Braving The Storm: An Age Gap, Cowboy Romance (Crimson Ridge Book 2)
Braving The Storm: Chapter 28

“Ok, this is perfect.” Layla is just about wriggling in her seat with joy, obviously leaping over the moon, and has all but already packed her best friend’s bags for her.

All while I’m no longer beetroot red after digesting the line of text on my phone screen. No, I’m now a fire engine, with wailing sirens and flashing lights all pointing to how shamefully wet I am for the man with his heavy palm and wicked fingers stroking my soft flesh with such tiny motions that it’s impossible to see what he’s doing. Yet here I am experiencing every slow glide as if it were magnified in intensity.

“I mean, of course they’re gonna hire you, Sarge. We know that already.” Layla says, giving me a long look and I try my best to smile and act like everything is completely normal beneath this table.

The woman in question lets out a groan. “If—and that’s a big if—this works out, there will be no goddamn overalls.”

“I’ll talk to Hayes next time I see him, and ask what they might need help with here on The Loaded Hog rebrand.” Kayce pulls out his own phone and sends off a text.

As Sage chews another fry thoughtfully, starting to reply, and they start chatting more about the prospect of her imminent move to Crimson Ridge, I feel the distinct vibration of my phone.

At first, I’m certain it’s going to be another sinful message from the man beside me. However, the buzzing keeps going, and that’s when I realize it’s a phone call demanding my attention.

Inwardly I cringe.

This time of night? Out of the blue? It’s only going to be one of two people trying to call me, and neither of them are anyone I have the slightest desire to speak with.

Antoine’s threat from the last time we exchanged words echoes in my ears. As much as I really, really do not want to answer this call, it’s easier to take it and not have to deal with the potential man-hunt that might ensue if I decline his attempts to contact me.

“Hey, I’ve got to take this.” I duck my head and speak quietly to the man at my side, not wanting to meet his interrogating stare, nor do I wish to draw too much attention from the rest of the table, all talking animatedly amongst themselves.

The others glance briefly at me. I see Layla’s brow furrow slightly, and I lift the phone and point at it while mouthing a silent apology, well underway with the process of needing to make a hasty exit.

Fortunately, Storm has already slid out of the booth, allowing me to quickly check my dress is back in place, before I escape without so much as a word.

Relief gushes from my lungs, entwined with a sinking feeling in my stomach as I scuttle in the direction of the bathrooms. All I want right now is to get this shit over with as quickly as possible and return to my friends.

My phone screen flashes unknown number displayed in bold letters that I know belongs to only one particular asshole who will be demanding my cooperation. At least it’s not my sister’s tongue-lashing I’ll have to deal with this time around.

“What?” I hiss beneath my breath as I bring the phone to my ear.

“Babe, it’s so good to hear your voice.”

All the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. His voice sounds syrupy, heavy with alcohol, the kind of sickly sweetness that causes nothing but rot with everything it touches. There are doors separating the bar area from the corridor containing individual bathroom stalls. At least I can lock myself in one at the far end to deal with whatever this bullshit is as quickly as possible.

“I told you to leave me alone.” Walking straight past the other empty bathrooms, my palm pushes open the door at the farthest end, which, much to my relief, is unoccupied.

“You know I can’t do that, Briar. You’re far too important to me.”

“Fuck you. The only thing that is important is my last name. We both know that.”

As I go to shove the door closed behind me, before I manage to latch the damn thing, the door busts open. On reflex, I jump to avoid the solid wood swinging my way. Piercing blue eyes meet mine, and I’m backed up within a frantic heartbeat. My mouth falls open as those unmistakable broad shoulders and tattoos loom large to fill the space between me and the exit.

Storm locks the door behind him, enclosing us in this shitty little bathroom, and crosses his arms. His gaze flicks between my phone, held at my ear, and back to hold my eyes.

How much of that did he just hear me say?

“That’s not true, babe. I love you. I miss you.”

Antoine’s voice fills the quiet and bounces off the tiles and the cracked mirror above the handbasin. I want to shrivel up and die. The man standing less than a foot from me can hear everything, can hear every pathetic untruth being spouted down the phone, and I feel like my stomach just dropped through the floor.

My throat bobs a heavy swallow, I try to plead with my eyes, to tell him it’s not what it sounds like, to explain that this—whatever this unexpectedly perfect, soul-consuming thing that we have between us—means so much more to me than any painful second I spent with the man on the other end of this call.

“Why don’t you just tell me where you are, and we can put all of this behind us.”

I’m frozen. Words refuse to form. My mouth hangs open and there’s no air reaching my squeezed and shriveled lungs.

“No.” Is all I can muster. My tongue runs across my bottom lip, and I realize that I’ve been inching back, while Storm has been closing the space extending between us.

My shoulders collide with the tiled wall.

“You know I’m sorry for what happened. She meant nothing. I’ve apologized all the ways I know how…” Antoine’s pathetic attempt at fixing this rings in the air.

Storm’s eyes flash, thunderous and deadly. The blue I’ve become so enamored with turns an electric shade as he steps into me and captures every last molecule of air surrounding us.

He’s so broad, all I see is his chest, his tattoos, with the scent of him wrapping a hold on me that somehow eases this insanity and yet simultaneously makes it impossible to think straight when he’s looming tall and muscled like this.

“It doesn’t matter.” Do I sound shaky? Do I sound like I’m crawling out of my skin worrying about what this man is going to think, how he’s going to react to what he can hear coming through the speaker of my phone?

“Briar, you know it does. This can’t continue, I need you to come home so we can work on this together, so we can…”

As Antoine launches into a lengthy explanation of all the ways I supposedly need to forgive him, that’s when I feel it. Storm hooks a finger beneath the long sleeve of my dress, on the wrist of the hand holding my phone to my ear, and he tugs the fabric, peeling it back ever so slightly.

Revealing his cuff.

It’s there, just as he knew it would be, securely fastened beneath the soft stretch cotton of my dress, and as he looks between the band of leather and my face, I see the wheels turn rapidly in his mind.

My lips drop open with a silent gasp.

He sinks to his knees in front of me.

Antoine carries on, barely stopping for breath, detailing a lengthy list of reasons why I need to come back home. All while Storm rucks my dress up to my waist, sending goosebumps flying everywhere.

I don’t try to stop him.

Maybe this will be the last time we ever get to have something like this together, maybe after hearing this phone call, he’ll end whatever this insane dance we’re doing together.

So I’m going to let him do whatever he wants to me right here, while pushed up against this wall, as my shitty ex pleads and tries to make a case for me to fly back to LA.

“… come home. I’ll send you the jet. Just tell me where and I’ll have the pilot and crew ready and waiting for you in the morning.”

Storm runs his tongue up the inside of my thigh, tracing the spot where his hand had been only moments before, as he wedges himself between my legs. Hooking a knee over his shoulder, the act forces me to brace myself with one hand sinking into his hair.

His eyes flash, as if he’s pleased by that.

“Briar?”

“I’m not coming back.” In amongst the hypnotic sight of the man I’ve fallen so hard and so fast for currently on his knees for me, I remember to say something in reply. Does he have any idea how much I don’t ever want to leave? Now that I’m here, I’ve found so much more than I could ever have hoped for in this tiny dot on the map.

“At least let me come and see you.”

Those words set something ablaze. Within an instant, the air sharpens. Storm narrows his eyes and turns into a man possessed. Whereas a second ago, he was slowly roaming his tongue higher while teasing me, now he launches forward.

A finger hooks under the damp strip of fabric with no doubt a giant wet spot covering my pussy, expertly towing it to one side before he covers me with his mouth.

“No.” I gasp. Trying to prevent a series of moans from bursting forth as the man who knows how to work me hard and fast sets about swirling his tongue over my clit with wicked skill. My fingers yank on his hair in an effort to remain upright.

“I know you’re still in the country.” Antoine starts to sound pissy now. “Which means I can be there overnight. All you have to do is tell me where to collect you from.”

I suck in a breath.

“Are you screwing someone else?” He spits at me down the phone.

Looking down at the man between my legs, commanding my body, I don’t know what to say. My pulse thuds an insane rhythm in my neck, and I feel like I’m floating out of my head.

“I’m not telling you anything,” I say.

Those startling blue eyes lock me in, glittering with triumph.

Storm growls against my clit, sending white sparks of pleasure flying straight down to my toes. This time, I lose the battle against a noise escaping me, and I downright moan.

I stare down, open-jawed, watching, fascinated at the sight of his mouth covered in the sheen of my arousal, and I feel him smirk against my pussy. His fingers tighten against my hips, holding me in place for him to eat me with savage intent.

There’s no outcome here other than for me to fall apart while I’m on the phone, and I’m assuming if this man has his way, I’ll do so while chanting his name. He seems entirely unbothered that we’re in a public bathroom, or that the rest of the table will be wondering where we both are.

Oh, god.

Everyone we’re here having dinner with.

Storm sees it written all over my face, sees the moment my brain tries to fight how turned on I am that we’re doing this illicit, risky thing, and that’s when he sucks on my clit so hard my back bows, and my climax roars through me.

It catches me off guard, and in between biting my bottom lip to the point I might have drawn blood, the sound of Antoine’s voice down the phone line repeats my name.

“Briar, can you hear me? I said just send me an address. Is everything alright?”

My body jerks as the man working me holds my eyes in his fearsome stare, slowly massaging me with his tongue, lapping at my clit, before he carefully sets my leg on the ground. Except that’s where the gentleness stops. He’s on his feet in a rush, grabbing my phone out of my limp hand.

“She can hear you just fine.” He snarls into the speaker. “By the way, that’s what it sounds like when a woman comes so hard she soaks your face and forgets her own name. Fuck off and lose this number, asshole.”

He jabs the red button, ending the call, as I nearly sink to the floor.

Oh god.

Storm shoves my phone in his back pocket, hiding it away, then braces one forearm on the wall above my head. As I stare up at him, all I can see is the way his lips and stubble around his mouth are still covered in the sheen of me.

He looks feral and wild and so goddamn sexy I could die.

With his other hand, he shoves roughly beneath the fabric of my panties, which are still wedged to one side. This time, he plunges two fingers into me, and I let out a loud whimper, feeling how wet and slick I am, with the afterglow of my orgasm still roaming through my veins and desperate for more.

“You gonna block their number?” He grunts at me, curling his fingers and sinking deeper. Fucking in and out with filthy wet sounds of my pussy filling the bathroom.

“Already have.” I whimper, my hands fly up to cling onto the front of his shirt and forearm.

“You’re gonna tell me if that fuck face tries to contact you again.” It’s not a question; it’s a command, and he sinks past his second knuckles, leaving me panting and writhing, impaled on his fingers.

“Yes. Yes.”

“And you’re not going anywhere, that clear?” He presses his forehead to mine, working me with those wicked digits and rocking his palm over my swollen clit.

I nod my head, wanting so badly to drag him against my mouth, but I also know why he’s holding back, even though his eyes keep straying to my lips. He knows we have to go back out there in a second, and while my pussy might have been entirely owned by him, I’m grateful he’s not leaving me to walk out of here with ruined makeup looking like I’ve been fucked senseless in this bathroom.

“You’re not leaving.” Thrust. “You’re not going back to an asshole like him.” Shove. “You’re mine.”

As he fingers me mercilessly, he crouches down once more. For a moment, I start to think he’s about to torture me and drive me out of my head with more of his mouth on me, except he watches me with hawk-like intensity. This time, Storm twists his wrist around, so that the back of his hand faces upwards. I don’t need to see to know exactly what that sight will reveal.

“Mmmfuck. Look how good you look.” Of course, I follow his voice, his sultry low tone that drags my attention down to between my thighs. “You love seeing how you stretch around my ink, don’t you?”

The tattooed letters of his name disappear inside me, and I clamp down on him at the depravity of it all.

“My precious little slut.” He punctuates each word with a thrust forward.

There’s so much possessive energy washing off him and coating me, I can’t even see straight. This time, it’s fast and gritty, and the wave crashes over me, slamming into the harbor with the rolling force of a hurricane. I barely contain the whimpers and slutty sounds, all demanding more from him.

I’m pretty sure in amongst it all, I begged for his cock, which of course, results in a self-satisfied smirk on those gorgeous lips of his.

As he pulls his hand away, he stands up and raises those fingers he’s just had buried deep inside my pussy in front of our faces, covered in the sticky residue of my climax. He rubs it between his thumb and middle finger, drawing them apart and making a show of putting my cum on a lewd display as it stretches out before looking at me with an arched eyebrow.

I dutifully stick out my tongue.

“My good fucking girl.” He groans while pressing past my lips, and I carefully lap up the evidence of how hard I just came under his command, cleaning him up while treated to his watchful gaze. My brain is twirling giddy circles somewhere in amongst the starry night sky, I’m certain.

Whether or not I can actually walk out of here without stumbling is another question entirely.

As he pulls his fingers away and then sucks down on them himself, he hums out a dark noise of satisfaction. Then he looks down and makes careful work of hooking my panties back into place and settling my dress to look completely normal.

Not like I just humped his face and shattered on his tongue and fingers.

“Ready?” He flashes me with a wicked glance.

Blinking at him, it takes a second to process what he’s saying. That’s when my brain comes back online. “Everyone saw you come in here. How the fuck are we supposed to just walk out and explain this?” I whisper-yell, my hand thumping his impossible, strong chest.

“I took care of that.”

“Oh really? How are you going to explain disappearing into the bathroom two seconds after me?” My stomach clenches. We haven’t discussed telling anyone about this thing between us, and I don’t feel like tonight, of all nights, is the occasion I want to spring this revelation on the only group of friends I’ve made.

The infuriating, supremely handsome man towering over me looks implacable. He’s a calm lake, while I’m a churning ocean of anxiety.

“I told them we might be awhile.”

“What?”

“Don’t look so panicked, little thorn.”

“But, aren’t they going to ask questions?” They are absolutely going to ask questions.

“No.” His lips tip up at the corners.

“How can you be so certain? They’re gonna suspect something.” I brush my hands over my dress, trying to smooth it down along with regathering my brain cells that have all pooled in my pussy.

“No. They’re not.”

“Why do I not like that look on your face?”

“I told them to carry on, that we might be gone for quite some time.”

He tugs on my elbow, guiding me toward the door, and as he unlocks it, the thud surely signaling the moment when our dirty little secret is going to be revealed, he bends to rumble in my ear.

“I told them it was a family emergency.”