6. Storm

6

STORM

I'd done a lot of things to mess with people in my life, but kissing another guy wasn't one of them.

Adrenaline coursed through me as I kept my lips against Emmett's, claiming him like he was my prize for fighting dirty.

That desperate desire that had fueled every decision in my life came out of nowhere, propelling me like a fucking comet in the sky.

Something a little possessive crept up inside me.

Mine , I thought, as I leaned into Emmett's kiss. He let out a little startled gasp when my mouth landed on his, and another bolt of satisfaction shuddered through me.

Think I can't break you, huh?

I really fucking wanted to make him like me. To challenge him. To make a rich guy into my plaything, wrapping him around my finger and proving to him that I could win .

I put a hand to his hip, just gently, sliding beneath the stupid fancy blazer he had on. He didn't just gasp this time—he fucking moaned , just from my palm against his hip.

You are so, so mine .

I did like pushing people's buttons, but it wasn't even just about that. Maybe I was a little drunk, but there was something about Emmett that was… pretty.

For lack of a better word.

And there was definitely something about his lips that was really, really fucking pretty. And the fist on my chest had honestly been an exciting surprise. I'd always been into women who might have looked like sweet, simple girls next door, but they were fierce and bold on the inside.

I was attracted to strong opinions.

To passion .

To fire.

And Emmett wasn't a woman, but tonight, he had been all of those things. Breaking right out of the cookie-cutter mold I had him pegged in.

Hearing his voice go ragged when I kissed his hand had been like a beacon. Something in my brain had gone haywire. I was having an effect on him. I'd known plenty of gay dudes in my life, and I could tell when a guy thought I was hot, and Emmett had liked my lips on his hand. No matter how badly he might have wanted to sock me in the jaw at the same time.

He was a little bit shorter than me, and he felt small under my hand, in the same way I liked with a woman. I couldn't believe he hadn't shoved me away yet.

Hell, if he pushed me back and punched me in the face, I'd probably have gotten a thrill out of that, too.

Emmett's lips were so goddamn plush and soft, and he smelled like whiskey, which was kind of hot. Fuck, man, I also liked the newness . The knowledge that if anyone looked over and saw us in the corner of the yard, they'd go wild wondering why I was kissing another guy and there'd probably be sixteen gossip blog articles about it the next morning.

Maybe Emmett was right.

I really did like attracting trouble. Attention was attention, right?

Was that why I'd liked his fist on my chest so much?

I broke off the kiss to breathe in a moment later, looking down at Emmett's spit-slick lips, glistening under the low light from one of the string lights above.

"Fuck you," he uttered.

Is this how you look after you come? I thought, the idea flashing through my brain out of nowhere.

I knew a kiss wasn't equal to an orgasm, or anything, but the way he looked up at me right now… he looked so blown out, his pupils wide, his face flushed.

I suddenly became aware that my hand was still on his hip and I pulled it away, biting my lower lip as my cock hardened under my pants.

"Could've punched you instead," I told him, "but I promise that would hurt more than a little kiss."

Emmett looked down, bringing his fingers to his lips like he couldn't believe what just happened. I couldn't believe it either, to be fair. His lashes were in pretty, dark rows as he looked at the ground, and when he looked back up at me, my chest did something weird all over again.

Why did I keep interpreting him as pretty? As attractive? My brain pathways were all screwed up or something, getting confused by my cock.

He is a challenge, so I have to have him.

"Fine. You win," he said. "You'll do anything to push a guy's buttons, and that includes kissing him, if he's gay."

"No," I said. "I've never done that before. That was just for you."

His eyes scanned my face like he was trying to figure out if it was the truth. "Could this night get any weirder?"

"You afraid I'm going to do it again?" I asked.

"I know you won't do it again," Emmett said, sounding very sure of himself.

"And why's that?"

"I know plenty of straight guys. You kissed me to try to fuck with me, and you were really weirded out by it, weren't you?"

I actually really, really wasn't , I thought. I'm kind of weirded out that I wasn't weirded out by it.

But instead of talking about how I felt, I just leaned in again and crushed my lips to his even harder.

I took the front of his shirt in my fist this time, pushing him back up against the fence, showing him only five percent of my physical force. I felt a button snap on the front of his shirt, so I gripped it even harder. I didn't give a fuck if the shirt was a thousand bucks. I'd buy him a new one if he asked. Nothing was going to make me back down right now.

"It's just a kiss," I said against his mouth, biting his lower lip to see if that would get a reaction. "Do I seem weirded out?"

"You seem like you're out of your mind," he said in a low growl.

Who knew the pretty little rich guy was even capable of sounding like that? This was my reward for taking things too far—for going somewhere most people would never usually go.

"Tell me to stop and I will at any moment," I said.

And I meant it. If I'd had any inkling that Emmett wasn't comfortable, I'd have stopped in a second.

But when my lips had first touched his, he hadn't pulled away. Hadn't even stiffened up. I swore he'd leaned in, like something inside him was asking for more, even though he couldn't do it himself.

I nipped a kiss at the corner of his lips. He moaned again.

"Keep going, Storm," he said. "Maybe I want to see how far you'll go before you freak about kissing a guy and I win."

Check, check, and check.

I groaned, claiming his mouth again and taking his wrist in my hand.

God, Emmett was fun. He really thought he could win? He didn't know me well enough yet to know the most important thing about me: that I wasn't afraid of anything. I'd spent my whole life doing whatever the hell I wanted to do, so why wouldn't I kiss a guy? Emmett wanted to push me just as much as I wanted to push him. To lick the taste of whiskey right from his tongue.

And show him that nothing he could say or do would ever get to me. I couldn't be bought. Couldn't be messed with. Couldn't be weirded out.

"Kissed you," I told him, my voice dropping lower now. "Doesn't mean I want to fuck you."

"Where's Se?or Stormy Eyes?" a very drunk-sounding voice came from around the corner.

I broke off from Emmett, turning around just as my friend Mack came around the corner, beer in hand.

The electric thrill shot through me as Mack looked over at us, squinting in the low light.

There it is again. Ready to back down yet, Emmett?

My hand was still gripped around Emmett's wrist. Mack took one look at it and then looked up at me, his gaze hardening.

"Who's this fucker?" Mack said, drunk and clearly looking for a fight. "What did he say? If this is another homophobic piece of shit, I'm going to sock him in the face myself, Stormy—"

"Chill, Mack," I said, letting go of Emmett's arm. "He isn't a homophobe."

"Storm was just showing me where a good place for my first tattoo might be," Emmett said.

Interesting. Emmett telling a little white lie even though he didn't need to.

"Oh, fuck yeah," Mack said, his face brightening in an instant. "Inner wrist will hurt you, though, bud, if it's your first tat. Storm told me he cried like a baby just from his latest shoulder tattoo."

"I didn't cry," I clarified. "But it did hurt like a bitch, and I'm not afraid to say it."

" Load ‘er up, boys! " an unmistakable voice came from the direction of my patio.

"Fuck," I said. "Mom is about to do a brain blast. I need to go prevent that from happening."

"Do I even want to know what a brain blast is?" Emmett asked.

"When you mix a tiny bit of every liquor at the bar and take it like a shot."

"A really, really big shot," Mack said with a wicked grin.

"Hallelujah, motherfucker!" I heard Mom saying, followed by a peal of laughter. "I might be old, but I'm never going to slow down."

They say the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, but with me and Mom, the apple barely fell at all. She was like an older version of me with grey hair: fearless, shameless, and ready for anything.

But I didn't want to be the one dealing with her puking or getting another fucked up ankle if she got super wasted tonight.

"Stay here," I told Emmett, who was looking down at the broken button on his shirt like it was a math problem he couldn't solve.

I took off toward my patio and caught Mom right as she was beckoning two of my friends over to fill the rest of her little glass cup. I picked it up, swigged half of it myself, grimacing at the vile combination of liquors.

"Storm's stealing my brain blast!" Mom called out.

"Gin should never be combined with rum," I said, sticking my tongue out. "Good God."

She leaned over, whispering near me. "I shouldn't be doing those anymore, anyway."

"No shit," I told her.

After I'd made sure the situation was under control, I headed back around to the side of the house.

Emmett was gone.

And even though I'd kind of expected him to leave, a little part of me was disappointed. Toying with him was fun, to be honest.

More fun than I'd had in a while.

"G'night, Fancy Pants," I said under my breath, looking over toward his house.