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"Hello," the automated voice says back. "This is the Federal Victims Notification System calling to tell Mercedez Morgan that a parole board hearing for Preston Morgan is scheduled for Wednesday, January 7th—"
My whole world stops and time stands still. I don't even manage to hear the rest of the message, because as the glasses shatter from hitting the floor, my phone goes with them. There's a tightness in my chest that wasn't there before, squeezing everything inside of me until it's hard to breathe. And as I collapse to the floor, I can faintly hear the sound of Kennedy and Amelia desperately trying to get my attention.
"Tye," Kennedy calls. "Tyeler!"
"What the hell do we do?" Amelia wails.
Kennedy holds my face in her hands, but I can barely feel it. "Call Carter."
IT'S A WEIRD FEELING,when everything goes from intense and panicked to perfectly calm and serene. The body has an incredible way of blocking out trauma in an effort to protect itself. It's honestly something I admire about it.
Fingers run through my hair, and my eyes blink open to find Carter above me. My head rests on his lap and he looks worried, until he notices that I'm awake. His warm smile helps calm my nerves, but my head is pounding.
"What happened?" I ask groggily, looking around and seeing that we’re back in his dorm.
He speaks softly as he answers. "You passed out at work. Amelia called me in a total frenzy."
I sigh. "She's such a drama queen."
"Not this time," he corrects. "She was right to call me. Kennedy said you hit your head on the way down."
"Is that why it feels like I got hit with a freight train?"
"Potentially," he replies. "It's that or the fact that you had a panic attack. Who called you?"
I shake my head and try to sit up. "No one important."
"Tyeler," he presses.
As I look back at him, I can tell he already knows the answer to his question. Of course. Carter is nothing if not resourceful. He knew who called long before I woke up. The question is why.
"I have a better idea," I suggest.
Standing up, I pull my shirt and bra over my head and then peel my jeans and panties down my legs. Carter bites his lip but still tries to deny me.
"Trust me, I want nothing more than to rail you into next Tuesday," he says. "But this is important."
Lucky for me, he's only in a pair of sweatpants. I tug them down just enough and pull out his cock. He's already hard, but that's not surprising. It seems like he has an almost constant hard-on when he's around me.
"No. What's important"—I straddle his lap and line him up at my entrance before sinking down on top of him—"is that you fuck me."
He throws his head back and grips my hips as I start to bounce on top of him. From this position, he gets so much deeper, and it feels fucking amazing. I lean forward and cover his mouth with my own, kissing him with everything I have because I need to. I need the distraction. I need the pain and pleasure that we create together. It takes me away from everything, and in a twisted way, it makes me feel safe.
"Fuck," I murmur against his lips. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."
The room fills with sounds of our moans and skin hitting skin. At any point, Jace could walk in, but I can't find it in me to care right now. All that matters is the feeling I get when Carter is inside of me, pounding away like he needs it to live. Hell, I might even need it to live.
With his hands on my waist, I can feel myself right on the edge but just unable to get there. It's as if something is holding my orgasm hostage.
My eyes meet Carter’s, and a silent communication takes place. He's so in tune with my body at this point that he doesn't even need to be told to know. His grip tightens, and he takes over.
"I've got you," he growls, thrusting up into me while pulling me down onto him just as hard. "I've always fucking got you."
My head falls back as he sucks one of my nipples into his mouth. His teeth graze the sensitive skin, and it damn near makes me explode on the spot.
"I want to fill you up so damn bad," he breathes. "Fuck, baby. I need it. I need my cum to cover every inch of your pussy."
It could be the fact that I hit my head, or maybe that I need to orgasm more than I've needed anything right now, but the words come out of my mouth before I have a chance to second-guess it.
