laps.”
He tipped her chin to meet her gaze and crooked a brow. “Are you going to wear your Tucker Poston tee?”
“Absolutely. How else can I cheer on my favourite driver?” Stevie’s eyes twinkled. “But nothing else.”
He groaned and his erection prodded her once again. Storm tried to remove his brain from below his belt, but the idea of Stevie in little more than a flimsy T-shirt rocked his world. “You know NASCAR bores me to tears, right?”
“I don’t doubt it, and I have a plan that should keep your attention just fine.”
“Tell me the plan, babe.” Storm kissed her. “Get me up to speed.”
She scraped his areolas with her fingernails. “You can’t watch a race without sporting your colours, but since you don’t have a favourite driver,” she nibbled her bottom lip, “you’ll be nude.”
He groaned again. Hell yes. “Race you to the living room?”
She nodded and kissed him hard on the lips. “The last one there has to service the other!” she screeched and slid buck naked out of the truck.
Storm shuddered with pleasure and kicked out of his jeans. “Oh, baby, I intend to service you all night.”
Forever in his arms and his life, if he had his way.
He’d make it so.
Chapter Seven
Hours later, Storm carried Stevie’s sleeping form to the bedroom and drew the thick curtains closed. He glanced at the alarm clock, five fifty-three. Slivers of Sunday sunshine peeked through the blinds in the bedroom. He yawned and closed out the dangerous rays. Watching the race had been indeed boring, but experiencing Stevie’s victory celebration when her favourite driver won had held Storm’s attention. His heart leapt as he thought about her lips wrapped around his cock, loving him with her mouth. She made a snooze-worthy sport the most exciting thing in the world.
As he lowered himself into bed next to her, Stevie’s phone blared a song by the band, Disenfranchised Bodies. Storm glared at the aggravating device. Yes, he’d picked the song, but he never expected to hear it so often. Didn’t she believe in turning the thing down when she slept? He checked the caller ID. Who needed to call her at this hour of the morning?
Restricted.
Go figure. It could be her sister. It could be one of her friends. A shiver skated up his spine. It could be O’Toole. Storm flicked the phone open, but before he could answer, the caller beat him to the punch.
“Stevie, you didn’t listen to me.”
Storm fought the wave of rage building in his system and left the comfort of the bedroom. He knew that voice and didn’t want to wake Stevie when he lost his temper.
“You went home with him after I warned you.”
Storm seethed and paced the living room, bare-assed naked. “Butt out of my business, Allan. She’s my mate.”
“Mate, my ass,” Allan snapped. “Storm, why are you answering her phone? Can’t bear to let her have a life of her own?”
If he had another hour of darkness, Storm would consider rushing across town to beat his former friend to a pulp for interfering. “I don’t own Stevie, but she’s still asleep. Now tell me, why did you warn her against me?”
“Because she deserves more. I knew you couldn’t keep your hands to yourself and your dick in your pants. Who’s going to explain to her that you can’t reproduce and don’t live like her suburban friends? You never thought that far ahead.”
“I think about her all the time. I know her needs,” Storm bit out. “She doesn’t want any of that. Stevie wants me.”
“Oh really? And did she come right out and tell you that she reciprocates your lusty we’re-good-for–a-couple-of-night-then-shove-off-‘cause-I-don’t-do-commitment feelings? I doubt it.”
“I read her thoughts. Her scent marked me. I’ve changed. I’ll take no other.” Storm raked his fingers through his hair.
“You know you can’t hold onto her forever. She’ll want to grow old together. What are you going to say? Honey,
He tipped her chin to meet her gaze and crooked a brow. “Are you going to wear your Tucker Poston tee?”
“Absolutely. How else can I cheer on my favourite driver?” Stevie’s eyes twinkled. “But nothing else.”
He groaned and his erection prodded her once again. Storm tried to remove his brain from below his belt, but the idea of Stevie in little more than a flimsy T-shirt rocked his world. “You know NASCAR bores me to tears, right?”
“I don’t doubt it, and I have a plan that should keep your attention just fine.”
“Tell me the plan, babe.” Storm kissed her. “Get me up to speed.”
She scraped his areolas with her fingernails. “You can’t watch a race without sporting your colours, but since you don’t have a favourite driver,” she nibbled her bottom lip, “you’ll be nude.”
He groaned again. Hell yes. “Race you to the living room?”
She nodded and kissed him hard on the lips. “The last one there has to service the other!” she screeched and slid buck naked out of the truck.
Storm shuddered with pleasure and kicked out of his jeans. “Oh, baby, I intend to service you all night.”
Forever in his arms and his life, if he had his way.
He’d make it so.
Chapter Seven
Hours later, Storm carried Stevie’s sleeping form to the bedroom and drew the thick curtains closed. He glanced at the alarm clock, five fifty-three. Slivers of Sunday sunshine peeked through the blinds in the bedroom. He yawned and closed out the dangerous rays. Watching the race had been indeed boring, but experiencing Stevie’s victory celebration when her favourite driver won had held Storm’s attention. His heart leapt as he thought about her lips wrapped around his cock, loving him with her mouth. She made a snooze-worthy sport the most exciting thing in the world.
As he lowered himself into bed next to her, Stevie’s phone blared a song by the band, Disenfranchised Bodies. Storm glared at the aggravating device. Yes, he’d picked the song, but he never expected to hear it so often. Didn’t she believe in turning the thing down when she slept? He checked the caller ID. Who needed to call her at this hour of the morning?
Restricted.
Go figure. It could be her sister. It could be one of her friends. A shiver skated up his spine. It could be O’Toole. Storm flicked the phone open, but before he could answer, the caller beat him to the punch.
“Stevie, you didn’t listen to me.”
Storm fought the wave of rage building in his system and left the comfort of the bedroom. He knew that voice and didn’t want to wake Stevie when he lost his temper.
“You went home with him after I warned you.”
Storm seethed and paced the living room, bare-assed naked. “Butt out of my business, Allan. She’s my mate.”
“Mate, my ass,” Allan snapped. “Storm, why are you answering her phone? Can’t bear to let her have a life of her own?”
If he had another hour of darkness, Storm would consider rushing across town to beat his former friend to a pulp for interfering. “I don’t own Stevie, but she’s still asleep. Now tell me, why did you warn her against me?”
“Because she deserves more. I knew you couldn’t keep your hands to yourself and your dick in your pants. Who’s going to explain to her that you can’t reproduce and don’t live like her suburban friends? You never thought that far ahead.”
“I think about her all the time. I know her needs,” Storm bit out. “She doesn’t want any of that. Stevie wants me.”
“Oh really? And did she come right out and tell you that she reciprocates your lusty we’re-good-for–a-couple-of-night-then-shove-off-‘cause-I-don’t-do-commitment feelings? I doubt it.”
“I read her thoughts. Her scent marked me. I’ve changed. I’ll take no other.” Storm raked his fingers through his hair.
“You know you can’t hold onto her forever. She’ll want to grow old together. What are you going to say? Honey,
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