Being back in Storm’s room has panic settling in my belly. The memories of what he did to me here whirl around in my mind on an endless loop. My ass still hurts from where he hit me, but if I’m honest with myself, I kind of like the pain. It’s not the same as the time my sister slapped me for accidentally crashing her date, or when my dad slammed me into the wall last year when he found out I had applied to colleges out of state. No, the dull ache is soothing almost.
But that’s insane, isn’t it?
How can I like what Storm did to me?
The door closes behind Doc and drags my attention back to the situation I’ve found myself in. Storm hasn’t said much since I woke up, only telling me not to move, but he looks like he’s about the burst with all the things that are on his mind.
Doc gives me the all-clear apart from a sprained ankle I need to stay off for a few days. Not the most ideal situation when you’re trying to escape and have no other means than on foot, but I’ll just have to bide my time. I have to believe that Emerson and Wynter won’t allow anything to happen to me, because otherwise my situation seems that much more hopeless, and I can’t bring myself to accept that. Not yet at least.
I swing my legs around the side of the bed and look down at the distance between my feet and the ground. Jesus this bed is high. Or maybe it’s just because I’m so short. Being five foot three has meant I’ve always been vertically challenged, but I’ve never had an issue getting off a bed before, so there’s that.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Storm rumbles as he crosses to where I’m about to push myself from the mattress.
“To my room.”
“This is your room now,” he says simply.
I stare at him for a moment. He has to have lost his fucking mind if he thinks I’m going to sleep not only in the same room as him, but in the same bed. “No.”
“Yes.”
“Storm, no.” I cross my arms across my chest like a petulant child, because what else am I going to do? I can’t leave of my own accord. Even if I wanted to get to the room I’ve been staying in, I’m going to need his help, and that doesn’t seem likely judging by the look on his face.
A low growl draws from his throat as he stalks closer to me. His hands splay on the mattress on either side of me and his face drops until it’s just a few inches from mine, stealing away my ability to think. “I fucked up today, Ayvah. I know that, and I’ll do everything in my power to make up for it, but I can’t have you in another room right now, not when I almost lost you twice in one day. I need you in here with me, where I can continuously remind myself that you’re okay, because I won’t allow you to be anything other than that.”
My mouth drops open but no words come to the surface, because what are you meant to say when one of the most ruthless men in North America says something like that?
“I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to. I won’t ever touch you without your permission. I’m sorry for what I did today, I’m so fucking sorry I lost control. I’ve never…cared about anyone outside of my family before, and today really fucking terrified me, baby girl, and I lost control, something that very rarely happens.”
“I can’t,” I whisper.
His gray eyes darken as he lets out a low growl. “I’m sorry, Ayvah, but this isn’t up for discussion. You are staying in here with me. Your belongings will be moved in here in the morning, and moving forward, this will be the only place you sleep.”
“You can’t do that.”
“Oh, but Ayvah, I can do whatever the fuck I want to do.” It should sound like he’s bragging, but it doesn’t because there’s not a doubt in my mind that every word he’s said is true. A man like Storm Saint James doesn’t take no for an answer, and that fact rolls over me in a wave of dread. I’m never getting out of here.
I let out a slow, calming breath. Panicking isn’t going to do anything for me right now, even if every single nerve in my body begs at me to do just that. “Please just let me go, Storm. You don’t want me. You’re regularly referred to as Chicago’s most eligible bachelor. What on earth do you want with someone like me?”
A smirk tugs at the corners of his lips, his sculpted jaw tugging into a sinister smile. “You don’t see it yet. You’ve been constantly beaten down and trodden on. Underappreciated and undervalued. But that ends here, Ayvah. You’re going to be my queen. You’re going to stand by my side and rule our kingdom with me, and you’re going to show everyone who ever underestimated you what you’re capable of. What I know you’re capable of.”
The words coming out of his mouth are so absurd, so completely and utterly ridiculous that I allow the giggle that climbs up the back of my throat to fall from between my lips. He cannot mean any of what he just said. I wasn’t born to lead anything. I was born to be the puppet in my family’s games, to be loathed and hated. I sure as hell wasn’t born to stand by the side of a mafia boss and become his queen as he so affectionately put it.
“Something funny, baby girl?” Storm tilts his head to the side and if I wasn’t so busy being a combination of mortified and amused by this whole situation, the look would make my core ache with need for this man.
“I am not fit to lead anything, Storm. I’m a freshman in college, I’m barely out of high school. I’ve never even had friends let alone a boyfriend.” My hands move to cover my face. Oh my god. Did I just call Storm Saint James my boyfriend? The man is anything but a boy and I don’t feel like that’s a good description for a romantic relationship with him. “Not that you’d be my boyfriend,” I rush to clarify. For fuck sake. If I keep going like this, maybe he’ll drop me back in the city to never be seen again.
The thought has something unfamiliar rolling in my stomach. Sadness? But that doesn’t make any sense because I just tried to run away from him. Except, the idea of never seeing Storm again makes my heart hurt.
How soon after being kidnapped does Stockholm syndrome set in? Because that’s the only explanation I have for any of this.
Strong hands wrap around my wrists and drag my hands away from my face until Storm’s soft smile is all I can see. How can a man who is so notoriously hard, look at me like this? Like my internal freak out is cute? “Don’t hide from me, baby girl. I want all of you, even the bits you think are embarrassing.” He grips both my wrists in one of his huge hands and uses the other to gently trail his fingers down my cheek. The touch is so soft it seems out of place considering where I am and who I’m with, but I find myself leaning into the feeling. How can I not when it feels so… right? “I’m going to kiss you now,” he whispers, and before the meaning of the words sink in, his lips press softly against mine. It’s not rushed or rough like I expected a kiss with Storm would be. It’s slow and meaningful, full of emotion and unsaid words, and I can’t help but lean into it.
His tongue brushes across my lips, demanding entrance and my mouth opens of its own accord. I have no control here, and if I’m really honest with myself, I don’t think I’m upset about that. Dare I say, I think I prefer it this way.
A deep groan tears from Storm’s throat as he fights to keep his movements gentle. His grip on my wrists tightens slightly, but it only makes my core ache for him.
How did I go from scared for my life, to needing Storm more than my next breath in a matter of hours?
