Keeping Score (Brooklyn Monarchs 3) - Page 57
“Yes.” Her response was choked.
Warrick lifted her hips and covered her with his mouth. Marilyn screamed behind clenched teeth. She pressed her head into her pillow. Her body arched, stretching taut. Warrick cupped her hips and worked her against his tongue. Her body responded to his silent commands, rocking, writhing, twisting in his sinful embrace. She commanded him, but she didn’t know for what. She pleaded with him, but she didn’t know why.
Light exploded behind Marilyn’s closed eyes. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. Her blood heated her veins. Her muscles strained to the breaking point.
Marilyn’s release crashed over her. She was drowning under waves of pleasu
re. She crushed the bedsheet in her fist, trying to hold on. Finally, she flung her arms above her head and allowed herself to be swept away.
Warrick surged up and over her body. He entered her with one smooth, deep stroke, stirring the tidal wave of sensations again. Marilyn gasped. She wrapped her legs around his hips and answered his thrusts as her desire built again. Warrick slipped his hand between them. He gently tapped her spot. Marilyn caught her breath at the almost unbearable ecstasy. Her body soared, then shattered again. Warrick’s hips surged into her. He tightened his embrace, then spiraled with her over the edge.
Eons later, Marilyn’s breathing returned to normal. She hugged Warrick to her.
He propped himself on his arms above her. “Now I can leave for Miami with the memory of your smile instead of your tears.”
Marilyn raised her head and kissed him.
After throwing on some clothes, Warrick packed his travel case for the team’s two nights in Miami before helping Marilyn prepare a quick dinner of salad and spaghetti. God, he was going to miss her, even more this time than ever before.
He’d pulled on black slacks and a short-sleeved gray dress shirt for the trip. His black loafers waited near the front door. Marilyn had wrapped her curves in a skimpy bronze robe that made her honey skin glow. Warrick’s gaze stroked over her slender back, rounded hips, and well-toned legs. If people knew what the conservative Dr. Devry-Evans wore away from the hospital, they’d probably swallow their tongue depressors.
The phone rang, distracting him from his mental image of what she looked like beneath the stingy robe. Marilyn caught him staring at her.
Her chocolate eyes laughed at him. “Do you want to answer the phone?”
Warrick shrugged. “Not really. It could be a reporter.”
The twinkle left Marilyn’s eyes. His joy went with it. Marilyn finished draining the spaghetti. He gave the salad a final toss and set the bowl on the kitchen table. By the fourth ring, the answering machine picked up. Warrick crossed the hallway into the family room. He reached the phone as the caller identified himself with his words.
“Rick!” His father’s bellow startled him. The noise bounced off the walls. “Why are you bare-assed in the paper?”
His mother screamed in the background.
Warrick reached for the receiver.
Marilyn’s gentle hand restrained him. “You need to prepare for your trip.”
Warrick sought her steady gaze. It was as though she hadn’t heard—or chose to ignore—the anger in his father’s voice.
John Evans continued his tirade. “You always had to be the center of attention.”
Warrick knew that wasn’t true; still his father’s words hurt. He tugged against Marilyn’s hold. “He’s going to keep yelling until I answer the phone.”
Marilyn’s gaze compelled him. “He’ll eventually run out of tape.”
“Then he’ll call back.”
John’s tirade almost drowned Warrick’s words. “I know you’re there. Pick up the phone.”
Warrick pulled his attention from his wife and stared down at the answering machine. Marilyn released Warrick’s arm to turn down the volume on the phone until they couldn’t hear his father. Warrick stared fixedly at the machine. That plan was bound to backfire.
Marilyn’s long, cool fingers turned his face toward hers. “Dinner’s almost ready.”
“I’m not sure that was a good idea.”
Marilyn dropped her hand. “If you’d answered his call, what would you have said?”
Warrick’s shoulders tightened. “I don’t know.” He hadn’t wanted to take his father’s call, but it would have been better to get it over with.
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