In Your Dreams (Falling #4)(77)

I feel everything.

The crowd disappears into nothingness as Casey’s teeth graze against my top lip before his tongue gently tastes my mouth. Music drowns out everything else, and in my mind we are alone—nobody watching as I give in to something I think maybe I’ve wanted for longer than I care to admit. My hand slides around his neck, and I grip his soft hair, holding him to me, and we kiss hard and greedily.

When my feet stumble, he holds me tighter, and when our chests crave oxygen, our lips hardly part, and we take our breaths against one another.

I don’t know how many songs play, but I know everywhere his hands touch my body—they slide up my back slowly, his thumbs sensuously drawing a line along the bare skin exposed along my spine. His fingers thread through my hair and his chest grows wide, like the lion king claiming his mate. When his hands release their grip they trace along my collarbone, the tips gliding along my neck. Shivers soak my skin and I am drunk. When palms find my cheeks and lips grow raw and breath becomes ragged, Casey holds my head to his and we rock to the music he made.

“Come home with me,” he breathes, his lips parted and shaking with need and want.

I cling to him, eyes heavy and heart sure.

“Yes,” I say, stopped only by the faint feel of his lips catching one of mine.

“Say it again,” he says against me.

“Yes,” I obey.

Yes.

Just…yes.





Casey


Goddamn she said yes.

She said yes and I still had four f*cking hours of music I no longer gave a shit about to pump out for people—I just wanted to leave so I could be alone with her.

Clocks stopped, and life that normally feels like it’s rushing toward the meaningless next thing slowed to a crawl. Minutes lasted two. People requested more. Bosses demanded I give. None of it mattered, because I got to touch her.

I held Murphy next to me the entire night. I made her ditch her car so I could feel her thigh brush against mine for the car ride home when we both found ourselves speechless—our bodies teeming with nerves and anticipation. For once in my life, I kept my mouth shut. I wasn’t less Casey—I was this Casey, the better man she makes me.

When I pulled her up to my apartment door, my hand clutched around hers tightly, I growled like a f*cking caveman because she is mine. I threw forty bucks at my roommate and told him to “Beat it,” and he did.

Hours. Minutes. Seconds. Heartbeats. Sounds. Pauses. Hopes.

Dreams.

Fucking dreams.

Never in mine did I think I’d be standing here with Murphy Sullivan, a girl I wished like hell I knew and claimed before anyone else. But I am. And I am weak, and my tongue is tied. Command left somewhere around the exit door of the club, and I stand before her now a slave. But she’s so shy and unsure—her hands nervous as they tickle and grab at her dress at her sides, her lip caught between anxious teeth. The pull is strong, but the wait is so much better.

I step toward her in my room, my legs wanting to run and my hands wanting to take, but my selfish needs force things to happen slow and seductive.

“I really like this dress,” I say, stretching my arm to her and catching the tip of my finger on the lace trim that curves around her breast.

I like the way she takes a short breath the moment my fingertip grazes her skin. She nods, and her eyes widen the smallest bit. Her hands tremble when she raises them and reaches for my hat, lifting it slowly with one hand and running her fingers through my hair with the other. I keep my eyes on her; it’s so sexy to watch her watch me.

Her tongue passes over the edge of her top lip and then her teeth. My hat falls, and I let my eyes follow it to the floor, my chin grazing against her arm as I do. When I feel her fingers start to slip away, I grab her arm and hold it to my cheek, my eyes on hers as I open my mouth slightly and press my lips to the softness of the inside of her arm.

She shivers.

“They made me…” she begins, but pauses with parted lips. She bites at her bottom lip again, and I run my thumb over it to free it from her hold, wanting her to do it again so I can touch her mouth once more.

“They made you what, baby?” I ask, stepping closer, not really caring what anyone did or wants or needs if it gets in the way of my hands on her. I kiss at her neck and her head falls to the side at my touch.

“Johnnie Walker,” she pants, and I smile against her neck, chuckling and letting my lips tickle against her ear.

“Baby girl, I don’t care about Johnnie Walker,” I say, my tongue taking a small taste along her jawline until my gaze comes square with hers again. Her lashes fall in long sweeps and her gray truth undoes me as I stare into her. “It’s just a song. A f*cking…amazing…song,” I say, leaning in again and breathing my words against her ear.

“I felt bad,” she sighs.

“It was always your song,” I say, standing with my feet square to hers, her mouth relaxed finally in a hopeful smile as I run my fingertips up from her wrists to her elbows and shoulders until they once again dance against the lace of her dress.

“I love your song, Murphy,” I say, glancing into her eyes before letting my gaze fall along the curve of her neck and jaw until I’m focused on nothing but where my thumbs slide under the edge of her dress. “But right now…” I pause, slipping down the material being held up by her shoulder until her I can see the brown silk and lace edge of her strapless bra. I lean forward to press my lips to the freshly exposed skin, then move my feet on either side of hers so she’s completely pinned between my body and the messy sheets behind her. “Right now, I’m going to take this dress off you,” I finish, and her lip falls from her teeth as her eyes shut and her head nods slowly.