After nearly losing Gabe, I’ve come to realize just how much he means to me. Yet even though I might want to confess my true feelings to him, doing so would leave me far too vulnerable at a time when I can least afford it.
That’s because devastating news about the Link Protocol and my grandmother are threatening to send my career, and my life, spiraling out of control.
With the demise of my only relative seemingly imminent and Gabe’s unceasing demands weighing on me, I’m not sure how much more I can take.
I’ve never been under such relentless pressure…
What am I going to do?
afternoon sun, we intertwined our bodies, twisting arms and legs as the
sailboat rocked back and forth with the gentle currents. Between the sounds of
our hungry groans for one another, the lyrical cries of seabirds overhead
passed in and out of my awareness.A subtle breeze stirred the sail into action, causing it to flap and crack like
an oversized whip. I swirled my fingers in Gabe’s hair, gently twisting the
loose, damp curls. Gabe held me firm, with one hand around my midsection and
the other cupping my breast.
When I thought I’d lost him, the feeling I experienced was about so much more than
the physical. But now, having him here again, holding me, touching me and
consuming me—I realized how connected I’d become to him.
I allowed my fingertips to slide down the back of his head, along his neck and
towards the sun-warmed skin of his muscular upper back. Curling my fingers
under, I dug the tips of my nails into his flesh as I further sought to
reassure myself of his physical presence.
As I did, Gabe grunted and contracted his shoulder blades, drawing them
together in a tight ball of sinew. I moaned in return and relaxed my grip,
moving down further yet again until I reached the hard, round muscularity of
his perfect ass, squeezing it and pulling it towards my hips.
Just then, Gabe separated his mouth from mine. As the satin soft feel of his
lips moved away, I let loose with a disapproving pout.
Gabe chuckled as he looked down at me. “What’s the matter?”
Releasing one of my hands from his backside, I drew it up towards my face and
pointed at my mouth.
“My lips miss you already.”
“Which ones?” Gabe said, with a devious smile on his face.
I returned his grin with one of my own. “You’re terrible, you know that?”
Sloan Storm is a verbally difficult, yet physically generous, writer who pens imaginative yarns based on dominant men and the women who challenge them.
As such, power plays and passion are the heart of each and every story. The writer’s creative tendencies may drift as the mood strikes, but the essence of all tales told wind up back at the same place… the polarizing difference between the sexes.
After all, what else is there in life?
When not glued to a keyboard creating tales of whimsy, Sloan loves to talk to fans! If you want to connect, you can do it in any number of ways: