Taming the Storm (The Storm 3)

Looking back down to my phone, I open the text.

I can still taste you.

Holy shit! Where did that come from?

Guess he meant what he said earlier about not giving up.

Whamming against my rib cage, my heart lurches in two different directions—one straight toward Tom, the other running out this diner.

I stare at him and place my phone down on the table, letting him know that I’m ignoring him.

He smirks. Then, he picks up his phone again.

Mine vibrates a few seconds later.

I sigh and ignore it for about two minutes. Then, curiosity wins, and I pick it up.

I bet your pussy tastes as sweet as that mouth of yours. I can’t wait to find out.

Jesus. My thighs clench, my core tightens, my body tilts in Tom’s direction.

Steadying myself against the table, I take a calming deep breath and type out what my head is telling me, not listening to my traitorous body.

Stop it.

I hit Send and set my phone on my thigh.

I hear the buzzing of Tom’s cell vibrating against the table. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch as he picks up his cell and reads my text.

His gaze is impassive.

Then, he looks up, but I quickly direct my eyes back on the painting.

A few moments later, my phone vibrates.

Ugh!

I lift my angry eyes to his.

He’s staring right at me with a determined look, which makes my stomach flip.

Looking down at my cell, I leave it where it sits on my thigh and open the text.

I told you, I’m not stopping until I have you. And maybe I won’t even stop then.

This is harassment. I could sue you for stalking.

I hear him chuckle softly. Then…

It would be worth every fucking cent.

I almost growl in frustration.

Tom, get this through your head. We are never happening. Ever. Last night was a mistake. And this morning was an even bigger mistake.

I stare at him, trying to enforce my point. He picks up his phone and reads the message. I see his eyebrow lift, and then his fingers move over the screen.

A few seconds later, my phone vibrates against my thigh.

The only mistake was me letting you walk out of that bedroom. It will happen again, Lyla. Again and again. And again.

No. No and no. And no!

The waitress comes over and refills our coffees, distracting the table, so I take the chance and catch Tom’s attention.

Shaking my head lightly, I mouth the word, No, to him, wanting to drive my point home.

I need him to leave me alone.

I can’t get involved with Tom. Being with someone like him would get me hurt.

And I can’t get hurt again.

He frowns, giving me a hard look. Yes, he mouths back.

My mind and body are working separately. I want him so bad.

My body is craving his words, loving that he’s not yet given up on me.

But my mind is terrified, telling me to run far, far away.

The waitress leaves, and conversation picks back up at the table.

I think that’s it. I’m home free.

I’m wrong.

My cell buzzes against my thigh. The need to read it is overwhelming. I open up the message.

I know you want me, so there’s no way I’m backing off.

I really don’t want you.

Don’t fucking lie. I can smell your arousal from here. And it’s making me hard, Ly. Rock. Fucking. Hard.

Holy crap.

Tom, please…

I’m pleading now because I don’t know what else to do. If he comes anywhere near me, pushes me further, I will cave to him again. And the next time, we’ll do more than kiss.

I can’t wait for you to wrap that begging mouth of yours around my cock.

Oh God.

My sweating palm tightens around my cell. My body flushes from the top of my head down to my toes. Every part of me is turned on by his dirty words. My arousal is drenching me.

I flick my eyes to Tom, and his are on mine, still determined.

I press my thighs together, trying to relieve the ache he’s created from a few words in a text message.

I think for a moment, my fingers hovering over my phone screen.

I want…

I pause, struggling with what to say. Then, I accidently hit Send.

Shit.

My stomach turns at the open-ended message I just sent him.

A second later Bruno Mars’s “Gorilla” starts to play loudly. It takes me a second to realize that it’s coming from Tom’s phone, signaling the text I sent.

I freeze.

He just turned on his ringtone?

Why?

To get my attention.

Well, if it that’s the reason, then he’s got it. And not just because of what the song is about, but also because of the exact part he has set as his message tone.

I think you know which part I mean—motherfucker.

I look at him. He’s staring back at me with lust and defiance in his eyes.

I move my gaze away.

The guys don’t even seem fazed by the lyrics belting out from Tom’s phone. Cale has even started singing along with it.

Tom waits, letting the ringtone finish, before he picks up his cell and reads my text.

Cale says, “I fucking love that song.”

I mumble in agreement.

“That song is genius. It’s gotten me laid so many times. I now worship at the altar of Bruno Mars,” Sonny says around a mouthful of burger.

“Nice,” I say.

I now can’t take my eyes off of Tom, knowing what he’s reading.

Tom’s eyes flash to mine. They’re filled with question, confusion, but mostly hunger.