Haze (The Fosters of New York 2)

Her hand glides higher, stopping as it reaches the base of my hair. Her fingers float along my skin, softly, so softly.

"Please." It's my voice this time. I don't beg. I won't beg.

Fuck it. I will beg for her.

Her hand knots in the bottom of my hair as she arches her neck, slides her lips along my cheek and finally, finally I taste her on my mouth.

I groan into the kiss as her soft lips push into mine. I slide my tongue into her mouth, wanting to savor her in any way I can.

My reward is the sweetest of moans along with the faint sound of her moving on the leather seat of the car.

I tug her into my lap so she's facing me, her thighs straddling mine. I hear my phone ringing in the distance. It's not important. It can't be important. Nothing is as important as this.

She adjusts herself, grinding into my erection through my pants. My chest heaves at the sensation. I've never come just from the stimulation of a woman's body or hands on my cock. It's always taken a greedy mouth or a slick pussy to get me off. I've never orgasmed like this, yet now, I know that I could.

I feel I might if she doesn't stop moving.

"Isla." I run my hands up her thighs, pushing the skirt of her dress higher. "Your skin is so soft."

My phone rings again. This time the brittle bite of it halts her movements.

"It might be important." Her breath touches my lips in the instant before her lips do.

I shake my head gripping her thighs tighter. She pushes her panties into my crotch,

circling, baiting, wanting.

"You're a beautiful woman," I whisper as I look down at her thighs. "Every part of you is beautiful."

Her breath hitches as I push the dress even higher, revealing the sheer black panties she's wearing.

"Jesus, Isla." I move my left hand, inching it up her thigh.

A brash knock on the privacy glass startles her so much she leans back almost tumbling from my lap. My hands jump to her waist, pulling her into my chest.

"What?" I bark. "What is it, Charles?"

The glass lowers not more than an inch. "Mr. Foster, I apologize."

My phone rings again. I look down at where it's vibrating in the inner pocket of my jacket. "What's going on, Charles? I assume your interruption is related to these incessant calls."

"It's your mother, sir," he says loudly. His voice tempered by the glass. "She's been taken to the hospital."

***

I step into the Emergency Department and I'm immediately overcome with a sense of impending doom. There are no reporters demanding a statement. I didn't pass one photographer in the lobby trying to gain access to my mother's room.

This is the third time this year that my mother has complained of chest pains. Each of the previous two times, she had on full makeup when she arrived via ambulance. It hadn't taken more than an hour for the doctors to determine that it was anxiety causing her discomfort.

I found out later, much later, that she'd arranged for the press to be there both times. It was sympathy she was looking for. It was a thinly veiled plan to catapult her name back into the spotlight, and my father's view, for a time.

"Ben," I call out my cousin's name as I see him standing next to a nurse. "It's mother. She was brought in."

"Gabriel." He shoves the tablet in his hand at the nurse before he walks towards me. "We've been waiting for you."

I don't hesitate as he hugs me, tightly. We haven't always been close but that's changed since he mended fences with his twin brother, Noah. Ben had pulled away from the family after his mother's death and we lost touch. Now that he's in New York and working as the head of the Emergency Department at one of the city's busiest hospitals, I see him regularly. We've forged a friendship that has been good for us both.

"How is she?" I hear the tremble in my own voice as I pat the side of his cheek. "I tried calling Caleb on the way here but he wasn't answering.