Firestorm - Ellie Masters Page 0,32

rumble of his voice never fails to send a shiver down my spine. The man won’t touch me, but he loves to call me little backpack. There’s a simmering intimacy building between us.

Between two people who don’t touch, but I feel his eyes on me. They leave a blistering trail of heat behind them.

Smoldering.

Incinerating.

A firestorm ready to erupt.

I glance at the deck. “I’m tired of playing cards.”

We’ve run the gamut of Gin Rummy, War, Go Fish, Spades, Hearts, and more. I’m ready to breathe a little fresh air.

“How can it take so long to kick me out of this place?”

It’s a little before noon. Asher took off work early to break me out of this joint.

I’m hungry and cranky, because I don’t want another hospital meal tray.

“They have procedures they have to follow.” He says it with far more patience than I feel.

“Well, their procedures are slow as shit.” I use air quotes for emphasis.

“You, my dear, are impatient. Don’t worry, they’ll release you, and when they do, I have the perfect place to take you.”

I’m hoping that’s his house and it has a massive bed where I can strip him out of his clothes and finally discover if his body looks as amazing as I imagine. If he kisses as good as in my fantasies. And finally, if he fucks like I hope he does, wild and unrestrained.

I need something earth-shattering if I’m going to move on.

“Sorry.” I curl my lower lip between my teeth. “I don’t like not having control, and I’m really tired of these four walls. I’m cranky and grouchy.”

“Well, I have a solution for that.”

“Go on?” I’m curious what kinds of plans he’s made. It’s Friday and he’s alluded to taking me out on the town and introducing me to his friends. He hasn’t mentioned taking me home.

He curls his finger in a come hither gesture and I lean forward. He leans close and lowers his voice to a whisper, making a show of looking out toward the hall.

“Closer, little backpack.”

I’ve never had a nickname before, well other than Evie, but that’s just a kid’s name. It doesn’t mean anything. When Asher calls me little backpack, my insides turn to mush and my fantasies kick into high gear.

“What?” I lower my voice and play along. I feel like we’re two kids trying to get away with something.

We lean over the rickety hospital tray, our faces inches apart. My attention is glued to the door, following the direction of his gaze, which is why I miss it when he grabs my face, cups my cheeks, and presses his lips to mine.

An electric jolt shoots through my body and my muscles tense, but that means nothing to me. I’m lost to the sensation as he pushes his tongue gently between my lips. His hands slide around to cup my nape, making it impossible to pull away.

But that’s the thing, I don’t want to pull away. In fact, I have a little something in store for him, a tease to make him twitch, but first…this kiss.

Sparks rush through me and I sink into the way he holds me, like he’s never letting me go. Like he owns this kiss and is taking what he wants. I’m more than inclined to give it to him.

His tongue teases mine, chasing, exploring, meeting me in a fervent dance as desire rushes through us. A groan slips from his throat.

Low, guttural, needy.

It’s so damn sexy and sends a rush of sensation between my thighs. My panties dampen as my fingers curl in the sheets. Turned on doesn’t begin to describe my wanton state. I’m ready to crawl onto his lap and ride him like I’ve done in my dreams.

Which brings me to how I intend to make him squirm.

I inch my fingers forward, well aware of how he’s sitting and I aim to have some fun at his expense. I want to see how he’ll react when I touch him.

My fingers brush his knee and another low groan escapes him. He lets go all pretense and curls his fingers in my hair where he can control me.

Like I’m going to let him control our kiss.

The thing is, I love it.

I love his take charge attitude.

His body tenses when my fingers slide up his thigh, I lean forward and beg for him to deepen the kiss. The man doesn’t disappoint.

There’s nothing soft or gentle in what comes next. He’s hungry, ravenous even, as he bites and licks and nips at my lips. His