Riding Out the Storm

By: Emma Jay


“What are you doing?” she asked when Zach slipped his coat back on.

“Dressing warm. I’m going to see about finding us some food.”

Jill glanced toward the window, though she couldn’t see out. They had the drapes drawn to keep the warmth in, but the wind whistled against the glass. “That’s ridiculous. You won’t be able to drive and walking in this would be stupid.”

“I’m starving. I’m sure the two of you are hungry. Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”

“You’re from Texas,” Jill pointed out. “You don’t know what snow is.”

“I’ll. Be. Fine.” He dragged on his gloves, wrapped his scarf around his neck, and pulled his knit hat down over his ears. “I’ll be gone a half hour, maybe longer.” He kissed her cheek and winked, his message clear, then opened the door and slipped out, letting in a small drift of snow and a blast of cold air. Jill heard him shout, “Son of a bitch!” as he passed the window.

Jill looked back at Ethan, perched on the bed by the heater, to see his jaw tight in concern. “He’ll be okay, right?”

“Yeah, sure, of course.” He pushed to his feet and slid his hands down the thighs of his slacks.

“This weekend is not going as planned,” she muttered, her head down as she stepped toward the bathroom.

He caught her arm, his fingers warm through the sleeve of her suit jacket, and turned her to him.

“He said he’d be gone half an hour, maybe more. He was sending us a message, giving us privacy.”

“Half an hour?” She met his brown eyes and felt a flutter in her belly. “That’s no time at all.”

“The way I feel right now, it’s very generous.” The corner of his mouth hitched up.

Before she could catch her breath, his mouth was over hers, his kiss commanding, demanding, his tongue teasing, then stroking. She went along for the ride a moment before mounting a counter-attack, sliding her tongue into his mouth, hungry for the taste of him.

She was so enthralled by her exploration that she barely noticed his roaming hands had loosened her suit jacket, and then his warm hands were on her bare waist. Lightly callused fingers stroked her sensitive skin, thumbs brushing her ribs beneath her breasts. She wanted his hands on her breasts, wanted his mouth on them. She arched her hips against his jutting erection, but they didn’t measure up quite right.

Without missing a beat, he lifted her onto the low dresser, the move effortless, and stepped between her legs. His cock pressed against the crotch of her pants. She sucked in a breath when he closed his hands over her hips and pulled her forward, pumping his hips gently against hers.

Her clit was so swollen, the lace of her thong rasped the sensitive flesh. The head of his shaft, even through his slacks, lined up against her slit. Her choked breath must have warned him she was on the very edge, because he stepped back. Her whole body shuddered with disappointment and she grasped at the shoulders of his shirt.

He reached between them to find the zipper of her pants. He tugged. Cool air touched her skin as he glided them down her legs. His breath caught at the sight of her thong, and he lifted gleaming eyes to hers.

“Sexy as hell.”

He stepped between her legs again to kiss her, his mouth hungry, impatient, as he closed his hands over her ass, bringing her flush against him, holding her thighs spread. But she didn’t want another dry-hump, as sexy as the one in the supply room had been.

“Thirty minutes go by fast,” she reminded him, her voice throatier than she intended.

His eyes glinted with purpose and he hooked his fingers in the sides of her thong to drag it down her legs. Then he pressed her thighs apart and went down on his knees.

“Christ, you weren’t kidding about being bare. This shouldn’t turn me on so much.” Wonder filled his voice as he gazed at her naked pussy, his fingers stroking the insides of her thighs, the rough tips on her soft skin sending spirals of lust through her blood. She already hung on the edge by her fingernails. At this point, he could make her come by breathing on her. The way he stared at her cunt only aroused her more. She braced her hands behind her on the dresser to resist dragging his head forward and pressing his mouth to her.

“Um, yeah. Does it turn you on?”

“Everything about you turns me on.”

He eased back, looking into her eyes as he unbuttoned his shirt to reveal his muscular chest with a light covering of chest hair, his flat stomach with that intriguing line traveling south from his navel. Her gaze was riveted as his big hands unbuckled his belt. She had a sudden and unexpected urge to feel the leather around her wrists, binding her beneath him. What would he do if she told him that? Would it turn him on or make him run?

Instead of telling him, she watched him drape it over the back of the chair before unfastening his pants. Her breath came faster in anticipation as he slowed his movements, no doubt to tease her. Then he shoved his boxer briefs and slacks down together, stepping out of them, peeling off his socks before straightening and giving her the full effect of his jutting cock, big and beautiful, arched up slightly, making her itch to get her hands on it, her mouth on it, to feel him part her.