Storm’s Reckoning

She was a force in the bar,    
a slip of heat in midnight’s haze,    
her hips swayed like music, slow and sure,    
dark hair wild, flowing down her back    
like thunder waiting to break.    
 
Storm, they called her  
fitting, I thought,    
she had a body built to ruin peace,    
lips like fire, eyes that caught,    
and hips that dared the night to dream.    
 
She slipped close, a whisper of heat,    
hand on my shoulder, her nails like claws,    
fingers tracing the line of my jaw    
as she grinned up, a flash of sin.    
“A quiet one, huh? Angel face,”    
she teased, her voice like smoke,    
“Let’s see if you’re ready to play.”  
 
A fool, I took her dare,    
shot after shot, a dance of fire,    
the bar spinning around her laugh,    
around her hand curled tight in mine.    
And she grinned, a devil’s grin,    
the storm breaking, ready to strike.  
 
Then she pulled me outside,    
midnight tight around us,    
her body pressed close,    
and damn, I felt like prey.    
Her lips were fire, teeth against skin,    
the sharp bite of whiskey in her kiss,    
fingers pulling, hips reckless,    
and I was lost, helpless in her grip.  
 
Then the sirens—cracked the night in half,    
blue lights burning, voices shouting,    
but Storm, she just laughed,    
turned her head, tossed her hair,    
and sauntered over to the cop,    
all sway and swagger.    
 
She leaned in close, voice low as sin,    
one hand on his chest, fingers tracing,    
her body a slow, sure invitation,    
and the poor fool didn’t stand a chance.    
By the time she tossed me the keys,    
the whole damn night was ours.    
 
“Let’s ride, angel,” she said, and I did,    
the engine roaring as we tore through the dark,    
her laughter wild, head thrown back,    
city lights spinning, cops left in our wake,    
just two outlaws chasing the thrill.    
 
We hit the beach as dawn crept close,    
waves crashing, sky burning,    
and she leapt from the car,    
climbed onto the hood like it was her throne,    
grinning, wild-eyed, pulling me to her.    
Her skin against mine, her hands rough,    
her hips meeting mine in a fierce, slow grind,    
the whole world stripped to that single touch,    
to the crash of waves and heat on steel.  
 
Under the last stars of night,    
her body moved, fierce and demanding,    
taking every damn inch of me,    
her nails biting deep, hips locked tight,    
her voice a low, guttural growl—    
“Give it to me, angel, give it all.”    
 
We moved like thieves, like gods,    
like two souls burning, lost in each other,    
the sky melting, pink and gold,    
the sun rising on our fevered release.    
 
And when it was over, she lay there laughing,    
her eyes full of mischief, wild as ever,    
watching the dawn stretch over the shore.    
Then she turned, brushed her hair from her face,    
and asked, “Who’s that in the back, all tied up?”  
 
And there he was,    
the poor guy, cuffed and dazed,    
a silent witness to the storm we made,    
his eyes wide, frozen, mouth slack,    
caught between shock and awe,    
watching the wreckage we left behind.    
 
We left him there, laughing hard,    
two rebels tangled in dawn’s light,    
she was the storm, I the fool,    
and hell if we didn’t set the night ablaze.