For You (The 'Burg #1)(157)
* * * * *
The alarm beeps jarred Colt awake and he laid in the dark listening to them, instantly alert, his hand moving toward his gun on the nightstand, trying to hear anything that came with the beeps, something that wasn’t supposed to.
Then he heard, “Jesus, Feb, shut it off.”
Morrie.
Then the alarm beeps came faster and louder.
“Fucking shit,” Feb whispered loudly, “I got it wrong.”
“Do it again,” Morrie advised.
There was more beeping and then it stopped.
Colt’s hand dropped and Wilson, who woke up too, got up from where he was curled into Colt’s hip and jumped off the bed.
“You good?” Morrie asked.
“Yeah, thanks for walkin’ me in,” Feb whispered again.
“Gotta make certain my baby sister is safe,” Morrie replied, Colt listened to silence for awhile, the front door closing and then he heard more beeps, Feb pressing the buttons on the panel to re-arm the alarm.
There was more silence then he heard Feb whispering yet again, “Whose belly is that? Is it Mr. Purrsie Purrs’s belly?”
Christ, she was petting Wilson and calling him that idiotic nickname again. Poor f**king cat.
Colt smiled into the dark.
She hit the room and Colt heard the cat’s purrs when she did. He didn’t move as she dropped her cat, walked to the nightstand and he heard the soft thud of her cell hitting it then she went to the bureau and stopped. He heard her jewelry clinking as she placed it on the top and then he heard clothing rustle, more soft thuds as her boots hit the floor, all the while he watched her shadow moving and hopping around.
She nabbed something off the end of the bed and went to the bathroom not turning on the light until the door was firmly closed. He heard the sink go on and off, on and off, washing her face, brushing her teeth. The light went off before she opened the door.
She moved the covers, pulling them back before her knee hit the bed. He was about to turn to her when he saw her shadow didn’t move to lie down, she was on all fours, crawling in a direct line toward him.
Her hand went to the covers at his stomach then down then her mouth was on his stomach then that went down too.
“Feb –” he started.
“Hush,” she whispered against his skin.
He heard her necklaces clink together as she wrapped her hand around his c**k and he felt her tongue rolling around the tip.
Jesus, her sweet, wet tongue felt f**king great.
Blood rushed to his c**k and he thought he might have made a world’s record for getting hard.
“Feb –”
She slid him all the way in.
His hand went to her body which was now curled on the bed, her ass to her ankles, her stomach pressed to her thighs, him in her mouth while her other hand slid along the skin of his chest.
When he touched her he was annoyed to find she’d left on her underwear and it felt like she had on his tee that she was wearing earlier that day. He slid his hand over the curve of her ass when her head started moving and he wasn’t annoyed anymore. He was something else a whole lot different.
“Baby,” he groaned.
As Feb worked his c**k with her mouth, Colt hauled her lower body toward him. He had her underwear pulled over her ass and his hand between the legs she spread for him, she was rocking against his fingers and moaning around his c**k when her phone rang on the nightstand.
His hand froze and her head shot up.
“You have got to be f**king shitting me,” Colt clipped and in that moment, he swore to God, if he saw Denny Lowe he’d rip the f**kwad’s head off with his own hands.
Feb still had her hand wrapped around his c**k but her head was turned to him and she whispered, “Colt –”
But he moved, yanking up her underwear. She let him go and he reached toward the light coming from her cell display, dragging himself up to sitting once he grabbed it.
When he saw who was on the display he changed his mind about whose head he was going to rip off.
His eyes went to her to see her shadow up on her knees and she looked like she was arranging her underwear.
He flipped open the phone, put it to his ear and growled, “This better f**kin’ be good.”
There was a moment of silence then, “I’m in the hospital with forty stitches in my f**kin’ shoulder, closin’ a f**kin’ hatchet wound, that good enough?”
Colt felt his chest depress from the inside and he reached toward the lamp when his phone started ringing.
He ignored it, turned on the lamp and looked at Feb. She was on her knees but her ass had dropped to her calves and her face was white as a sheet.
“Talk to me,” he said to Reece, not tearing his eyes from Feb.
“Bastard got away.”
“God dammit!” Colt snarled.
“I’m in f**kin’ Texas. Asshole tailed me, broke into my goddamned hotel room.”
“You okay?”
“Did I not mention the forty f**kin’ stitches?”
“Other than that, you okay?”
“I was on the move when he delivered the blow, thank f**k, or I’d not have a goddamned arm, but, yeah, other than that, I’m okay.”
Colt’s phone had stopped ringing but instantly it rang again and he looked at Feb, pointed to the phone and then held his palm out, telling her he wanted her to give it to him.