Taming the Storm (The Storm, #3)

Then, he kisses me fiercely.

After he’s finished kissing the life out of me—teaching me that Tom Carter doesn’t like to be walked out on—I remove his T-shirt and kiss my way along his jaw, to his neck, and then down his chest, peppering kisses downwards until I’m on my knees and level with his cock.

Reaching up, I undo the button on his jeans and pull down the zipper. I shimmy his jeans down over his hips, finding him commando again.

Doesn’t he own a pair of boxer shorts?

I find myself face-to-face with not only his beautiful big cock, but also a tattoo right at the cut of his hips just above his neatly trimmed hair. Somehow, I didn’t see it in the dark during last night’s escapades.

And really, only Tom would have a tattoo that says…





RUB THE LAMP


Snorting out a laugh, I stare up at him, my eyes incredulous. “You had Rub the Lamp tattooed above your cock.”

Shrugging, he eyes me with cocky insouciance. “He’s magic. A few good rubs, and he’ll make a woman’s wishes come true.”

I bark out a laugh. “My God, you are beyond ego.”

Holding my chin, he tilts my head back, so I’m looking at him. His eyes are blazing with something I don’t understand.

“Right now, I am your god. And as for my ego…well, you got four tastes of that last night, and you weren’t complaining then.”

He’s got me there. There’s no arguing with that.

Giving him a suggestive look, I run the tip of my index finger up the length of his steely cock. “So, if I rub your lamp, does that mean I get three wishes?”

“Firecracker, you put those gorgeous lips of yours around my lamp, and you can have as many wishes as you want.”

I smile seductively. “Just the three will do,” I murmur before licking the head of his cock. Opening up, I suck him into my mouth.

“Jesus, Lyla.” His voice is hoarse. “Your mouth feels so fucking good.”

Relaxing my throat muscles, I take more of him into my mouth, and I’m rewarded with a jet of pre-cum hitting the back of my tongue. He tastes like pure man. He’s virile in every way.

I hum with pleasure, letting the sound vibrate through him, before I start to move my mouth.

And when I do, he lets out a sound of absolute male satisfaction.

Hand palming the back of my head, he starts fucking my mouth, uttering, “Yeah. That’s it, baby. Suck me hard. Jack me off with your mouth.”

So, I do as he asks.

After I’m finished giving Tom his blow-job apology—my mind still echoing with his ragged, heated praise of how good I am, how amazing my mouth feels sucking him, how beautiful I am—he gets down on his knees and gives me a lot more than the three wishes I earned in that camera-free elevator.





One Week Later—A Festival, Lexington

Another week has passed, and throughout the week, true to his word, Tom has carved out time to take me to stores, so I could buy new T-shirts. Shopping with him has been surprisingly fun. And I’m starting to build quite the tour T-shirt collection.

Also, a day hasn’t gone by when Tom and I haven’t had sex. And it’s not just once. Two, three…four times.

Tom just goes and goes. I’m surprised I can still walk.

Around everyone else, including on the bus with the guys, Tom and I act normal, as if nothing is different. But when no one’s around, we spend our alone time together, naked.

On the night after our elevator escapade, once the guys were sleep, Tom spent the night in my bed on the bus, teaching me how to have sex silently. Not easy when you’re as vocal as I am. But I sure had fun learning.

Every time I have sex with Tom, it feels like the first time. I’m not sure what it is about him, but he brings out a side of me that I didn’t know existed.

Daring and willing.

I will pretty much do anything he asks, no matter the time or place.

He’s fucked me in more positions than I knew possible and some I didn’t and in places I didn’t think I’d ever have sex. He really wasn’t kidding when he said he could be inventive.

We’ve had sex in a coat closet at a club, the fitting room in a store, a restroom in a restaurant, and another one in a club we played. He had me up against a tree behind the back of a rest stop. But the strangest place was…in the luggage compartment of the tour bus.

Seriously, don’t ask. I have no clue how that even happened.

That man could talk my panties off while sitting at dinner with my family.

I can’t say no to him, and I don’t want to.

I like the way he makes me feel, and it scares me exactly how much I like it. But what scares me the most is when Tom comes to my bed late at night when the bus is sleeping, and we have slow, deep…and what feels to be meaningful sex.

If I didn’t know better—at those times in the dark of the night, our bodies tangled up together—I could almost believe we’re making love.

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