In Your Dreams (Falling #4) (22 page)

“Case, I have to hand it to you, you weren’t kidding,” Houston says, standing and pulling his friend in for one of those manly handshake-hug combos. “This place is something. These people are here for you, man. For you!” Houston smacks him on the chest once for emphasis, and Casey pushes his hands in his pockets and lowers his head with a bashful smile.

“They’re here to drink expensive vodka and hook up, but yeah…maybe I get like one percent of the credit,” he says.

“What?” Paige says loudly, her brow bunched. “Are you…was that…did I just hear Casey Coffield be modest?”

“Ha ha, Paige. Yes, I can be modest,” he says, his cheek dimpled with his sarcastic smile.

“Can you? Because…and no offense,” she says, glancing around the table. Casey shuffles his feet and purses his lips, ready for her. “I’ve just never seen it. It’s usually kind of the
me
show around you.”

His mouth a rigid line, Casey looks at her for a beat before he blinks and opens his gaze back on me. My body beads with sweat instantly.

“Yeah, well…new Casey maybe,” he says, his eyes square on me, my body literally on fire. “Things aren’t always about my needs…I guess.”

It’s silent for about two seconds, but it feels like hours. In that time, Houston, Sam, and Paige all glance around the table and have silent
WTF
conversations before Casey breaks the awkwardness.

“I’ve gotta get up to the booth. I have some great stuff planned, though, so I hope you guys like the mix,” he says, his eyes catching mine as he turns to leave and his lips curved into that special smile he gets when he’s up to something.

Sam introduces herself to Paige, then climbs from the booth to sit on the other side of her so they can scope out each other’s shoes and hear better over the thumping taking over the rhythm of the room. I slide to the edge of the booth, but remain behind the table—my protective shield. I watch Casey work, and I wait for the special something he promised with that look until I recognize it.

It’s subtle at first—blended with a mix of house music and retro seventies disco. He gives everyone a taste, hooks them like a drug dealer with a dime bag, until their bodies adjust and crave more. My tablemates are lost in their own conversation, and they don’t know it’s coming. I won’t tell them, but I’m sure my voice is going to take over the room in five, four, three…

The heavy beat picks up and bodies jump in unison, their hands high in the air, their fingers free and begging for Casey to give it to them—to let this new melody take over and control everything to come.

My song.

He’s debuting it right here, and bodies are obeying his orders. I’m in awe as my voice echoes and beautiful women shake their heads, hair flying and hips moving to an anthem of their time. It’s powerful this way—the song so much bigger than it feels when it’s just my guitar and voice on a stool in the middle of a bar.

It’s fucking beautiful.

“Murphy!” my friend squeals, her palms pressed flat on the table, her body lifted in the air and her eyes on me—glee filling every inch of her face as she points to Casey. “This is you! Oh my god! This is it!”

“Wait, this…you wrote this?” Paige says, her eyes wide. Houston taps her shoulder and cups her ear, whispering confirmation. I grin larger than I have in my entire life.

“Shit, girl!” Paige says with an enormous smile. “You can’t sit on your ass to your own song!”

Without hesitation, she wraps her fingers around my arm and pulls me all the way through the booth and out the other side, dragging me into the masses, my body bumped and slammed from all directions, but for the first time—maybe ever—I don’t care. I don’t care whose hand is touching me; I don’t care that a girl I just met is hugging me; I don’t care that Houston grabbed my hand and squeezed it and my best friend kissed me on the cheek.

I don’t care because “In Your Dreams, Johnnie Walker”
is blasting in my ears and my soul feels warm and delicious. It pounds, and Casey lets it play pure and untouched—and I find his eyes waiting for mine through the forest of hands and arms waving and swaying to the beat. I stand still amid my tiny circle of friends and lock eyes with him, his proud smile simply spectacular.

And I cry.

I’ve heard people describe how bliss feels—the moment when something huge happens to you. Miracles. Reunions. Relief. Happy things so powerful that they induce tears. I could never understand such a phenomenon…until now. I cry hard, and I smile big and my song takes over an entire room filled with discerning ears—people who spend thousands of dollars on food and liquor just for the pleasure of falling in love on a dance floor to Casey’s magic. Only right this minute—for four and a half minutes, actually—it’s my potion they are getting drunk on.

I…can make…them feel
anything.
I. Want.

The moment my song ends, a new mix takes over, and Casey whispers something in the ear of the guy working with him at the booth. He hands over his headphones and weaves through exhausted bodies until he finds me in the very center of it all.

Steps away, his mouth tugs up to the right and that knowing dimple, dripping with confidence and pride and everything that makes my heart pound, touches his cheek. His left hand reaches up to pull his hat from his head and his right palm slides over my cheek, his fingers run through my hair, and in one swift motion he pulls me to him, his mouth on mine, his lips strong and his kiss potent as he walks me backward slowly, one arm around the small of my back and the other holding me to him—making sure I
feel.

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.

Goddamn she said
yes
.

She said
yes
and I still had four fucking 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 fucking 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 fucking…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.

With one hand on her arm, I tug her tight to me and gather her hair within my other hand, pulling gently until her body submits and she bends her neck as an offering to my mouth. I suck gently, wanting to take more, but stop so I can kiss the next inch and the next as I let go of her hair to turn her body unhurriedly so she’s now facing my bed and the sweetness of her perfect back is before me.

My fingers move her purple waves over her shoulder as my right hand trails to her other shoulder, slipping the remaining sleeve to the curve of her arm until the weight of it falls to her elbows. I kiss the very center of her spine as I reach lower in front of me and slide down the small zipper at her hips. I leave my lips against her as I speak.

“You are so beautiful,” I whisper, and I feel her quiver against my touch.

My hands curve around her waist and glide up the sides of her body until I reach the top of her dress, now hanging heavily at the ends of her arms, and I push the rest of the fabric until it falls to the floor and her milky skin is cloaked in nothing but the sexiest copper lace I’ve ever seen.

I breathe in slowly, because I want to take my time, but so much of me is in a hurry. My hands still wrapped around her wrists lightly, I guide her arms behind her back until they rest along the small curve above her ass. Letting go briefly, I bring my fists to my mouth, squeezing them for strength, then flex my fingers as I lean into her. I love how her breath catches when she feels me against her neck.

“I want more of you,” I say, kissing against the arc of her shoulder. “I’m going to undress you now. Say
yes
, Murphy. Please say yes, because I want you naked.”

Her body shakes again, and her head nods.

“Yes,” she says, a soft whisper of a cry.

I grin against her smoothness and scratch her skin with the roughness of my chin before kissing it cool.

My body once again under my control, I squeeze harder around her wrists, her hands still along the base of her spine.

“These,” I say, tugging softly so she knows, “stay right here.”

She nods again.

My fingers loosen, but I keep my touch on her arms, gliding up her skin, using her own body as my map, following curves and letting it lead. My palms caress around each shoulder as I stand behind her, so close that I can feel her hands and back against my own chest and where my hard-on is aching to be inside of her. Her breath pauses when she feels me against her.

“Do you feel that, baby?” I say. She nods again and I kiss her neck, not able to stop myself this time from taking a small, tender bite. “I want you so bad. Can I have you, baby? Can I taste you? Can I fuck you?”

This time the shaking travels all the way through her, and I hear her lose control with a small cry as she says, “Yes.”