Bonus Chapter: Back to Pinebrook

An exclusive scene from Stormed In, Turned On
by Aurora North

This bonus chapter takes place one year after the events of the novel. Casey and Rina return to the Pinebrook Lodge for their anniversary.

Back to Pinebrook

“You’re sure about this?” Rina asked, watching the Catskills rise through the windshield as Casey navigated the familiar two-lane road. February again. Snow on the ground, the trees skeletal and beautiful against a pewter sky.

“I booked the room three months ago.” Casey glanced at her with a smile that was equal parts warmth and mischief. “Room 7A. I called Glenn personally. I requested the radiator that sounds like a dying animal.”

The Pinebrook Lodge looked exactly the same. Glenn was at the front desk, older by a year and exactly as unflappable. “The storm couple,” he said, with the ghost of a smile. “Room 7A. I left extra blankets.”

“We won’t need them,” Casey said, and Rina choked on her coffee.

Same brass bed frame. Same green armchair. Same window where the snow fell in the same lazy drift it had fallen on the night Casey had pressed her palms against the glass and said let them. The radiator clanked. Right on cue.

Casey set down their bags and turned to her. The gray sweater. The fogged glasses. The expression that hadn’t changed in a year: patient, certain, burning underneath.

“Anniversary protocol. I have a plan.”

“Of course you have a plan.”

“Phase one.” The Suntory Toki, set on the nightstand. “Phase two.” A vanilla candle, lit with a match. The room softened instantly. “Phase three.” She reached into the bag and pulled out a length of burgundy silk.

Rina’s scarf. The vintage one. The one Casey had folded with such care in this very room, one year ago, the gesture that had cracked something open between them.

“What’s phase three?” Rina asked. Her voice had dropped.

Casey wound the silk through her fingers. “Phase three is I put this over your eyes and you trust me. I want to take my time. I want you to feel everything and see nothing and let me decide what happens next.”

“Okay,” Rina said.

Casey kissed her first. Not urgently—deliberately. Hands cupping Rina’s face, thumbs on her cheekbones—the gesture that had started everything. Then she undressed her. The turtleneck first, then her bra—unclasped one-handed, a skill Casey had mastered approximately two weeks into their relationship.

“Sit,” Casey murmured. Rina sat on the edge of the bed.

Casey folded the silk, leaned down for one last kiss—soft, slow, the kind that was a threshold—and settled it across Rina’s eyes. Tied it behind her head.

Darkness. Warm, silk-soft darkness that smelled like Rina’s own perfume. Her hands came up to adjust and Casey caught them. Held them. Kissed her palms.

“Let me,” Casey said. Their words. Their covenant.

Without sight, everything amplified. The creak of the bed. The whisper of Casey’s sweater being pulled overhead. The sound of a bra hitting the floor. Casey’s body heat settling over hers without contact—close but not touching, the anticipation unbearable.

“I’m going to touch you everywhere,” Casey said, her mouth near Rina’s ear. “And you’re going to tell me what you feel. Not what you think. What you feel.”

Casey’s mouth landed on her collarbone. Lips, then tongue—a slow, deliberate lick along the ridge of bone. “What do you feel?”

“Warm. Your mouth is—God—warm. And you’ve been touching me for ten seconds and I’m already wet.”

Casey hummed against her skin—a low, appreciative vibration that traveled directly between Rina’s legs.

She moved lower. Kissed between Rina’s breasts, then circled—agonizingly slow—around her nipple without touching it. Rina arched forward chasing contact. Casey’s hand pressed flat on her stomach. Held her still.

“Frustrated,” Rina gasped. “Deliberately, sadistically frustrated.”

“Good.” Casey’s mouth closed over her nipple and Rina made a sound the walls of Room 7A had heard before and were apparently going to add to their permanent collection. Casey sucked gently, then harder, her tongue flattening and pressing, then gentle again—the alternation cruel and perfect and unpredictable behind the blindfold.

Lower. Casey’s mouth on her ribs, her stomach, the jut of each hip bone—teeth grazing, tongue soothing—until Rina’s hips were lifting off the mattress.

“Casey. Please.”

“Please what?”

“I want to hear you say it.” Casey’s voice was confident. Not tentative, not the stammering woman who’d covered her own mouth during her first orgasm. This was the Casey that Rina had built. The Casey using everything she’d learned.

“I want your mouth on me.” Each word scraped from a throat tight with wanting. “I want your tongue on my clit and your fingers inside me and I want to come so hard I forget my own name. Please.”

Casey pulled Rina’s jeans and underwear off in one smooth motion and settled between her legs.

The first touch of Casey’s tongue was devastating. Not because of the technique—though the technique was spectacular—but because Rina couldn’t see it. Every touch arrived unannounced. Every lick was a surprise. The blindfold had turned Casey’s mouth into a live wire, unpredictable and inescapable.

Casey started slow. Long, flat strokes—base to clit, broad and unhurried. The sounds were filthy—wet, slick, obscene—and Casey was making them louder on purpose.

“You taste incredible,” Casey murmured against her. The words vibrating through Rina’s most sensitive skin. “You’re dripping. God, Rina, you’re absolutely dripping down my chin.”

Casey’s tongue found her clit—precise, focused, the circling pattern she’d mastered months ago. But she kept it light. Teasing. Enough to build the wave but not enough to crest it. Rina’s legs were shaking, knuckles white in the sheets.

Casey slid two fingers inside her. The penetration was slow and deep and curling, and Rina heard herself make a sound she hadn’t known she was capable of—a deep, guttural moan with no filter, no control, no composure.

“I can feel you clenching around my fingers,” Casey said. Low, filthy, the dirtiest version of herself. “You’re so close. You’re squeezing me so tight. I can feel exactly how much you want to come.”

“Then let me—”

“Not until you ask nicely.”

“Casey—please—I’m begging you—please let me come—”

Casey sped up. Tongue and fingers in tandem, teasing to relentless. She added a third finger—stretching Rina, filling her—and sucked her clit between her lips, tongue lashing, and Rina detonated.

The orgasm arched her back off the mattress, locked her thighs around Casey’s head, and pulled a scream from her throat that was Casey’s name and a profanity and a prayer compressed into one raw syllable. Casey didn’t stop. A second crest hit before the first subsided—smaller but sharper—and then a third, the aftershock rolling through her like an echo.

Casey crawled up her body and untied the silk. Rina blinked in the candlelight and saw Casey’s face: flushed, hair wrecked, mouth glistening, eyes bright with love.

“That was—I can’t—”

“Don’t try. Just feel.”

Rina tasted herself on Casey’s lips. Warm, familiar. She deepened the kiss and said, “Your turn,” and Casey said, “I’m not done with you yet.”

“I just came three times.”

“I’m aware. I was there. Turn over.”

Rina turned over. Pressed her face into the pillow, body still humming. Casey settled on the backs of her thighs and began working her shoulders—firm, kneading, releasing tension. Then her mouth replaced her hands, kissing down Rina’s spine vertebra by vertebra.

She kissed the curve of Rina’s ass—each side, lips lingering. She bit—gently, teeth on the soft skin where ass met thigh—and Rina gasped again and Casey bit harder and soothed it with her tongue and Rina was already wet again, impossibly, her body responding with a Pavlovian efficiency that was gloriously, overwhelmingly good.

“Roll over. I want to see your face.”

Rina rolled. Looked up at Casey—naked and flushed, freckles like constellations, the woman who’d changed the trajectory of her entire life. Casey slid between her legs again.

“Eyes open,” Rina whispered. Their words.

Casey kept her eyes open. Looked directly at Rina as she licked into her—long, slow, the flat of her tongue through slick heat—and the visual was almost more devastating than the blindfold had been. The blindfold was about surrender. This was about being witnessed.

Rina came watching Casey watch her, their eyes connected, and the sound she made was quiet—not a scream but a deep, shuddering exhale that carried twelve months of gratitude and desire.

“Now,” Rina said. “Your turn. Absolutely, non-negotiably your turn.”

She flipped Casey onto her back. Straddled her hips, hands braced on either side of her head, looking down.

“Remember the first time? In this bed? You came in under five minutes and apologized.”

“I remember. You told me not to dare.”

“Tonight I’m going to make you come so many times you lose the ability to form sentences. And you’re not going to apologize for any of them.”

Rina kissed down Casey’s body with proprietary attention. Her neck—the spot behind her ear. The freckled expanse of her chest. Her breasts—mouth and tongue and the edge of her teeth—until Casey’s back arched and her hands gripped Rina’s hair.

Rina settled between Casey’s legs and put her mouth on her with the devastating expertise of a year’s devoted practice. She knew Casey’s body like a design system—comprehensively, intuitively, every element mapped.

She took Casey there twice with her mouth before she used her hands.

The first time: slow, patient, worshipful. Casey coming in a long rolling wave, Rina’s name on her lips, hands gentle in Rina’s hair. Tender.

The second time: faster, more intense. Rina adding suction, pressure, finding the rhythm that pushed Casey from satisfied to desperate in under a minute. Casey came with a cry that echoed off the walls, her hands gripping Rina’s hair hard enough to sting—and the sting was perfect, evidence that Casey had stopped being careful and started being honest.

Then Rina added her fingers. Two, sliding inside Casey while her mouth stayed on her clit, and Casey’s entire body went rigid.

“I’ve already come twice, I can’t possibly—”

“You can.” Rina curled her fingers. Found the spot. Pressed. And watched Casey’s objection dissolve into a sound beyond words—raw, high, shattering, from somewhere deeper than language, somewhere only Rina had ever reached.

Casey came a third time with Rina’s mouth and fingers in concert—a convulsive, full-body orgasm that made her grab the brass headboard and hold on while her body shook and tears streamed from her eyes in the way they always did when she truly, completely let go.

Rina kissed her way up. Gathered her into her arms.

“Sentence,” Rina challenged. “Form one.”

Casey opened her mouth. Closed it. “I… that… you…”

“Three words, none of which are a sentence.”

“Shut up.” Casey pressed her face into Rina’s neck and laughed—breathless, wrung out. “I love you. Is that a sentence?”

“That’s the only sentence that matters.”

Later. The center of the bed. The duvet on the floor. The candle burning low. The whiskey untouched because they’d gotten distracted before the second sip.

Casey traced the dahlia on Rina’s forearm. The tattoo that meant be brave enough.

“Happy anniversary,” Casey said.

“Happy anniversary.” Rina kissed her hair. “Same time next year?”

“I already booked it.”

“Of course you did.”

They fell asleep in Room 7A, in the lodge that had given them to each other, while the snow fell softly past the window and the radiator sang its clanking lullaby and the world outside was quiet and cold and entirely, completely irrelevant.

No storm required.

Loved Casey and Rina’s story? The full novel is available now.

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