Storm (Ashes & Embers 1)

“There is. I don’t know what it is either. This is new for me too, ya know. You think I do this shit?” He waves his hand at me and at my glass of orange stuff. “I’m just following what I feel and seeing where it takes me. I think you should do the same. Stop putting walls up.”

“Really? And what about my boyfriend? Of twelve years?”

He pulls out his little e-cig and starts puffing on it. “I don’t fucking know, Evelyn. But after twelve years, and here you are sick and he doesn’t give a rat’s ass, I think I’d be taking a good hard look at this.” He takes a long drag on his e-cig. “I like you, you’re different. I like how you make me feel. I love how shy but feisty you are. I want to fuck you stupid and watch you come undone and then fuck you back together again.”

My thighs start to burn. Yes. Do that. Whatever that is.

“Well, that’s romantic, Storm. And therein is why I would never be with someone like you. I don’t want to be with some pig who just goes around randomly fucking girls with no regard to their commitment and values. That’s why God made sluts—so men like you can have something to keep their feeble little one track minds happy because they’re too shallow to have real relationships.”

Oops. He looks really pissed. He’s shaking his head at me in disbelief. “Wow, Evie. I thought you kind of knew me a little fucking bit, or at least could see that I treat you different, and I was hoping we could figure out the fucking reason for that. Together. But fuck it.” He pushes my feet off and stands up. He points his finger from me to himself and back again. “This is why I don’t have relationships. This fucking bullshit right here.”

“I’m already in a relationship, Storm,” I remind him. My voice is strained from talking too much and coughing. Or maybe it’s because I’m about to cry because seeing him mad and upset is slowly chipping away at my heart.

He grabs his leather jacket off the chair and pulls it on. “Yeah, you keep telling yourself that.”

The minute he leaves, I burst into tears. He has my head so confused. I don’t even understand what just happened or what he was trying to say, or why I even care. My words came out so much worse than I wanted them to and made me seem like a total bitch. I just feel so sick and confused! I am in no position right now to be making decisions or thinking about where I stand with people. Can’t he see that?

My phone rings and I answer it quickly. Maybe he’s calling to say he’s coming back.

“Hello?”

“Wow, you sound even worse than yesterday.” Michael. Dammit.

“I know... I feel like crap. How are your meetings going?”

“Good, everything is good. You better get some rest. You can call me later if you want, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Do you have everything you need?”

“Yes, I think so.” No... He just left because I called him a pig.

“Okay, hon. I hope you feel better soon. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

Ugh. I’m not sure what Storm has done to me, but he’s got himself so embedded into me right now. I hate it. My life was normal before he came into it. I was happy and content, going through my day-to-day routine. I thought Michael and I were happy. I didn’t know I was missing out on so much feeling. I don’t even know how else to describe it. How can everything I feel and want change in just a week?

I debate calling Amy so she can talk me down, but my throat is hurting so much I don’t even think I can handle talking that much right now. I wish I could call my mom. I feel like I’m having a meltdown from the past week. Being trapped in the truck, not eating or drinking enough, worrying about my job, getting sick, Michael being gone, Storm confusing the hell out of me... It’s all just too much. My life is usually so incredibly boring. Nothing new or exciting ever happens. Now I have a rock star telling me he wants to fuck me silly. I don’t even know what that means.

I stare at my cell phone thinking maybe I should send Storm a text and say I’m sorry. I’m not even sure what I’m apologizing for, though. No. I’m not going to give in to his crazy. It’s better he is gone. I have never been one of those girls who psycho-calls and texts men, and I’m not about to start now.

The front door opening and closing causes me to jump. “You should really lock your door.”

I try to suppress the smile that immediately takes over my face because I don’t want him to see I’m glad he came back. “What’s the point? You’ll just come in anyway.”

He grins at me and hands me a latte. “I got you your favorite coffee. I thought maybe it would calm your shit down.”

Every part of me wants to squee over the man who brought my cat a toy and me a latte. I can’t wrap my head around him at all. How can he be so thoughtful, but not be into relationships? Does he treat his fuckbuddies like this? I have to know.

I sip the latte and thank him while he settles in the chair across the room.

“Storm, can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“Do you treat the women you’re in those non-relationships with like this?”

“Like this how?”

“You know... lattes, breakfast smoothies, cat toys... that sort of thing?”

“No. I haven’t done shit like this in a long time.” A sadness veils his eyes, and I wonder if he is thinking of his wife. I wish I had never read that article on the Internet.

“I do appreciate it, Storm. I’m really just not used to it.” I take another sip of the coffee. My throat is hurting so bad and now one of my ears is congested.

“I know.” He crosses the room and sits on the edge of the couch against my legs again. “Let me ask you something now.” He takes the cup from my hand and puts it on the coffee table.

“Okay...”

“Can you give me twenty seconds of you not thinking, not analyzing, not worrying, not pushing me away? Will you do that for me?”

“I’ll try.”

He grins at me. “Not try. I want you to do it.”

“Okay. But only because you got me a white mocha.”

“Shhh...”

Before I have a chance to think, his lips are on mine, soft and lingering. Touching then not touching. Oh, God. Don’t think. He pulls away slightly, but I lean up to meet his lips again and that’s all he needs to kiss me deeper, his tongue slowly sweeping over mine. A small gasp escapes me. Don’t think. I become breathless, drowning in his kisses. My hands go up to his neck under his long, soft hair, holding him to me. I need so much more of this, so much more of him. He grabs my hands in his and pins them down on the pillow over my head and starts to kiss me wildly, devouring my mouth with his. Holy fuck. I wish I didn’t feel sick. Pulling away slightly, he stares down at me, breathing heavy. He keeps my hands in his grasp.

“I’m going to stop now,” he says between breaths. “But I want you to do one more thing for me.” He kisses me softly again and then pulls back. “I want you to think about the idea of us. But not until I leave. I’m going to stay here until Saturday night with you, and we’re not going to talk about any of this, and I’m not going to kiss you or touch you.” He lowers his lips to kiss my neck, his teeth grazing my flesh. My clit quivers in response. “I want you to come to my show next month, and I don’t give a fuck if you bring Michael and Amy or not. I want you there.” He drags his lips up my neck to my mouth. “Then I’m going to be gone for a few months and you’re going to have a lot of time to think, Evie. When I get back, I want you to tell me what you want.” His green eyes stare down into mine. “Okay?”

I nod slowly, too stupefied to speak.

“And I don’t want you beating yourself up that you just cheated on Michael. I needed to show you what it could be like, because you really have no fucking idea.” Once more, he kisses me, soft and deep. A lovers kiss, filled with a silent desperation and urgency. My entire body is trembling from the impact of it. He lifts one of my hands to his lips and kisses it softly before letting it go.

For once, I have no idea

what to say.

He hands me my coffee again. “Looks like you need this.” I sip it absently. I can’t shake the feeling of his kisses. It would be so easy to get lost in him, to just lie here all day and kiss him, to pull his clothes off and touch him everywhere. I know he would be an amazing lover. He knows exactly how to kiss, where to kiss, and the places to touch. Michael lacks all of that. That’s just sex though, I remind myself. That’s not love and commitment. I do not want to be one of his fuck toys, no matter how good he can make me feel. As much as I don’t want to, and as wrong as I know it is, I know I’m falling hard for him. I just know I will end up hurt, and even worse, utterly alone.