar around my throat. When he presses to the side of my neck, he blocks the nerves there and I’m overcome with a rush of euphoria at the sensation.

“ Storm! ” I shout into the humid car, coming so hard the sides of my vision go fuzzy.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck ! Shae, I fucking love you,” he grinds out, and I gasp, everything—my brain, my heart, my pussy—seizing at the words as he spills inside me.

When our movements slow, I slide my eyes closed and kiss him, unwilling to let the moment go.

Because I’m stupid, dangerously, obsessively in love with him, and that’s the worst thing I could have ever done.

Just have fun, my ass.

I try to pull away from him, but he bands his arms around my back, keeping me crushed into his chest.

“No,” he says, and the way he delivers the single syllable is like a dart to the heart. There’s so much in the sound—possession, command…vulnerability.

Storm says he loves me often, but I’ve kept that part of myself back. I haven’t said those three words in return, and when he says them, I usually play them off or ignore them.

Patient. Storm’s patient until he isn’t.

“Don’t worry, Storm. I’m not gonna go all Single White Female on you,” I say, going for a light tone. Going for the I-don’t-care-what-you-feel-because-this-is-just-some-horny-fun tone.

But Storm rears back as if I’d slapped him.

“What? What the fuck are you talking about, Sweetness?” He looks so serious, I don’t know what to do with his reaction.

“It’s a— I’m joking,” I say. Awkward. This is so damn awkward.

“Baby,” he says, grabbing my chin, in that move he seems to love.

“Yes, Storm?” I say, still trying to play it cool.

“Don’t do that,” he commands. His grip tightens, but it doesn’t hurt.

Not at all. Not like the hurt my heart is preparing for.

“Look at me, Shae.” Another command, one I’m unable and unwilling to resist. I lift my eyes to his, and it’s like staring into the heart of the universe.

There are so few times that Storm shows all of himself. Usually, he isolates himself from all emotion, choosing to let people see the parts he wants them to see.

But with me? He lets me in…not all the time, but often enough and deep enough for me to reach in and touch his soul.

“Shae Olivya Rivers, I love you.”

The words are soft, but they echo around me like we’re in an amphitheater. I don’t know what to think or feel, at least, when my brain is in the driver’s seat.

My heart, however, is doing a line dance with my hormones and screaming, “He loves me! He really loves me!”

“You don’t have to say it back yet ,” he says, and he’s cocky enough to give a sideways grin on the last word. “But I want you to know this isn’t a joke for me. I fucking love you, Shae.”

He doesn’t look angry or troubled. He looks…at peace. Like everything is right in his world and he’s safe and I’m safe and everything is okay.

Everything is okay.

My eyes slide closed when our foreheads kiss, and I relax into the silence, the sensation of his arms around me, and his slowly deflating dick moving out of my body.

“I love you, too, Storm Sandoval.” The confession is a whisper, delivered on a slow breath, but he hears the words, nonetheless.

His hold tightens around me before letting me go to slide his palms up my fabric-covered thighs.

“Thank you,” he whispers, then places a quick kiss on my mouth.

“For what?”

“For saying it back. For believing me when I said it to you, even though it took you a minute.” We both laugh and then I yelp when he gives a light pinch to my backside.

Then he has to go and ruin the moment.

“March 15 th is a few days away,” Storm says, my lungs seizing.

“Mmhmm,” I reply.

“So you’ll have to make a decision soon.”

“Yeah, I know,” I say, going for a bright tone. Storm pauses.

“Are you going to Harvard in the fall, Shae?”

That question causes the temperature to drop, and I freeze.

“It’s going to be okay either way, baby,” he murmurs.

Will it?

I start to panic as I think through his question—the implications, the fallout. The way Daddy reacted when I suggested not going….

With jerky movements, I slide off his lap and flop onto his passenger seat. Searching in the glove compartment for some napkins, I try to do a quick clean-up to catch some of the cum leaking out of me.

“About that,” I say, looking down between my legs. “I’m gonna…I’m gonna go.”

I still don’t look up as I take care of myself, sensing Storm shifting around to put himself back into his pants.

To buy more time, I search the storage space in front of me for a small plastic bag. I don’t find one, but it doesn’t matter because Storm plucks the soiled napkin from my hand before shoving it in his jeans pocket.

“Shae, will you look at me?”

It takes a lot of effort for me to do as he asks, but I eventually find myself looking into his eyes.

“Are you happy with this decision?”

No.

“Yes,” I say, trying for a smile. “I’m happy. This is a great opportunity for me.”

Another smile.

Storm reaches out to rub my cheek.

“I’m behind you one hundred percent.”

Dear God, I hope that’s true.

He looks like he wants to say more, but all he does is smile at me.

As Storm drives me back to my apartment, we sit in silence, with his hand unconsciously rubbing circles on my thigh and my hand resting on top of his, not wanting any separation between us.

We don’t speak when he parks the car, or when he holds my hand as we walk, or when we descend in the elevator, or when we stop at my front door. But he does give me a long kiss.

A desperate kiss.

Or maybe that’s just from me.

“Are you sure you don’t want to spend the night?” I ask. We’ve been trading off where we sleep, with me spending most of my nights at his place.

He gives me another long kiss before resting his forehead on mine.

“I wish, but I’ve got some business to take care of tonight.”

The sound of that has alarm bells ringing in my mind, but I silence them. If this is ever going to work with Storm, I’m going to have to trust him. He hasn’t shown me any reason to be suspicious of him—the whole shit with Bambi aside.

But even with that, Storm told me what was going on, and when he did, I chose to believe him.

So I’m going to choose to continue believing him.

“I’ll call you before I go to bed tonight, but it might be really late.”

“I don’t care,” I rush to say. “Call me anyway, I mean.”

His smile grows inch by inch across his face.

“I got you,” he replies, still pressed to me.

He opens his mouth to say something, but no words come out.

I’m slipping, panicking. My hands start to shake.

“Boston,” I blurt out, completely out of control. “What do you think about getting an apartment there…with me?”

Storm’s face seems to freeze like he’s on TV and I’d just pressed “Pause” on the remote. Each heartbeat in my chest feels like it might be my last, but then he puts me out of my misery when he places a kiss on my cheek.

“I think…the idea bears definite consideration. I’m open to it,” he replies.

He smiles.

I blow out a breath, a sick twisting sensation overtaking my gut.

“I love you, Shae Olivya Rivers,” he says. I search his face as if the answer to all my worries might be in his moss-green eyes.

“I love you, Storm Alexander Sandoval.” There. That feels…that feels right.

He leans over and places a gentle kiss on my lips before unlocking my front door and checking out the space inside. He nods at Ezra and Yenn when he spots them on the living room sofa.

“Call me if you need me,” he replies. My stomach tumbles when my internal reaction is to say, “Always.”

Once Storm is gone, I head to my bedroom but stop when I hear sniffling.

Then, more of a shock, I realize the sniffling is coming from me.

What the fuck? Why am I crying?

I don’t know if it’s what Storm said. Or what he didn’t. Or if it’s the pressure of pretending like Harvard is still what I want. But something cracks open inside me, and once the tears start, they won’t stop.

The bewilderment brewing inside me has the tears coming harder.

And harder.

Spinning—the world is spinning and I’m shaking, vibrating, and?—

I’m not in control. Nothing is in my control. Everything is, everything is?—

My heart pounds in my chest, my gut clenches as if I might lose everything I ate at dinner with Storm two hours ago.

“H-help,” I stutter, trying to focus on anything around me, but I’m completely outside of my body.

What’s happening to me?

With a sob, I collapse onto the floor and close my eyes, falling into the darkness, and in the next moment, I’m in Yenn and Ezra’s arms.

The sofa beneath my body is almost like an embrace.

“Girl, what is going on?” Yenn’s voice is softer than I’ve ever heard it, and I try to blink through the tears streaming from my eyes.

“I don’t…I don’t know, Yenn,” I say, hiccupping. I’m bordering on the edge of hysteria, so I try to breathe, but I can’t.

Oh, god. Is this a heart attack? Am I dying?

“Ez, go get her some ice water,” Yenn barks, and Ezra hurries away from me and into the kitchen.

Yenn shifts beside me on the couch, rubbing circles into my back. “Shae, honey, breathe. Just breathe, okay? In through your nose, out through your mouth.”

I try.

I try so hard.

But everything’s too loud. Too big. My thoughts slam into each other like bumper cars.