by Maisey Yates
He frowned. “I guess. I never broke it down like that before. But that stands to reason.”
She reached up, sighing as she flicked a strand of her hair as best she could. It was tied up in a loose bun and had fallen partway thanks to the intensity of the day’s physical labor. Still, she had a feeling she did not look alluring. She had a feeling she looked like she’d been caught in a wind turbine and spit out the other end.
“Are you new in town?”
“I’m old in town,” she said, mentally kicking herself again for being lame on the return volley.
“That works, too,” Chase said, not skipping a beat. Yeah, there was a reason the man had never struck out before.
She started to chew on her lip, trying to think of what to say next.
“Don’t chew a hole through it,” he said, smiling and reaching across the space, brushing his thumb over the place her teeth had just grazed.
And everything in her stopped dead. His touch ignited her nerve endings, sending a brush fire down her veins and all through her body.
She hadn’t been this ridiculous over Chase since she was sixteen years old. Since then, she had mostly learned to manage it.
She pulled away slightly, her chair scraping against the floor. She laughed, a stilted, unnatural sound. “I won’t,” she said, her voice too loud.
“If you’re going to chew on your lip,” he said, “don’t freak out when the guy calls attention to it or touches you. It looks like you’re doing it on purpose, so you should expect a comment.”
“Duh,” she said, “I was. That was...normal.”
She wanted to crawl under the chair.
“There was this girl Miranda that I—”
“Okay.” She cut him off, growing more and more impatient with the comparisons. “I’m old in town, what about you?”
“I’ve been around.”
“I bet you have been,” she said.
“I’m not sure how I’m supposed to take that,” he said, flashing her a lopsided grin.
“Right,” she said, “because I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“Maybe this was a bad idea,” he said. “I think you actually need to feel some chemistry with somebody if flirting’s going to work.”
His words were sharp, digging into her chest. You actually had to feel some chemistry to be able to flirt.
They had chemistry. She had felt it last night. So had he. This was his revenge for the six-point-five comment. At least, she hoped it was. The alternative was that he had really felt nothing when their lips attached. And that seemed...beyond unfair.
She had all this attraction for Chase that she had spent years tamping down, only to have it come roaring to the surface the moment she had begun to pretend there was more going on between them than just friendship. And then she had kissed him. And far from being a disappointment, he had superseded her every fantasy. The jackass. Then he had kissed her, kissed her because he was angry. Kissed her to get revenge. Kissed her in a way that had kept her awake all night long, aching, burning. And now he was saying he didn’t have chemistry with her.
“It’s just that usually when I’m with a girl it flows a little easier. The bar to the bedroom is a pretty natural extension. And all those little movements kind of lead into the other. The way they touch their hair, tilt their head, lean in for a kiss...”
Oh, that did it.
“The women that I usually hook up with tend to—”
“Right,” she said, her tone hard. “I get it. They flip their hair and scrunch their noses and twitch at all the appropriate times. They’re like small woodland creatures who only emerge from their burrows to satisfy your every sexual whim.”
“Don’t get upset. I’m trying to help you.”
She snorted. “I know.” Just then, she had no idea what devil possessed her. Only that one most assuredly did. And once it had taken hold, she had no desire to cast it back out again.
She was mad. Mad like Chase had been last night. And she was determined to get her own back.
“Elizabeth was good at flipping her hair. Miranda gave you saucy interplay like so.” She stood up, taking a step toward him, meeting his dark gaze with her own. “But how did they do this?” She reached down, placing her hand between his thighs and rubbing her palm over the bulge in his jeans.
Oh, sweet Lord, there was more to Chase McCormack than met the eye.
And she had a whole handful of him.
Her brain was starting to scream. Not words so much as a high-pitched, panicky whine. She had crossed the line. And there was no turning back.
But her brain wasn’t running the show. Her body was on fire, her heart pounding so hard she was afraid it was going to rip a hole straight through the wall of her chest and flop out on the ground in front of him. Show him all its contents. Dammit, she didn’t even want to see that.
But it was her anger that really pushed things forward. Her anger that truly propelled her on.
“And how,” she asked, lowering herself slowly, scraping her fingernails across the line of his zipper, before dropping to her knees in front of him, “did they do this?”
Six
For one blinding second, Chase thought that he was engaged in some sort of high-definition hallucination.
Because there was no way that Anna had just put her hand...there. There was no way that she was kneeling down in front of him, looking at him like she was a sultry-eyed seductress rather than his best friend, still dirty from the workday, clad in motor-oil-smudged coveralls.
He blinked. Then he shook his head. She was still there. And so was he.
But he was so hard he could probably pound iron with his dick right about now.
He knew what he should do. And just now he had enough sense left in his skull to do it. But he didn’t want to. He knew he should. He knew that at the end of this road there was nothing good. Nothing good at all. But he shut all that down. He didn’t think of the road ahead.
He just let his brain go blank. He just sat back and watched as she trailed her fingers up the line of his zipper, grabbing hold of his belt buckle and undoing it, her movements clumsy, speaking of an inexperience he didn’t want to examine too closely.
He didn’t want to examine any of this too closely, but he was powerless to do anything else.
Because everything around the moment went fuzzy as the present sharpened. Almost painfully.
His eyes were drawn to her fingers as she pulled his zipper down, to the short, no-nonsense fingernails, the specks of dirt embedded in her skin. That should...well, he had the vague idea it should turn him off. It didn’t. Though he had a feeling that getting a bucket of water thrown on him while he sat in the middle of an iceberg naked wouldn’t turn him off at this point. He was too far gone.
He was holding his breath. Every muscle in his body frozen. He couldn’t believe that she would do what it appeared she might be doing. She would stop. She had to stop. He needed her to stop. He needed her to never stop. To keep going.
She pressed her palm flat against his ab muscles before pushing her hand down inside his jeans, reaching beneath his underwear and curling her fingers around him. His breath hissed through his teeth, a shudder racking his frame.
She looked up at him, green eyes glittering in the dim shop light. She had a smudge of dirt on her face that somehow only highlighted her sharp cheekbones, somehow emphasized her beauty in a way he hadn’t truly noticed it before. Yes, last night in the red dress she had been beautiful, there was no doubt about that. But for some reason, her femininity was highlighted wrapped in these traditionally masculine things. By the backdrop of the mechanic shop, the evidence of a day’s hard work on her soft skin.
She tilted her chin up, her expression one of absolute challenge. She was waiting for him to call it off. W
aiting for him to push her away. But he wasn’t going to. He reached out, forking his fingers through her hair and tightening them, grabbing ahold of the loose bun that sat high on her head. Her eyes widened, her lips going slack. He didn’t pull her away. He didn’t draw her closer. He just held on tight, keeping his gaze firmly focused on hers. Then he released her. And he waited.
She licked her lips slowly, an action that would have been almost comically obvious coming from nearly anyone else. Not Anna.
Then she squeezed him gently before drawing her hand back. He should be relieved. He was not.
But her next move was not one he anticipated. She grabbed hold of the waistband of his jeans and underwear, pulling them down slowly, exposing him. She let out a shaky, shuddering breath before leaning in and flicking her tongue over the head of his arousal.
“Hell.” He wasn’t sure at first if he had spoken it out loud, not until he heard it echoing around him. It was like cursing in a church somehow, wrong considering the beauty of the gift he was about to receive.
Still, he couldn’t think of anything else as she drew the tip of her tongue all the way down to the base of his shaft before retracing her path. She shifted, and that was when he noticed her hands were shaking. Fair enough, since he was shaking, too.
She parted her lips, taking him into her mouth completely, her lips sliding over him, the wet, slick friction almost too much for him to handle. He didn’t know what was wrong with him. If it was the shock of the moment, if it was just that he was this base. Or if there was some kind of sick, perverted part of him that took extra pleasure in the fact that this was wrong. That he should not be letting his best friend touch him like this.
Because he’d had more skilled blow jobs. There was no question about that. This didn’t feel good because Anna was an expert in the art of fellatio. Far from it.
Still, his head was about to blow off. And he was about to lose all of his control. So there was something.
Maybe it was just her.
She tilted her head to the side as she took him in deep, giving him a good view of just what she was doing. And just who was doing it. He was so aware of the fact that it was Anna, and that most definitely added a kick of the forbidden. Because he knew this was bad. Knew it was wrong.
And not many things were off-limits to him. Not many things had an illicit quality to them. He had kind of allowed himself to take anything and everything that had ever seemed vaguely sexy to him.
Except for her.
He shoved that thought in the background. He didn’t like to think of Anna that way, and in general he didn’t.
Sure, in high school, there had been moments. But he was a guy. And he had spent a lot of time with Anna. Alone in her room, alone in his. He had a feeling that half the people who had known them had imagined they were getting it on behind the scenes. Friends with benefits, et cetera. In reality, the only benefit to their friendship had been the fact that they’d been there for each other. They had never been there for each other in this way.
Maybe that’s what was wrong with him.
Of course, nothing felt wrong with him right now. Right now, pleasure was crackling close to the surface of his skin and it was shorting out his brain. All he could do was sit back and ride the high. Embrace the sensations that were boiling through his blood. The magic of her lips and tongue combined with a shocking scrape of her teeth against his delicate skin made him buck his hips against her even as he tried to rein himself in.
But he was reaching the end of his control, the end of himself. He reached down, cupping her cheek as she continued to pleasure him, as she continued to drive him wild, urging him closer to the edge of control he hadn’t realized he possessed.
He felt like he lived life with the shackles off, but she was pushing him so much further than he’d been before that he knew he’d been lying to himself all this time.
He’d been in chains, and hadn’t even realized it.
Maybe because of her. Maybe to keep himself from touching her.
She gripped him, squeezing as she tasted him, pushing him straight over the edge. He held on to her hair, harder than he should, as a wave of pleasure rode up inside of him. And when it crashed he didn’t ride it into shore. Oh, hell no. When it crashed it drove him straight down to the bottom of the sea, the impact leaving him spinning, gasping for breath, battered on the rocks.
But dammit all, it was worth it. Right now, it was worth it.
He knew that any moment the feeling would fade and he would be faced with the stark horror of what he’d just done, of what he’d just allowed to happen. But for now, he was foggy, floating in the kind of mist that always blanketed the ocean on cold mornings in Copper Ridge.
And he would cling to it as long as possible.
* * *
Oh, dear God. What had she done? This had gone so far beyond the kiss to prove they had chemistry. It had gone so far past the challenge that Chase had thrown down last night. It had gone straight into Crazy Town, next stop You Messed Up the Only Friendship You Hadville.
In combination with the swirling panic that was wrapping its claws around her and pulling her into a spiral was the fuzzy-headed lingering arousal. Her lips felt swollen, her body tingling, adrenaline still making her shake.
She regretted everything. She also regretted nothing.
The contradictions inside her were so extreme she felt like she was going to be pulled in two.
One thing her mind and body were united on was the desire to go hide underneath a blanket. This was definitely the kind of situation that necessitated hiding.
The problem was, she was still on her knees in front of Chase. Maybe she could hide under his chair.
What are you doing? Why are you falling apart? This isn’t a big deal. He has probably literally had a thousand blow jobs.
This one didn’t have to be that big a deal. Sure, it was the first one she had ever given. But he didn’t have to know that, either.
If she didn’t treat it like a big deal, it wouldn’t be a big deal. They could forget anything had ever happened. They could forget that in a moment of total insanity she had allowed her anger to push her over the edge, had allowed her inability to back down from a challenge to bring them to this place. And that was all it was—the fact that she was absolutely unable to deal with that blow to her pride. It was nothing else. It couldn’t be anything else.
She rocked back on her heels, planting her hands flat on the dusty ground before rising to her feet. She felt dizzy. She would go ahead and blame that on the speed at which she had stood up.
“I think it’s safe to say we have a little bit more chemistry than you thought,” she said, clearing her throat and brushing at the dirt on her pants.
He didn’t say anything. He just kept sitting there, looking rocked. And he was still exposed. She did her very best to look at the wall behind him. “I can still see your...”
He scrambled into action, standing and tugging his pants into place, doing up his belt as quickly as possible. “I think we’re done for the day.”
She nodded. “Yeah. Well, you are.”
She could feel the distance widening between them. It was what she needed, what she wanted, ultimately. But for some reason, even as she forced the breach, she regretted it.
“I don’t... What just happened?”
She laughed, crossing her arms and cocking her hip out to the side. “If you have to ask, maybe I didn’t do a very good job.” The bolder she got, the more she retreated inside. She could feel herself tearing in two, the soft vulnerable part of her scrambling to get behind the brash, bold outward version that would spare her from any embarrassment or pain.
“You’re...okay?”
“Why wouldn’t I be okay?”
“Because you just...”
She laughed. Hyst
erically. “Sure. But let’s not be ridiculous about it. It isn’t like you punched me in the face.”
Chase looked stricken. “Of course not. I would never do that.”
“I know. I’m just saying, don’t act like you punched me in the face when all I did was—”
“There’s no need to get descriptive. I was here. I remember.”
She snorted. “You should remember.” She turned away from him, clenching her hands into fists, hoping he didn’t notice that they were shaking. “And I hope you remember it next time you go talking about us not having chemistry.”
“Do you want us to have chemistry?”
She whirled around. “No. But I have some pride. You were comparing me to all these other women. Well, compare that.”
“I...can’t.”
She planted her hands on her hips. “Damn straight.”
“We can’t... We can’t do this again,” he said, shaking his head and walking away.
For some reason, that made her feel awful. For some reason, it hurt. Stabbed like a rusty knife deep in her gut.
“I don’t want to do it again. I mean, you’re welcome, but I didn’t exactly get anything out of it.”
He stopped, turning to face her, his expression tense. “I didn’t ask you to do anything.”
“I’m aware.” She shook her head. “I think we’re done for tonight.”
“Yeah. I already said that.”
“Well,” she said, feeling furious now, “now I’m saying it.”
She was mad at herself. For taking it this far. For being upset, and raw, and wounded over something that she had chosen to do. Over his reaction, which was nothing more than the completely predictable response. He didn’t want her. Not really.
And she knew that. This evening’s events weren’t going to change it. An orgasm on the floor of the shop she rented from him was hardly going to alter the course of fifteen years of friendship.
An orgasm. Oh, dear Lord, what had she done? She really had to get out of here. There was no amount of bravado left in her that would save her from the meltdown that was pending.
