Page 50 of Awaiting the Storm
Her eyes flicker up to mine.
“I want you to call me Case.”
She bears up and whispers into my ear, “Case,” before sucking the lobe into her mouth and biting down. And fuck if the sensation doesn’t rock me all the way to my damn toes.
I shift my weight and kiss the line of her throat, tasting the salt of her skin and feeling the flutter of her pulse against my lips. It takes all the restraint I possess not to give in to the ache clawing its way down my spine, not to rip the slip of cotton covering her and bury myself deep inside.
My mouth continues to travel lower, licking and teasing as she writhes and hums her encouragement. When I reach her navel, I dip my tongue inside as my hand slides up her inner thigh, finding the material there drenched in her arousal.
That’s when my phone starts ringing.
Loud. Obnoxious. Coming from the floor, where my jeans are lying in a heap with the rest of our discarded clothing.
I ignore it as my thumb runs a circle over the soaked cotton, causing her hips to buck off the mattress and a sexy moan to escape her lips.
Matty’s fingers tug at my hair. Then her nails graze the back of my neck and skate across my shoulder blades, and I groan quietly against her stomach.
The ringing stops.
Then starts again.
Persistent.
I pull back just enough to growl my frustration. Matty laughs a little, breathlessly.
“Maybe you should get that,” she murmurs. “Someone clearly wants to talk to you.”
“Fuck ’em,” I mutter, teasing as I trail my mouth down lower.
But the phone won’t quit.
Third immediate redial.
Matty sighs and comes up on her elbows. “Case,” she says, more serious now, “you should answer it.”
I curse under my breath and roll away from her. “Don’t move,” I order as I drag a hand through my hair before leaning over the edge of the bed and feeling around for my jeans.
I pull the phone from the pocket, screen glowing bright in the dark room. I don’t recognize the number.
“Wrong number,” I say and move to toss it on the nightstand, but it starts ringing right there in my hand.
I recite the number out loud.
Matty sits up sharply. “That’s Charli’s number.”
That gets my attention.
I swipe to answer. “Hello?”
“Caison?” Charli’s voice is shaky, clipped. “Is Matty still with you?”
“Yeah,” I say instantly, sitting up straighter, already scanning the room for her dress. “She’s here. Why?”
There’s a pause. A breath. Then, “We found Daddy collapsed in the barn after supper. He was—he wasn’t breathing right. Grandma called an ambulance. They think it’s his heart. They’re taking him to St. John’s Hospital now.”
Shit.
“Okay,” I say, already moving, reaching for Matty’s dress on the floor. “We’re on our way.”
