Riding the Storm (16 page)

"Make
it stop, Haley. Please, make it stop," he whispered against her mouth, and
then he kissed her, a hot, demanding kiss that jolted him to the soul. He heard
popping sounds fill the air as if bolts of electricity were being released from
his body, out into the universe, and he ripped his mouth away from hers as a
hard rain whipped around them.

"
C'est
pas le peine
," he mumbled as Haley moved off of him, stood and dragged
him determinedly to his feet and toward the house. "It's no use."

Haley's
brain had short-circuited. That was the only explanation for why, after seeing
proof that Remy could do what his father said, she wasn't giddy with
excitement.

The
first contact instructors who'd prepared her for this mission had warned that
people with special abilities often despised their powers, rarely understood
them and most likely didn't have full control over them. Remy seemed to fit all
three categories, and instead of being ecstatic about her discovery, all she
wanted to do was help him find peace with who he was and what he could do.

Limbs
heavy after so many orgasms she'd lost count, she led Remy into the house,
which was dark, the generator having finally run out of gas. She'd expected him
to give her more trouble, but he was strangely pliable. She knew that would
change soon, that he would regain his hard-won control and shut her out again.
For both their sakes, she couldn't allow him to slip back into a closed-off mode.

"In
here, Remy." She urged him toward the bathroom, pausing briefly to snare a
hurricane lamp from the end table.

She
set it on the closed toilet lid and lit the wick quickly, the lamplight illuminating
Remy's face and the emotions that crossed it. Confusion. Pain. Sadness. All of
it fleeting, and all of it enough to make her heart break just a little.

Rain
tapped softly on the roof as she grabbed a washcloth and ran it under the water
in the sink. When she brought the cloth up to his face, he didn't even blink.
She wiped the streaks of mud from his forehead, his cheeks, the tip of his
nose, while he stared straight ahead, his posture all military bearing.

"Remy?
Are you okay?"

"
J'aurais
pas du de venire me fourer ici, "
he said, more to himself than to
her.

"What
does that mean?"

His
jaw tightened as she ran the cloth over his hands, doing the best she could to
get the worst of the mud off of them. "I shouldn't have come here. This
place does me no good." He took a deep, shuddering breath. "God, I'm
tired."

"Is
it always like this?"

He
dazedly looked down at the muddy tracks they'd left on the floor, but she
didn't know if he actually saw them. "She's never fucked with me this
hard. I don't get it. You're the meteorologist. Parameteorologist. Whatever.
Don't you have some sort of inside track?"

"I
wish I did."

A
gust of wind shrieked through the trees, as if Mother Nature had heard Remy
trying to get rid of her. "Fuck."

He
took his hands from hers, held his fists at his sides, and his expression grew
dark. Even in the dim light from the lamp flame, she recognized that look, the
one full of heat and lust and a raging battle for control.

"What
can I do, Remy? Tell me how to help you."

He
didn't say a word, merely wrapped an arm around her waist and drew her into his
hard body. Cold mud on his pants squished against her bare legs. His erection
burned into the tender flesh of her belly and the even more tender tattoo,
which had started to tingle again.

She
reached down, touched him gently. "Is this part of your tie to the
weather?" she asked, and he flinched. "It's okay, Remy. You can tell
me. It is, isn't it?"

The
ACRO investigators who'd probed Remy's past and present, who'd examined his
movements all over the world, had included in their reports statements from
women who claimed that when the weather turned bad, Remy's lust turned
insatiable. Haley's own doubts had been dispelled not long after meeting him.
Still, his desire could have been explained as some strange storm-fetish, which
she shouldn't think was so odd, given that severe weather always gave her a
sexual thrill, of sorts.

"Yes,"
he said through clenched teeth. "Storms. They affect me." He covered
her hand with his, held it there against his crotch.

Hunger
flashed in his eyes, so intense she squirmed as they stood there in the growing
puddle of muck that dripped down their legs.

"We
should clean up while the water is still hot," she said, lamely, because
she had no desire to get clean. She wanted to get dirty in ways that didn't
involve mud.

One
corner of his mouth twitched in a half smile and he reached around her and
turned on the shower faucet.

"No.
It's dangerous to shower during a storm." And she'd investigated enough
bathtub electrocutions to know.

"You
were showering when I got here."

"That's
because it wasn't storming. It wasn't until you got here…

"Yeah,"
he muttered, and she wished she hadn't brought it up. "But we're safe. She
won't hurt me."

Though
Haley had her doubts, she allowed him to remove her shirt, not minding that his
method of removal involved tearing it off so that the remaining two buttons
scattered. If she spent much more time with him, she'd need a new wardrobe.

Her
entire body throbbed already, and the ache drilled deeper as she watched his
long, sexy fingers work the only button on his cargos he hadn't undone outside.
The fly parted wide, and the full, thick length of his erection sprang free.

God,
he was beautiful. And big. her mouth watered with the memory of how he tasted,
and her inner muscles clenched at the mere thought of how he filled her,
despite the fact that they'd just had wild, hot sex.

A fog
of lust and shower steam blurred her vision, until she could hardly see. He
seemed to know, and he took his sweet time pushing his pants down. The hard
globes of his ass shifted and flexed enticingly when he pivoted to kick the
cargos into a corner, and it took every last ounce of willpower to keep from
grabbing him. From reaching between his legs from behind and caressing his
balls, maybe going to her knees and sucking them into her mouth as she reached
around and stroked him in her fist.

Taking
her wrist, he pulled her into the shower with him. The hard spray stung until
he blocked it with his body, and she squirted a thick stream of coconut
mango—scented soap onto her mesh body puff.

Mud
sloughed off them, swirling down the drain as she gently scrubbed his chest,
her looping, leisurely strokes at odds with the way her insides rattled and her
hormones fired through her blood. Outside, thunder rolled, and with a groan, he
tilted his head back into the stream of water. His throat worked on a hard
swallow, and he threw out a hand to brace himself against the shower wall.

She
washed her way up, to his arms and shoulders. His muscles rippled and bunched
beneath her puff, and long, soapy trails wound through the valleys between.
When she worked her way down, the wind outside picked up.

"Storms
make you—"

"Want
to fuck."

His
head snapped forward, and he pierced her with a hard gaze. She shivered at the
fierceness in his eyes, the crude statement. Her entire body went hot, so hot
her damned tattoo felt like a fresh brand, with searing, tingling fingers
connected to her sex.

"They
make me want to fuck until I pass out. Is that what you wanted to know?"

"Yes,"
she whispered, unsure if he'd heard her over the shriek of the wind.

Her
hand shook as she rasped the puff over his thighs. She let her arm brush his
erection, each glancing touch causing his chest to expand sharply. Lightning
bathed the bathroom in silver light.

"When
you're aroused… like when there are no storms…

"I
draw any nearby weather." He hissed when she soaped up her palm and closed
it around his penis, unable to hold off touching him intimately for another
second. "Sometimes it forms out of nowhere."

There
was so much more she wanted to ask, but he kissed her so thoroughly and for so
long that the water started to grow cold even as her body grew hotter. How
could it not, with the way he thrust into her soapy hands as though he didn't
even realize what he was doing, the way he looked at her like he wanted to
devour her.

Oh,
she remembered how he'd devoured her hours earlier, how his tongue had swiped
through her slit and then stabbed deep. Lick, plunge, repeat. Sweet Lord, she'd
dance to that beat all night long.

"What…
She swallowed dryly and stepped back from the cool drops that sprinkled her
skin. "What if there's a storm and you don't get sex?"

He
shut off the water and shook his head like a big, powerful beast, sending water
droplets splattering like rain on the shower curtain. "I have to. She
makes me." He squeezed half the bottle of soap into his hand and stalked
her, which seemed impossible, since they were standing inside a bathtub.
"I can get myself off," he said, rubbing his palms together till
creamy soap dripped down his arms, "but it's better to have a woman."

She
couldn't breathe as he smeared her breasts and worked his way down to her belly
and hips.

"Do
you mind, Haley? Do you mind if I have you? Over and over?" He dipped his
head, lapped at her shoulder. Shivers of pleasure rippled over her skin.

She
didn't mind, and she had a feeling she'd never mind. But she was beginning to
see why other women might. His files indicated that he never kept a girlfriend
for long. His intense sexual needs, as well as the violent weather phenomenon
that followed him, probably scared the crap out of his partners.

Fortunately
for him, Haley didn't scare easily, and never because of weather.

"Over
and over," she swore.

Lifting
his head, he speared her with a gaze full of a haunting hunger that broke her
heart into a million pieces. "You can't be real."

There
was no time to answer. He braced her face in his soapy palms, holding her as he
lowered his mouth to hers. She'd never enjoyed kissing, but Remy kissed like he
made love—with raw, primal skill that evoked a primitive feminine response she
refused to analyze.

His
tongue speared deep, stroked hers in a slow, drugging rhythm. When he sucked on
her tongue, pulled on it with alternating firm and delicate pressure, she
clutched at his waist and wondered if she'd ever let him go.

The
kiss grew hotter, wetter, and so did her sex, until she couldn't stand the
emptiness. She wrapped one slippery leg around his thighs, groaning at the
pressure against her mound. Just a little gentle rubbing would get her there;
her body was so willing and ready that he could probably talk her into an
orgasm at this point.

Remy
caught her bottom lip between his teeth and flicked his tongue over it, and oh,
how she wished he'd do it again, only lower. Tilting her hips, she eased her
throbbing ache against his hard thigh muscle. His erection tickled her belly,
and though water and soap dripped down her abs, she could still feel the silky,
hot pre-cum streaming from the tip.

Thunder
boomed somewhere, but it was muted, distant. "Why isn't the storm bad
anymore?" she asked, though she could barely understand herself, the way
her voice sounded ragged and hoarse.

"Don't
know," he said against her mouth. "Don't care." He brought his
hands down, one sliding to her ass, the other dropping between them to cup her
sex. "God, you're wet."

"It's
mostly you," she moaned, as his middle finger slid back and forth in her
cleft, making her twitch with every feather-light stroke across her
supersensitive nub.

"Me,"
he murmured, his voice vibrating through her like some sort of secret trigger,
because suddenly she was coming, and he was saying, "Only me,
bebe
,
only me."

Her
climax screamed through her, and he entered her while her pussy was still
clenching with powerful spasms. The soap created a slippery, sexy friction as
he took her against the cold tile.

"Harder,
Remy." She wrapped herself tight around him and threw her head back.

He
moved faster, thrust deeper, and he must have soaped up her back, because she
slid up and down the wall like she rode on greased rails. It felt like being
caressed in 3-D, from the back, the front, the inside, and God, she wasn't
going to last much longer. The triple sensations were making her fly apart,
making her straddle the precipice of a release that threatened to make all the
others tonight seem mild.

His
mouth came down on hers once more, sealing them together. And then, out of
nowhere, lightning lit the bathroom, kept it lit as thunder damn near took the
house off its foundation. Remy roared into her mouth, rammed into her, and
blinding bursts of light speared her eyes as she came once more, her orgasm
heightened by his.

Her
release went on and on, a full-body orgasm she felt at the cellular level. She
was a lightning rod, and Remy was the lightning, burning her to ash.