Taming the Storm (The Storm 3)

“You fuck anyone else in that time?”

“What is this? Twenty fucking questions?”

He picks his drink up, a shit-eating grin on his face. “You’re not usually shy about sharing the details of your sex life.”

He’s right, I’m not. Motherfucker. I don’t want to say anything about Lyla and me, but I know he’ll turn this into a bigger thing if I don’t offer up the goods.

“Okay, fine. I’m only fucking Lyla. I haven’t fucked anyone else since I put my cock in her hole.”

“Holy shit!” He barks out a laugh. “I never thought I’d see the day when you’d be with just one woman. Dude, I’m sorry to break this to you, but you’re in a relationship with Lyla.”

My heart stops. Dead.

I’m not.

Am I?

No.

No way. We’re just fuck buddies.

“I’m not in a relationship with her.”

“Yeah, and I’m Steve Jobs.”

“You do realize he’s dead, don’t you?”

“Fuck off! And whatever. You’re in a relationship with Lyla.”

“What are you? Five? I’m not in a relationship with Lyla, dickhead. She’s my fuck buddy.”

“Fuck buddies usually have sex with other people. That’s kinda the point. They have a regular, but they get to fuck others, too.”

“I know that, assface, but Lyla’s not that kinda girl, and I wanted to fuck her—badly. Seriously, have you seen how hot she is? And her tits are real, Den, motherfucking real. I haven’t touched real tits in years. All chicks seem to have that silicone shit nowadays. So, of course I agreed to exclusively fuck her until the tour is over. We bang as much as we want until we arrive back in LA. Then, it’s bye-bye, birdie.”

What’s that pain in my chest?

“You’re in denial.” He shakes his head, chuckling.

I rub at my sternum. “I’m not in denial.”

“You are so in denial. You like this girl, Tom. I can tell. I’ve known you for a long fucking time, and I’ve never seen you look at a chick the way you were looking at her—let alone, sign yourself up for exclusivity to one. And don’t even get me started on the jealously thing.”

“I wasn’t fucking jealous,” I growl. “And you’re barking up the wrong tree. All I want from Lyla is her tight pussy and awesome rack.”

“Nope.” He smirks. “You like her.”

“Of course I like her, fucknut. She’s a cool chick. She has the best tits I’ve ever seen, and she fucks like a porn star. What’s not to like?”

“Nah…you like her, like her.”

“You’re spending way too much time with Simone. You’re actually starting to sound like her. Have you grown pubic hair on that pussy of yours?”

Giving me the middle finger, he says, “I’m guessing Lyla likes you, too, since she’s letting you in her bed. She doesn’t strike me as the sleep-around type.”

“She’s not.”

That raises another know-it-all grin from him. “So, you like her, and she likes you. Why don’t you just see where this thing goes?”

“Because it’ll go nowhere.” I sit up, rubbing my head at the ache brought on by his bitching. “Can we just drop it now and get to drinking?” I pick up my whiskey.

Den’s face turns serious, and he sits forward, elbows on the table. “Tom, being with Lyla, finally letting yourself be in a relationship, wouldn’t be a bad thing. It could be a really great thing. You’re not your father. Things won’t—”

“Seriously,” I snap, “shut the fuck up. We’re not talking about this.” I drive my hand through my hair, feeling on edge, and then I down my drink and signal the waitress back over.

“Okay, keep your fucking panties on.” He picks up his own drink and downs it. “All I’m saying is, I think you’ll be making a colossal mistake if you walk away from Lyla at the end of this tour. You could have something really great with her if you give it a chance.”

Later That Night—Hotel Room, Mandalay Bay Hotel, Las Vegas

I’m in my pajamas, Beyoncé’s “Drunk in Love” playing on the TV, when there’s a knock at my door.

Butterflies in my stomach, hoping it’s Tom, I climb out of bed and pad my way over to the door.

I pull it open, the butterflies instantly turning into lightning bugs when I see him.

I keep the relief from my face, not sure as to where we stand at the moment. Tom was clearly pissed off earlier at the shoot. That was loud and clear from his outburst and exit.

Cale noticed Tom’s behavior, and he questioned me about it at dinner earlier. I downplayed it, saying I had no clue what it was about. I told Cale that Tom was just probably in a bad mood or something.

Tom’s behavior at the shoot has been on my mind all night. I’ve been running around in circles, trying to figure out what it means, what’s going on with him.

“Hi,” he says, his hands lift to the doorframe above his head, fingers gripping it.

With his movement, his shirt lifts, showing me his delicious six-pack. My belly instantly squeezes with lust.

Opening the door wider, I step back to let him in.

As he brushes past, I catch a whiff of whiskey on his breath.

The smell of whiskey on Tom somehow makes him even hotter.

I’ve barely gotten the door closed when his body is pressing mine up against it.