Ian’s phone rang shrilly on the counter behind them. His thumbs paused stroking her sensitive nipples over her thin tank and bralette. Cleo had never hated a telephone more when it kept ringing.
She sighed and took her mouth off his Adam’s apple. He shivered as she rocked back and off of him.
“Back here,” he growled, his voice still too low. He made to grab her, but she snagged the phone of the counter and tossed it to him. He caught it with one hand, his eyes never leaving her face.
“Get them to go away,” Cleo said. Someone else might have called her tone a whine, but Cleo would fight that. Cleo would fight anything, actually, just to get back to Ian in this moment. Her breath was heavy, and Ian’s eyes watched her heaving chest as he answered.
“Curtis, hi,” he said. He was trying to make his voice normal. He was utterly unsuccessful. Ian listed for a beat. “No, I’m not about to shift.” Beat. “Yes, I’m kind of in the middle of something.” He wiggled his brows at Cleo, but her lust was quickly dampening. Curtis may be calling for something besides a discussion about her, but Cleo doubted it.
He listened to Curtis, sighed, and said, “Okay. Give me a minute. I’m going to put you on mute. Hold on.”
Ian tapped his phone and stalked over to Cleo. He boxed her in with her body, warm and still hard. She wanted to grind against him, but instead grabbed his biceps. She resolutely did not notice how big they were, or how Ian clearly flexed them in her hand.
“I’m gonna go,” she said.
“Will you come back?” Ian asked. “I mean, you should come back for more tea.” He ghosted a kiss along her collarbone, but his voice was guarded.
“You’ll be here?” Cleo asked. Ian leaned forward and pressed a sweet kiss on her lips.
“I’ll tell you everything Curtis said,” Ian promised. Cleo knew a lure when she heard one. It was as transparent as it was effective. She found a smile somewhere and gave it to him. One last kiss, and she was moving out the door.
Chapter Twelve
Being home felt strange. It had the slightly surreal feeling after being away for too long. She noticed things she usually ignored: the mostly empty shoe rack, the hush surrounding her footfalls as she walked, her wildly overstuffed bookshelves. Her hands felt empty, and she rubbed them together briskly as she moved through the house to her bedroom. It felt too large, but she ignored that as she put on her work clothes. She’d have to patch these jeans soon. The thighs and knees were getting pretty soft.
She found herself idly stroking that soft spot on the inside of her thigh. Apparently her desire hadn’t died completely. She slipped a hand under her panties, and threaded her nails though the short hairs to her center. Ian had a great smile, but she liked that intense, almost angry look he gave her right before he picked up the phone best. She wondered if he’d have that same face if he came. He’d probably growl again, and those vibrations would feel incredible against her clit.
Cleo decided weeding could wait for a few minutes. It didn’t take long to bring herself to climax, not when she was thinking about broad shoulders and hot brown eyes.
She lay in bed, mostly satiated, mostly satisfied. Better than usual, at least. Different this time, too. Usually it was like scratching a really annoying itch. It was required for her to function, but it wasn’t much more than that.
But this she savored. She stretched languidly against the cool quilt. She debated texting Ian about Curtis, but decided against it. Texting him about the tea, however, just seemed prudent. Her phone wasn’t in its usual place by her bedside table along with her small lamp and box of tissues. She’d left it by the front door. She cursed and hauled herself up.
Once in her hand, she saw she already had a text waiting.
[i just spoke w Curtis]
[Headed over there]
[Tea is by your front door DRINK ALL OF IT]
Cleo wasn’t sure how to interpret those, but maybe Ian wasn’t speaking in a foreign language that required interpretation. Maybe he meant what he said. It could happen. She opened her front door and in a pretty little hinged box was a baggie full of tea. It looked weirdly illicit against the herringbone pattern of the wood. The box was finely made, the pattern highlighted by different colors from a deep cherry to a light pine. Gorgeous. She brought both objects into the kitchen. The baggie she stashed in her cabinet with her other two teas.
The box sat on the counter. She’d have to give it back to him when she saw him next. She ran a finger over the wood. It had been polished to a shine, and the wood felt almost silky to the touch. She wondered what Siobhan would find out about this if she ever admitted her affinity.
Cleo sighed and went into her garden. It was only a few steps off her small back deck to the chicken-wire enclosed space. Marigolds ringed the exterior ostensibly to help keep pests out but secretly Cleo just thought they were pretty. She had long rows of lettuces and tall trellises of cucumbers. Tomatoes anchored the corners, growing tall and proud, supported by their cages. She checked the spiky garlic, their long leaves like an extra-large spider plant. The walking onions were about to bloom, gorgeous. The spinaches were lush and happy. The Lady Muraski mustard spinach was purple, gorgeous. Sunflowers were taller than her. The potatoes were going to have a nice season, she thought. In the middle of the garden was the bean teepee, something she’d thrown together with branches and the beans had politely grown to cover it. The zucchini she’d planted in a straw bale and it had completely overtaken it, tipping over the bale
