Read Online Beautiful Storm by Megan Isaacs - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Megan Isaacs
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which I want the most, to take a piss, or to wake her up and take her again. Unfortunately the need for the bathroom wins out.
As I’m about to stand, there’s a vibration from her phone on the bedside table. I’m not nosey but it’s five in the morning so maybe it’s important. Leaning towards the phone, I glance at the screen.
Mac: I’m home, tour ended. Where R U? I missed U baby <3
Mac? Shit. The boyfriend. He’s home early from tour; he wasn’t due back until next month. I’ve had her to myself for months and my stomach tightens at the thought of sharing her again. He’s flown in a few times for a day here or there, but this is different. He’s back, full-time. My fingers squeeze around the phone. Smashing it is too tempting, so quietly I place it back down. It’s either that or fight the urge to scroll through her personal messages and see if there’s any other loved up shit on there.
My nails dig into my head when I scrub over my hair and down my face. What am I going to do? Why the fuck should it bother me? I’ve never cared before.
I’ve never cared before? Before what? Her…
The thought of him touching her in ways I touch her sends a wave of nausea through me. Or could it be the beer? Yeah, that’s it. Getting out of bed, I snatch up my underwear and head to the bathroom. I flip the lid on the toilet and dry-heave a couple of times. Nothing comes out. Not a fucking thing. I’m guessing it’s not the beer.
My heart still pounds and my stomach churns, making me rethink the cause. Jealousy would be a new concept for me.
I raise the toilet seat, taking my now semi-hard cock in my hand, and wait for it to go down so I can do what I came here for.
Is his bigger than mine?
Why the fuck should I care what size his cock is? Mine’s fucking awesome. But the thought of his being anywhere near my girl has the great effect of killing any hardness in mine, so at least I can take a piss. I shake off and pull on my boxers, but I can’t shake the feeling.
Shutting the lid, I hesitate from flushing. I don’t want to wake Lizzie. After the quickest, and quietest, hand wash in history, I chuck on some sweats and head downstairs to the kitchen.
My girl?
She’s not mine. I grab the coffee, milk, and sweetener, and make myself a big mug. The swirls of steam send me into a trance.
Not mine.
Anger begins to mix in with my pounding chest and the nausea twisting my insides.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
With both hands, I grasp the work surface edge and hang my head. All I need is a couple more seconds and this feeling will go away. A few deep breaths and it’ll all be fine. I inhale deeply twenty times. I count each laboured breath, but it doesn’t work.
Fuck. This. Shit.
I flinch at the contact of warm, delicate, arms wrapping around my waist, but relax as her soft cheek rests against my bare back.
“You saw the text, didn’t you?”
Every muscle tightens, but I’m not going to lie to her. “Yeah.”
We remain in the same position without talking. Her thumb-tips trace my abs absentmindedly. And I fight to calm the fuck down.
“I can’t lose you.” My voice is raw. It dawns on me that’s the issue. Why her touch won’t calm me like usual.
“You won’t. I’d never willingly leave you.” Her words act as an anti-stress injection. Everything loosens but leaves me weakened.
I lean back a fraction and spin around so I can see her. Her skin’s pale, her eyes dull. Her vibrancy has disappeared. Not a sign of my Lizzie. She gives me a sad smile then buries her face into my chest. One arm wraps her tight against me, the other free hand tangles into her hair. Just one text and her light has gone. My lips rest in a flat, hard line.
“What does he do to you?” No man should take the light from a woman’s eyes. When she’s mine, her eyes are an electric storm. When she’s his, they lose all spark.
She holds her breath a little then sighs against me. “Nothing.” She smiles against
As I’m about to stand, there’s a vibration from her phone on the bedside table. I’m not nosey but it’s five in the morning so maybe it’s important. Leaning towards the phone, I glance at the screen.
Mac: I’m home, tour ended. Where R U? I missed U baby <3
Mac? Shit. The boyfriend. He’s home early from tour; he wasn’t due back until next month. I’ve had her to myself for months and my stomach tightens at the thought of sharing her again. He’s flown in a few times for a day here or there, but this is different. He’s back, full-time. My fingers squeeze around the phone. Smashing it is too tempting, so quietly I place it back down. It’s either that or fight the urge to scroll through her personal messages and see if there’s any other loved up shit on there.
My nails dig into my head when I scrub over my hair and down my face. What am I going to do? Why the fuck should it bother me? I’ve never cared before.
I’ve never cared before? Before what? Her…
The thought of him touching her in ways I touch her sends a wave of nausea through me. Or could it be the beer? Yeah, that’s it. Getting out of bed, I snatch up my underwear and head to the bathroom. I flip the lid on the toilet and dry-heave a couple of times. Nothing comes out. Not a fucking thing. I’m guessing it’s not the beer.
My heart still pounds and my stomach churns, making me rethink the cause. Jealousy would be a new concept for me.
I raise the toilet seat, taking my now semi-hard cock in my hand, and wait for it to go down so I can do what I came here for.
Is his bigger than mine?
Why the fuck should I care what size his cock is? Mine’s fucking awesome. But the thought of his being anywhere near my girl has the great effect of killing any hardness in mine, so at least I can take a piss. I shake off and pull on my boxers, but I can’t shake the feeling.
Shutting the lid, I hesitate from flushing. I don’t want to wake Lizzie. After the quickest, and quietest, hand wash in history, I chuck on some sweats and head downstairs to the kitchen.
My girl?
She’s not mine. I grab the coffee, milk, and sweetener, and make myself a big mug. The swirls of steam send me into a trance.
Not mine.
Anger begins to mix in with my pounding chest and the nausea twisting my insides.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
With both hands, I grasp the work surface edge and hang my head. All I need is a couple more seconds and this feeling will go away. A few deep breaths and it’ll all be fine. I inhale deeply twenty times. I count each laboured breath, but it doesn’t work.
Fuck. This. Shit.
I flinch at the contact of warm, delicate, arms wrapping around my waist, but relax as her soft cheek rests against my bare back.
“You saw the text, didn’t you?”
Every muscle tightens, but I’m not going to lie to her. “Yeah.”
We remain in the same position without talking. Her thumb-tips trace my abs absentmindedly. And I fight to calm the fuck down.
“I can’t lose you.” My voice is raw. It dawns on me that’s the issue. Why her touch won’t calm me like usual.
“You won’t. I’d never willingly leave you.” Her words act as an anti-stress injection. Everything loosens but leaves me weakened.
I lean back a fraction and spin around so I can see her. Her skin’s pale, her eyes dull. Her vibrancy has disappeared. Not a sign of my Lizzie. She gives me a sad smile then buries her face into my chest. One arm wraps her tight against me, the other free hand tangles into her hair. Just one text and her light has gone. My lips rest in a flat, hard line.
“What does he do to you?” No man should take the light from a woman’s eyes. When she’s mine, her eyes are an electric storm. When she’s his, they lose all spark.
She holds her breath a little then sighs against me. “Nothing.” She smiles against
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