by Meli Raine
“Only if the man is really, really bad, Allie.” He laughs. “And I’m never, ever bad in bed.”
I suck in a long, slow stream of air as his hand caresses my breast. “No. No, I’d imagine you’re not.”
“You can imagine a lot of things. Or you can live them.” His mouth replaces his hand and I turn to him, our bodies pressing against each other from foot to head, trying so hard to touch everywhere we can as his head remains dipped down against my chest. The feel of his sucking and biting is like an electric line directly to my red nub, which is throbbing for his touch.
The return of his touch.
He begins to kiss my ribs, moving his mouth steadily lower on my belly, down down down to oh my God.
I sit up and gasp. “What are you doing?”
He stays right where he is and wiggles his hands between my knees, careful not to touch my wounds. “I want to taste you, Allie.”
Chapter Sixteen
“Taste me?” I squeak. I’ve heard about guys going down, but Marissa says they don’t like it. Says men only do it to get their girlfriends to reciprocate.
I look at Chase’s huge erection and wonder if my mouth would fit. Curiosity gets the better of me and now my mind is filled with the image of putting my tongue on his hardness.
He’s pushing my thighs apart, one finger touching the tender outer lips and I arch, the sensation so great I think I might turn into dust if he puts his mouth there.
“Just say stop if you don’t want it, Allie.”
“Am I—?” I try to ask, the question hard to form. “Is it wrong to—?” I try again.
He stops and looks up at me, resting his cheek on my soft inner thigh. “You can ask me anything you want.”
“Are you sure you want to do this? Because I’ve heard guys don’t like it.”
“Where’d you hear that from?” Chase asks with a laugh, his fingers playing with my wetness. One finger slowly makes its way inside me and I feel my muscles grip it, my voice suddenly gone.
He pulls the finger out, then slowly slides it back in. “I like doing that,” he says. “Do you like it when I do that?”
“Yes,” I hiss.
“And I like doing this,” he says as he spreads my thighs and plants a kiss in the springy curls. “And this,” he adds as his fingers open me up and his mouth goes right on my throbbing pulse.
His tongue strokes up and I fly, fly so high I need to anchor myself by grabbing his hair.
The sudden withdrawal of his tongue almost makes me cry. He looks up at me with a half grin, his face soft with lust.
“But most of all, Allie, I love to do this.”
And then he does it again. And again. And again until I am frantic, bucking against his mouth and calling out his name until the world goes white and every blood vessel in my body feels like it cracked in half and fell off the earth.
When the last shudder leaves my limp body he crawls up me, like a man who has just taken on a challenge and won, and he kisses me. The taste of my own juices feels erotically taboo and yet perfectly natural at the same time.
Just like it feels to be with Chase.
“Let me tell you something, Allie,” Chase says. He’s above me, long, thick muscles touching my pale curves all over. He’s propped up on his arms and I am covered by him. It’s hard to see his eyes.
“Any man who doesn’t like to do that is a man who’s missing out on a lot of the glorious pleasure that a woman’s body can give a man. It’s not about getting what you can from a woman and being done. Men who do that are assholes. Plain and simple. You don’t take and not give back.”
He kisses me again, this time without urgency. It’s sweet and musky, tangy and slow. “And,” he adds, “the feeling of a woman shoving her womanhood right in your face and wanting more of something only you can give her is the most amazing fucking feeling ever. It’s a kind of power you only get by giving pleasure. Men who don’t understand that aren’t worth loving. Or fucking at all.”
Love.
“Besides,” he adds with a quick kiss to my collarbone, “you taste damn fine, too.”
That makes me slap him jokingly, and then I regret it because my elbow hurts.
His words ring throughout me like the echo of a church bell, like a gong that’s been ringing for a long time. I reach down and wrap my fingers around him. He hisses, pulling in air from the back of his mouth.
“I’d like to find out how a woman can get some of that power, too, Chase,” I say. “Will you help me learn?”
His eyes turn predatory and dark, sensual and sultry, and suddenly he feels very dangerous. We’ve shifted from playful to a game that isn’t about playing at all.
It’s about control.
“You sure you want to do that? Because holy fuck, Allie, I want you to do that.” He narrows his eyes and reaches down to stroke himself. I watch. I study.
I want to learn.
“I want to make you happy.” I’m delirious with the afterglow of the orgasms Chase just gave me. We have our own little world in here and I want to give as much as I just received. Chase is right. Being with someone isn’t just about getting what you can.
It’s about giving, too. As long as we both want to give more than we want to receive then this works.
This works better than my wildest dreams.
He replaces his hand with mine and I stroke once. There’s a ring of skin that feels like the softest glove leather, like suede mixed with butter, and it slides as I move up and down, the red tip of him gleaming, swollen.
He stretches out on the bed and lies on his back. I keep my hand in place, never letting go. When he’s comfortable, he smiles down at me.
“Explore,” he says. “Do whatever you want.” He lowers his eyebrows a little. “Except for biting.”
“I would never do that!” I insist. Why would I want to use my teeth? That would hurt. I don’t want to hurt Chase. I want to give him the kind of pleasure he just gave me.
“Well,” he says with a strange sort of sigh as I stroke down and his legs go tense. “Sometimes it feels good, but only when you know exactly what you’re doing.”
I want to learn how to be a pro.
He bursts out laughing, a deep rumbling that vibrates in my hand.
“A pro, huh?” he says, eyes filled with marvel. Oh, my God. Did I say that out loud? I guess I did.
I give him a shy smile and say, “I just want to not feel like a clumsy beginner. And that means I have to start somewhere.”
Chase rubs his hand along my shoulder, the back of his fingers brushing against my collarbone. “I’m honored that you would choose me as your test subject.”
I am trying not to laugh, because sex is supposed to be intense and serious, right? Chase keeps joking around and making this...real. Normal. Fun, only with lots of naked skin. I like this. I had no idea sex could be like this.
But now it’s time to get serious. I kiss one hip bone, lips tracing the muscled curve inward that is so sexy. Then I lean over and kiss the other. His hardness jumps and twitches, and then I kiss the tip, brushing my lips lightly against it.
Chase moans. I open my mouth and make a weird little whimpering sound.
“What?” he says, sitting up. “You sound like you’re in pain.” He looks at my lips and grimaces. “Oh, God, what the fuck was I thinking? Of course you shouldn’t be doing that, Allie! Not with a split lip. What was I thinking, asking for that...” He clears his throat and gives me a sheepish look. “I’m sorry.”
“No, no, no need to be sorry. It’s my stupid fat lip that’s getting in the way.” I run my tongue along the split skin. It’s all swollen and the scab is barely there. The right thing to do is to stop. To not put my mouth on him. But I’m not sure I care about what’s right anymore.
I move my wrist and stroke up, then down. Chase makes a choking sound in the back of his throat that turns to a full-throttle groan of lust.
Hmmm. Maybe I can learn something else while my lip heals.
“God, Allie that feels so amazing,” he says, his breath catching, his hips moving in these tiny shifts in rhythm with my hand. “A little faster.” I pick up the pace and watch as his muscles tense in little patterns all over his body, his head thrown back and eyes closed.
I’m entranced. I’ve never held an erection in my hand, never been naked with one, either. I’ve certainly never stroked a man whose eyes are closed in ecstasy and who is letting me watch his pleasure play out.
While I am giving it to him.
Something in me blossoms, opening and spreading. It’s not my legs. It’s my heart. Sex isn’t some thing you do because a guy wants you desperately and you go along with it because it feels good. It’s not some game you play with a guy because that’s what you’re expected to do.
It’s this. Give and take and respect and patience and oh, boy, I think Chase is about to come now.
He looks so unrestrained and real as my attentions, my touch, my hand bring him to orgasm. I can’t stop watching him and marveling at how connected I feel right now. To him, to my true self, to the magic of touching a very naked Chase who is reaching for me and kissing me like it’s the only thing in the world he can possibly do right now. His slick juices are all over and our mingled musk is thick in this tiny little shack.
And you know what?
We did this. Me and Chase.
I settle down on the comforter while Chase discreetly grabs a hand towel and wipes off. You never see that scene in the movies, but it has to be part of sex, right? Chase doesn’t make a big deal out of it. It’s just what needs to be done before he snuggles down on the bed with me and we both sigh a long, deep sound of pure contentment.
I feel like someone slowly pulled all of the bones out of my body and filled me with Chase’s smiles.
“How you feeling now?” Chase whispers in the night. It’s a sliver of a moon out there and I can’t see his face. He has lamps in the room but he doesn’t reach over to turn them on.
“I ache.”
“Where’s your ache? Maybe I can take care of that,” he says in a low rumbly growl.
“You’ve taken care of that kind of ache quite well,” I joke back, reaching up to stroke his cheek. We smile at each other, eyes locked for far longer than we should. He’s looking into my soul.
I’m looking right back.
Out of the blue, Chase stops, his eyes darting toward the door, his face turning into a mask of rage and suspicion.
“Get dressed. Now,” he snaps.
Bewildered, I freeze as he rolls off the bed and scrambles to find his underwear, his pants. I stay in place, in shock. Why the sudden change? What’s going on?
“Allie! Do it. Now!” He’s throwing his shirt on now and shoving his bare feet in his boots, his socks sitting in little balls on the floor by the water stand.
“What—I—I don’t understand, Chase,” I say, my throat thickening with tears. Is he just kicking me out after all that? Have I just been used for sex and now—
And then I hear it.
An engine. Two engines.
Oh, no.
I stand, halting as one leg hits the floor. My knee buckles and I fall back, hitting a bandage. I make a weird sound but reach for my shirt and pull it on. I have no idea where my bra is, but I’m half naked and it’s not as important as finding my pants.
A single white light bounces outside, headed toward us. It’s a motorcycle.
“Here,” Chase barks, setting my panties and jeans on the bed next to me. His face is tight with tension but he softens when he realizes I’m not being slow because I’m a pain in the ass.
I’m being slow because I’m in pain.
He holds open the leg of my panties and I flush red, suddenly shy and demure, suddenly self-conscious. Chase doesn’t act like I need to be, though. He’s gentle and kind, but in a rush.
Panties on, we go through the agonizingly slow process of getting my jeans pulled up over my hips. My elbows won’t let me button and zip myself up. Chase does it for me. I find my shoes and slip them on.
We’re both dressed now, so at least we won’t be discovered naked.
A thought hits me.
“Could it just be David?”
Chase shakes his head and reaches for something in a drawer. “Nope. He never comes here at night, and even if he did, he wouldn’t be on a bike.”
“David has a bike.”
“Motorcycle,” Chase says. I can hear the impatience in his voice.
I see the glint of light on steel. He’s holding a knife in his hand, and putting his leather coat on. It’s easily ninety degrees in here and I don’t understand why he’d wear something so stifling. I open my mouth to ask why and then I see the answer.
It conceals a gun.
Chase is wearing a gun.
“Who do you think it is?” I ask, sitting back down. The light bounces off the water container and I realize how thirsty I am. I grab a mug and fill it, chugging the entire glass down in three seconds.
“Don’t know. Could be Frenchie.”
My gut tightens.
“Could be my dad.”
I think I’m going to throw up.
“Could be damn near anyone.”
“Should we hide?”
Chase thinks for a second. “Where?”
I look around the room. He has a point. You’d have a hard time hiding a flea in here.
My eyes start to fill with tears, and I am unraveling on the inside. The magic little bubble Chase and I just created is gone. I want to go back to being naked with him, vulnerable and precious, excited and explorative. I don’t want to be sitting like prey in Chase’s place while we wait for something bad to happen.
“Don’t worry, Allie. I’ll protect you. Always.” Chase’s words are firm and clear, and I believe him. I think about his mother and how he tried to protect her.
I think about his gun.
“I know,” I say, and his shoulders relax the tiniest of bits. It’s important to him that I trust him. I can see that. Our relationship depends on it.
Relationship.
Caught up in the overwhelm of it all, I blurt out, “So am I your girlfriend? Are you my boyfriend? I mean, what is this? What do we call it? We don’t have to call it anything, I suppose, but it would be helpful if I—”
Chase kisses me so hard my lip splits and I taste coppery blood. The headlight is almost at the door.
“Allie?” he whispers.
“Yeah?”
“Shut up.”
“Okay,” I peep. Whatever’s going on, I guess I need to be silent. But am I supposed to hide or not?
Chase stands in front of the door, hand on the knife in a holder around his waist, and as the engine dies down we hear someone walking toward us.
Whoever it is isn’t being discreet.
“Damn it, Chase, I know you’re in there.” It’s his dad, Galt. “And you’re in there with that sweet piece of ass.”
Chase relaxes his arm and his nostrils flare. “What the fuck are you doing here?” he grinds out.
“Trying to stop all-out war.” Galt tries to walk in the door but Chase bolted it when we came in here. He peers in the window and catches my eye. His eyes roll and he gets a look of disgust on his face.
“Let me in, for fuck’s sake, Chase. It ain’t like you got something to hide now.”
Chase opens the door but blocks the doorway. “She’s here. She’s safe.”
Galt snorts. “She ain’t safe from your cock. You fuck her?” Before Chase can answer Galt sticks his head in the shack and sniffs twice. “Yeah. You did. I can smell the jizz and juice.”
I make a weird frog-like voice in the back of my throat from complete shock that anyone talks like that. Working in a bar means I’ve heard some rough language, but to describe what Chase and I just did in such vulgar terms makes me want to cry and choke Galt all at the same time.
“And you,” Galt says, giving me the once-over. I really wish I had my bra on now, bec
ause with the door open a breeze blows through and my nipples tighten. Great. Exactly what I need right now, with Chase’s dad’s eyes combing me over like I’m prey.
“Your dad is gonna—”
“Stepdad,” Chase barks.
“I don’t give a shit if he’s her sugar daddy, pimp, or second cousin twice removed of her transsexual ex-aunt,” Galt spits out, “Jeff is gonna kill you if she’s not tight.”
Tight?
Chase’s face turns nearly purple with rage. “What the fuck business is it of her stepfather if she’s still a virgin?”
Oh. I guess that’s what tight means.
Galt grabs Chase by the arm and drags him outside. The two manage to have a screaming argument in whispers and I only catch a few words here and there.
...none of your business...
...keep your cock in your pants...
...start a goddamn drug territory war and worse...
...pick a different pussy to fuck...
And then the sound of a bike falling over.
“What the fuck you think you’re doing! You’re paying for that, Chase Edward Halloway!”
Well, now I know his middle name. Mine’s Cassidy. I think I’ll wait and tell him at a more appropriate time. Like, after he finishes getting the shit kicked out of him by his dad.
Another light bounces in the distance, the roar of a bike engine tickling my ear.
“Who’s that?” Chase shouts. “You bring in the fucking army and a marching band to track me down?”
“We’re not tracking you,” Galt shouts back. “We need to get your little piece of ass—”
“She has a name!”
“Yeah. Sweet Piece of Ass is her name.”
Scuffling sounds, and then the sickening thud of a punch. I start to run outside because if these two have a throw down, I’m not sure who would win. Plus, in a weird sort of way, it’s me they’re fighting over. Shouldn’t I at least watch, or something, when two men have a fist fight over me? Isn’t that an unwritten rule?
As I try to walk outside I limp, my knees seizing up. I walk like, well...like Chase really did what Galt thinks he did.
The sight outside is as bad as it sounded, with Chase and Galt wrestling on the ground, kicking up dirt. The only sound I hear for a few seconds is their heavy breathing and the occasional exclamation of “fuck!” or “ow!”
