To subscribe to my nesletter, just go to this link (copy and paste it, I can't hyperlink on here): https://tinyurl.com/xoxonathalie

If you have a sec, please take my online poll and help me figure out some cool rewards for my fans and followers: https://www.patreon.com/posts/poll-what-are-16585286

Okay, back to the good stuff (and it gets pretty freaking good in this part, the writing is definitely NSFW etc and gets pretty graphic, so y'all are warned!

xo Nathalie

**********************************************************************************

As she twisted the dials on the dryer—ten, no fifteen minutes would do, and then she could give him back his clothing and he could be on his way as soon as this horrible storm died down—she caught herself shivering. Was it from the air conditioning? After all, the vent was right under her feet in the laundry room, spouting icy air up at her, and she was still damp from the explosive power of the rain that had invaded her kitchen without a moment's warning?

Yes of course that was why she was shivering, so she grabbed an old faded Barnard t-shirt from the laundry basket still parked on top of her washing machine right where she had left it last June. She switched it out with the wet one, which she threw it into the dryer's dark, metallic maw along with Cam's shirt. She turned around to head back into the kitchen to fetch his pants, and screamed in surprise to find him standing only a few feet away from her, wearing nothing but a pair of boxer briefs.

"Goddammit Cam!" she said, pressing her hand against her chest, "You're always scaring the shit out of me! Why don't you make any noise when you walk?"

"I'm sorry ma'am, I don't have my shoes on," he said with a note of real apology in his voice. "I was bringing you my jeans, like you said."

He held them out to her, neatly folded, as though proffering a token of peace. She tried to take them from him in a way she hoped made clear that the gesture was not reciprocated. Then reminded herself it never hurt to use her damn words now and again; she was getting sick and tired of this tongue-tied version of herself that took over whenever the Walker men were sniffing about.

"I'm not an idiot Cam Walker," she said, pushing past him. "I'll get you a blanket you can wrap yourself up in while your clothes dry. Then if it's calmed down at all outside I need you to go. You can use my rain poncho to get yourself out to your truck without getting soaked again."

She could feel his watchful gaze burning her back, and she hurried to escape to the living room where she was mostly sure there was a clean-ish blanket of sorts that she wouldn't be embarrassed to hand over to him.

Except she never made it through the kitchen because suddenly it sounded like someone was throwing pebbles at her windows, lots and lots of them, and right as she registered that it was probably hail, that same someone decided to pitch a baseball-sized rock at the window above her sink, simultaneously causing the glass to crack and eliciting her second scream in under a minute. She jumped back mid-stride, and cringed behind the island counter.

"Jesus H. Christ!" she cried out in disbelief, and peeked over the counter's edge at the damaged window, then ducked again at the sound of another ball of ice smacking against glass. "What the hell kind of storm is this? It's like the freaking end of days! This is insane!"

When Cam said nothing in reply she craned her neck back, annoyed at his lack of explanation for Texas weather. Annoyance quickly turned into alarm, however, when she saw the furrowed look of concern on his face as he intently read something on his phone.

"It's my dad," he said, looking up at her. Suddenly the eerie sound of a siren erupted in the distance. No, scratch that, the eerie sounds, at least two or three of them wailing their distress.

"Tornado," he shouted over the cacophony of hail and wind and keening sirens. "We need to get somewhere safe."

She stared up at him from her spot behind the counter, frozen in her confusion. A tornado? Was he trying to mess with her? All she could think of was the Wizard of Oz and wasn't that in Kansas? Who ever heard of a tornado in Texas?

"The bathroom," he said, and when she still didn't respond he rushed over, grabbed her by the arm, and pulled her to her feet. "It's interior, no windows. We have to go now."

She tried to shake free of his firm grasp.

"Cut it out Cam, this isn't funny!"

"Look at me Courtney," he said, and she did, if only because of the shock it caused to hear her given name on his lips for the very first time. His face was drawn and worried, his pupils dilated.

"My dad just texted to say it's headed to this side of town," he said. "I'm not kidding."

Suddenly she believed him. There was fear in his face, real, naked fear. She nodded, and obediently followed him into her pink disaster of a bathroom. She shut the door behind them and locked it for good measure, even though she knew what a completely futile gesture that was. As if you could lock a tornado out of your bathroom.

The lights cut out, along with the gentle thrumming of power and air conditioning that served as the background noise of civilization. And of safety.

"Oh my God," she whispered.

"It's okay," Cam said, and he flicked on a small flashlight attached to his keychain. "We don't need light to get through this, only luck. Get in the tub."

He had that tone again, the one that compelled her to do what he said, even if she didn't want to do it. So she stepped into the bathtub and waited for his next instruction. Anyway, even if she could argue with him she wouldn't. It wasn't like they'd had many tornado scares in suburban New Jersey. What did she know? Only that she felt terrified and utterly helpless.

"Shit, we need our shoes," Cam said, and before she could ask him why, or stop him, he was out the bathroom door.

"Cam!" she cried in alarm. "Cam! Come back!"

To her immense relief he and his tiny beam of light returned within moments, carrying his boots and her sneakers with him.

"If it hits there will be glass and debris everywhere out there," he said grimly, handing her the sneakers, which she immediately put on. She wanted to ask what else she should be doing, crouching? Standing up straight? Curling into a ball? But the sound of shattering glass silenced her before the words could form, and she instinctively crouched down and covered her head with her arms.

He climbed into the bathtub and slid down next to her.

"It's okay," he soothed, "There aren't any windows here to break. And that's only the wind, not a tornado."

She groaned in response, and he put an arm around her and pulled her trembling body against his warm, naked chest. This time there was no doubt in her mind as to the cause of her shaking: she was terrified.

"How do you know when it's the wind and when it's a tornado?" she asked. She wanted some kind of warning for when she was about to die.

"The sound it makes. Don't worry Courtney, I'll tell you. I promise."

Again, he had called her Courtney. She gingerly lifted her arms away from her head and wrapped them around his solid body. He was the closest thing she had to an anchor in this madness. 

"I'm scared Cam," she whispered into his chest. The light, soft hair tickled her nose and she rubbed her cheek against it, finding comfort in its feel against her skin.

"I know you are baby," he whispered back, and tightened his hold on her. "It's okay, happens all the time, honest. Not usually this late in the summer though, so it took us by surprise."

By "us" she guessed Cam and his father.

"I can't believe I came back to Texas for this," she mumbled under her breath.

He snorted.

"I heard that Miss Park. Why did you come back to Texas anyway?"

Before she could stop herself she was nuzzling his ear and begging him in a throaty whisper to call her Courtney again.

She was drunk, that had to account for her response. Drunk off fear, drunk off the smell and feel of his warm, strong body, drunk from the way he had called her "baby." She couldn't stand it anymore, and she slipped a trembling hand down his flat, hard stomach and under the band of his boxer briefs so she could take a firm hold of his swollen cock.

"Fuck yeah," he whispered, and without a moment's hesitation he grabbed a fistful of her hair and shoved her head down. She took him in her mouth and down her throat as far as she could, willing herself to relax so she could allow even more of his length inside, until her lips were wrapped almost at the base of his cock, its tip buried so deep that she had to struggle to breathe, until at last she gave up and, holding her breath, she remained as still as possible, wanting to keep him encased inside her for as long as she could, wanting to show him what she could do for him, to please him, to impress him.

"Oh shit Courtney, oh baby, it's in so deep baby." His words were spilling from him in a disorganized jumble now, and she blushed to think of how surprised and aroused she had made him. "Oh God yes baby, take it in, fuck yeah ..."

There was another crash and explosion of glass, this time louder and closer than the previous one, and she jerked back in fear. But Cam locked his hand on the back of her head and kept her head down on him as before.

"I need you to stay right there baby," he groaned, and she squeezed her eyes shut and felt a deeper darkness encroach on her senses as the lack of oxygen took its toll. A distant buzzing sound erupted into tiny sparkling points of light behind her eyelids, and she started to relax into the beckoning sweetness of unconsciousness.