Julia's POV (Extended Flashback – The Night of the Storm
The storm was rolling in fast. The sky looked bruised, and the wind had that eerie weight to it. I told my dad I was heading to Tyler's to check on him—he was alone, and even though we argued half the time, I cared. I brought over food and snacks to last the weekend. I wasn't planning to stay.
But once Tyler opened the door and pulled me inside, the first drops hit. The downpour followed fast—like the sky cracked open all at once. I set the bags on the counter. Tyler smiled, thanking me, his usual cocky confidence softened by surprise.
We made small talk. I could tell he was distracted. I was, too.
My phone buzzed—Camila. I answered, but the signal was trash. All I heard was static, a few broken words, then silence. I stared at the screen. Tyler placed a hand on my shoulder and told me she'd be fine. I wanted to believe him, but my gut was tight with worry.
He pulled me into a hug. I buried my face in his chest, clinging to that solid, steady heartbeat. His warmth, the way he held me—it felt different.
And then his hands moved.
They slid down, steady and slow, resting at my waist like he'd been holding back forever.
"Look at me please," he murmured, voice low and husky. I lifted my gaze—and everything shifted.
His eyes weren't teasing. They weren't sarcastic. They were hungry.
He gripped my hips and lifted me onto the kitchen counter. My breath caught. The storm howled outside, but I barely heard it the storm inside me was louder. Tyler moved in between my legs, his hands spreading across my thighs. My skin tingled like every nerve had woken up at once.
I was frozen—but not in fear. In anticipation.
He leaned in. His hand slid up, gentle but firm, curling lightly around my throat—not choking, just enough to tilt my head back. His breath was warm on my lips.
Then he kissed me.
Slow. Deep. His lips tasted like mint and tension and something I couldn't name. I grabbed his shirt without realizing it, needing something to hold onto.
The kiss deepened—messy, hungry, aching. His hands ran up my thighs, lifting my skirt higher with every pass. My pulse thundered in my ears. I should've stopped it. I should've asked questions. But God help me, I wanted this.
He pulled back, panting, then tugged his shirt over his head. I swallowed hard. I'd seen him shirtless before—but not like this. Not when I wanted to touch every inch of him.
He lifted me again. I instinctively wrapped my legs around his waist. He carried me to his room like it was the most natural thing in the world. When he laid me on his bed, he looked at me like I was something sacred. Something he'd waited for.
Tyler's fingers went to the buttons of my white blouse, undoing them one by one his fingers trembling slightly. He pushed the fabric aside, pausing to kiss my collarbone, my chest, the tops of my breasts. I moaned softly, my hips shifting on instinct.
Then he knelt between my legs, pushing my skirt up and settling there like he belonged.
He looked up at me once—like he was checking asking begging to continue. I nodded, breathless.
He kissed the inside of my thigh, then the other, dragging his lips slowly, making me twitch with need. His fingers curled around the waistband of my underwear, and I lifted my hips without thinking.
He slid them down my legs and tossed them somewhere behind him.
When his mouth met me, I gasped.
His tongue moved slowly at first—gentle strokes, barely-there pressure. He took his time, tasting, teasing, learning what made my toes curl and my breath hitch. Then, once he knew—once he figured out what unraveled me—he didn't hold back.
He sucked. He licked. He circled with maddening patience, then swirled with purpose.
My hands shot to his hair his soft black hair was pin straight . I wasn't thinking—I was feeling. Waves of pleasure built and crashed over me. My moans grew louder, my thighs trembling against his shoulders.
He moaned into me , like he could stay there forever. And God, maybe I wanted him to.
My climax hit like a lightning strike.
My whole body arched, and I cried out, no shame, no filter. I was raw, undone, shaking with the force of it. Tyler didn't stop—he slowed, soothed, drew out every last wave until I was gasping and limp.
He pressed a kiss to my inner thigh, then another to my hip. I was still shaking.
He left for a second, came back with a warm towel, cleaned me gently—like I was something precious.
Then he laid beside me and pulled me into his chest.
He planned kisses along the crown of my head and down my jaw then he praised me ohh God he praised me he told me how good I tasted and how beautiful I looked
"Don't worry about the storm," he whispered, kissing the top of my head.
But I couldn't think about the storm. Who gave a shit about the storm my mind was a mess
Tyler just gave me head.
Tyler.
Motorcycle-riding, cheek-pinching, bad-joke-making Tyler.
And now he was holding me like I was more than just a moment. Like I was something he didn't want to lose.
I sighed and closed my eyes.
Somewhere in the dark, I heard him whisper, "Finally no more runing ." or something like that
And I fell asleep wondering how long he'd been waiting and what this ment