Loving Storm (Page 2)
“Rayne is staying at the house to watch Niko and Halo. I took care of everything, babe, so we could have a quiet weekend alone.” I glance at her. “I thought going back to where we fell in love would be a good place to talk.”
She looks down at our hands and slowly nods. I leave it at that and switch the conversation to something light and fun. I know when to push, and I also know when to give her a little room. But I also know that, come Monday morning, we’re going to have a definite wedding date nailed down if I have to kiss, beg, talk, or fuck it out of her. This is me we’re talking about. When I want something, I don’t wait for it. I’m not letting her listen to the fears in her head anymore. The only thing she should be hearing is wedding bells…and us moaning each other’s names, of course.
Visiting the cabin always chills me out, and every time Evie and I have stayed here, it’s brought us closer together. Maybe because, a long time ago, it belonged to my grandparents, and part of their love still lives in these walls. I spent a lot of time having it renovated, throwing myself into it right after I got out of rehab years ago, because I needed to keep my mind busy. Picking out paint and flooring and furniture had my brain spinning for months and almost made me start drinking again just from the stress of it all. The cabin was always meant to be a no-female zone, but I knew the moment I brought Evie here—that first time, during the blizzard, right after we met each other —it was no longer my special place but our special place.
As soon as we enter the modern log cabin nestled in the woods, Evie walks over to the fresh bouquet of lilies in a mosaic vase sitting on the coffee table in the center of the living room. She leans down to sniff them, and a blissful smile spreads across her face before she turns to me.
“They’re beautiful. When did you do all this?”
“Yesterday.”
She crosses the room and puts her arms around me, clasping her hands behind my neck.
“You’re an amazing man, you know that?” she says softly, gazing up into my eyes.
I kiss the tip of her nose. “I know.” I put my arm around her and lead her into the kitchen. “We’re going to cook dinner together, then I’m going to rip your clothes off and we’re going in the hot tub.”
“Do I get to rip your clothes off too?” she teases.
“You better.”
We sip red wine and chop a salad together while our steaks broil; prime rib for me, a petit filet mignon for her. When I’m not on tour with the band, we do everything together. Cooking, laundry, grocery shopping, even grooming the cat and dog. She sits next to me for hours in the garage, talking nonstop, while I work on my motorcycle. She’ll sit and massage my feet while I practice guitar. I straighten her hair for her with the flat iron because she always misses that one spot in the back of her head. When we’re apart we text and video chat as much as possible. She’s my best friend, and I love her at her best and her worst and everything that falls in the middle. And finally, I’ve found someone who loves me for me. She couldn’t give two shits about my money or me being in a rock band. She doesn’t “fangirl” over me, and she puts me in my place when I need it – which is often.
We’re a perfect figure eight, an unbreakable, twisty connection of friends and lovers.
Do we need vows and a marriage certificate to solidify that? Hell no. But I want her to be my wife. I want to see the signature in her email as Evelyn Valentine. I want to introduce her as my wife, not my fiancée. I want all the nuts on social media to know we’re married. They can tag her as #BlizzardChick all they want, but I want them to know she’s permanent and not a weekend fling.
When we finish dinner she rinses the dishes in the sink and starts organizing them in the dishwasher by size and fragility. This self-distracting stalling technique of hers is nothing new. When she’s scared or nervous, she retreats and scurries around like a little bunny.
Like a hawk I swoop in on her and throw her over my shoulder.
“Storm!” She twists around in my grip as I carry her to the sliding glass doors that lead to the hot tub on the back deck. “What are you doing? I have to do the —”
I give her ass a playful spank. “The only thing you have to do right now is get in the hot tub.” The night air is borderline chilly—perfect for relaxing in hot bubbling water. I set her down on her feet and tilt her chin up to kiss her lips before I uncover the tub. She’s still standing there with a dazed smile on her face when I turn around, but she snaps out of it and steps toward me to wrap her arms tightly around my waist.
“You looked sexy bent over the hood of the car,” I whisper against her ear as I pull her blouse out of the waistband of her pants and slowly undo the tiny buttons, my fingers lingering in the valley of her breasts. Following my lead, she works the four buttons of my button-fly jeans. Fuck zippers. They’re way too quick and easy. I like feeling her tug at the brass buttons impatiently to get to me.
I slip her blouse off her shoulders and throw it onto a nearby lawn chair. She shivers in the cool breeze, her nipples peak against the thin lace of her bra. I cover her mouth hungrily with mine as she grasps my cock, her palm pressing against the tip, her fingers stroking my hard shaft.
The clasp of her bra unhooks easily, and I slide my hands from her waist to caress her breasts. She moans against my mouth and tightens her fingers around me as I quickly unzip her pants and push them down to her ankles. Still caught in our kissing frenzy, we step out of our clothes and I scoop her up in my arms to carry her to the hot tub, and I lean over the edge to lower her into the steaming water. She comes to me as soon as I climb in next to her, immediately wrapping her arms around my neck and her legs around my waist. Our lips and bodies connect simultaneously, perfectly. My hands cup her ass cheeks, pulling her taut, wet body against mine as my cock sinks into her. Her soft moans and hums drive me totally wild. Every sound, every clench, every arch of her body fuels my fire for her, my mind abandoning any and every thought that isn’t Evie. All I want, all I need, all I think about is her.
Evie didn’t fill a void; she made a place in my life that never would have existed without her.
Under the star-filled sky, her thighs tighten around me, her fingers clench my shoulders urgently and, with a few deep thrusts, we’re coming together, our bodies shaking and shuddering in the steaming water.
I back her up to the bench in the water and set her down on it, kissing her lips softly as she reaches up to hug me close, her limbs still trembling. After-sex Evie is always a subdued, sleepy-eyed, slow kissing bundle of adorableness.
“I love you,” she whispers. “So, so, so, so much.”
My heart swells as I stroke her cheek. “That sounds like a lot.” I touch my lips to her damp forehead.
“It is.”
“I love you a lot too.”
After we’ve relaxed and stargazed, I help her into one of the thick gray robes we keep by the hot tub. I hold onto her hand as we go back inside the house, so she can’t run off and embark on one of her distraction projects.
“I’ll get us some more wine.” I retrieve the wine bottle and two new glasses from the kitchen while she curls up on the couch. I’m hoping the mix of wine, a steamy hot-tub, and orgasms relaxes her enough to open up and doesn’t backfire on me and send her into a ten-hour nap. Evie’s a lightweight when it comes to alcohol—she’s not a drinker—and I only recently convinced her that we can enjoy a bottle of wine occasionally without her worrying I’m going to fall back into my old habits. Alcohol and drugs were things I once used to escape my own head, but I have no reason to do that shit anymore.
My life is good.
“Thank you for all this,” she says when I sit on the couch next to her, pulling her legs over my lap.
“Things have been busy the past few weeks.” I run my hand under her robe and rest it on her thigh. “We need some us time to talk.”
She swallows hard. “Talk?”
With my other hand I grab hers and hold it up; the big diamond sparkles like a star, even in the dimness of the room.
“I gave you this for a reason. Remember?”
She smiles. “Of course I remember. It was one of the best days of my life.”
“Then let’s set a date for what’s supposed to be the day to blow away all other best days – one with a cake with little people on top. And a dog and a cat too, if you want.”
“Storm…”
My gut sinks with her fading smile. “Do you still want to marry me? What’s the problem, babe?”
I’ve gotten dozens of marriage proposals over the years. Most coming from fans that believed they were in love with me even though I’d never met them before. Some were random hookups that only lasted one night. I’ve even had men propose – good-looking ones with better hair than me and a lot of money. Now the one girl I actually want to marry and can’t imagine my life without is holding back, and I have no idea why.
“Of course I want to marry you. I want that more than anything in the world, Storm.”
“Then what’s got you all tweaked? Why aren’t you shoving invitations with swirly lettering in my face or turning into bridezilla?”