by Cari Quinn
“But I didn’t get to come.” Yeah, sounding petulant was always sexy. But she couldn’t help it. Though, really, why should she complain? If she kept looking at that rock hard cock, standing at an angle away from Chase’s exquisitely fit body, she’d climax spontaneously and all would be right with the world.
“Take me in you, Summer.” And this time, there was no playful light in his eyes, no humor in his tone. He was down to all business.
Well, so was she.
She wrapped her fingers around him, stroking gently, then more briskly when he lurched into her grip. Touching was definitely believing, since his size was no mirage. That hot, firm flesh pulsed in her hold and she swallowed a sigh as she slid him over her cleft. He grunted, clearly getting impatient, so she acquiesced enough to take the tip of him inside, moaning at the intimate invasion. Even his fingers hadn’t prepared her. Especially when his muttered, “Sorry,” offered her an inadequate warning for his surge into her body. Full throttle, one deep thrust. “Jesus,” he gasped against her forehead, still more articulate than her since all she could do was whimper. “You’re tight. Like a goddamn fist.” He eased back and lifted her chin. “Please God, tell me you’re not a virgin.”
“Hell no.” Annoyed, affronted, she swiveled her hips and angled her legs to take more of him inside her. She might die, but he’d called her a virgin. “Hell no,” she said once more, whimpering again as he accepted her challenge and slid in again. Rinse and repeat. After about the fifth time, she could take full breaths again.
“Sorry to insult you.” He grinned at her and lifted her up, tilting her over that table until her shoulders bumped the mirror and she was more on display than she’d ever been in her life.
And sweet holy hot fudge, she loved it.
With a wiggle and a bit of stretching, she managed to grip two solid handfuls of his delectable ass. What she wouldn’t give to see it tense as he powered in and out. “Fuck me, ball boy. No holding back.”
His answer? He bit her chin. Pulled out, hesitated with just his tip inside. Then slid in, as slow as warm fudge slipping over melting ice cream. He groaned and the sound shivered over her mouth, as physical as a kiss. His breath puffed in and out and she locked gazes with him, helpless to look away during the endless siege of his cock into her pliant, slick center. His stomach flexed and she looked down, riveted by the sight of him burrowing in and holding, the pleasure so acute she couldn’t do more than beg. Shamelessly.
“I’m going to come,” she breathed, grinding against him. Oh God, he filled her perfectly. The burn felt so good. “Just a little more—”
He drew out and she expected him to instantly reclaim her, as he did before. But nope. He grimaced and knelt between her thighs instead, his irises so intently green that she would’ve sworn their power singed her skin.
Before she could protest, his mouth was on her, gently sucking, coaxing out that orgasm he denied her twice and now provoking it to flow in a hot, quick burst onto his waiting tongue. Spasms overtook her and she bent forward, grasping a fistful of his silky blond hair, dragging him against her so he could hopefully never leave. He barely gave her time to enjoy the heat spiraling through her, bathing her limbs in a warm glow, before he rose and powered back into her in one deep stroke, then swiveling and doing it again. “Damn sweet pussy,” he whispered over her lips, still not kissing her, making her hunger for his mouth in a way that shook her and nearly made her lose her mind.
And it did make her come again, in a swift, drenching rush while his hips battered hers and he murmured dark, dirty things right against her ear. “Give it to me. All of that juice. Soak me in you. That’s it. So tight around me, baby. I never want to leave.”
Summer mumbled her agreement, so dazed she would’ve acquiesced to anything. It was enough that he was fucking her like a frigging stallion while that night’s entertainment sang Joan Jett’s “I Love Rock and Roll” onstage. The heavy bass beat reverberated through the floor, shaking the table. Or maybe that was just Chase shaking the table, banging it into the wall while he drove in and out, whispering wicked words that made her writhe and pant and fall a little deeper and harder than she ever had before.
He didn’t give her advance notice he was coming. She didn’t need it. He pulled out and sank deep in fast, frantic thrusts, his lips warm on hers though he still didn’t kiss her. Not for real. She settled for even that paltry contact while his body shot into overdrive, content to cling to him and murmur her own version of dirty talk, which wasn’t all that dirty at all. But it seemed to make him even more crazed and she started worrying he’d fuck her right through the sheetrock.
Guess she’d add Empire to the list of clubs she figured might not invite her back.
She wound her arms and legs around him as he buried himself inside her and let out a shout he muffled with her mouth. For a second his tongue slid over hers, desperately, and she sucked on it for all she was worth, still squeezing him hard with her inner muscles to prolong his pleasure.
Judging from his stuttered gasps, she was pretty sure she succeeded.
For a few dizzy moments after, she tried to gather her bearings. Somehow her butt had gone numb. With all that activity, she didn’t know how it was possible. She wiggled it experimentally and Chase grunted, stilling her with a swift pinch on her hip. “Don’t move unless you want me to fuck you again right now.”
Uh, okay then. And he really thought she’d stay still?
“That doesn’t bother me.” She flexed around him and he groaned. “I like to fuck.”
“Dammit, Summer.” She had no idea why his eyes went to slits as he pulled out of her, but he looked pissed. Really pissed.
She bit her lip. That probably wasn’t good.
Had he not enjoyed himself as much as she had? He’d certainly seemed…enthused. For God’s sake, he was still kind of hard when he pulled off the condom. So he’d been turned on. And the things he’d said during the throes had been rather convincing. He’d even invoked deities.
She shouldn’t ask. That would be lame. She’d pulled off the sexy, brazen woman act before—she’d even demanded he eat her, for Pete’s sake—so to ask would be to totally erase her provocative babe cred. If she even had any.
“Was it—was it unsatisfying?” she asked as he bent to pick up his jeans. She feared he’d get a head rush since he remained stooped over while clutching the denim in one fist. “You can tell me. I won’t cry.” She crossed her arms over her breasts. They were still red from stubble. And bite marks.
Yep, there she went, getting all lubed up again for a party that would not be occurring.
He pulled on his clothes, dressing silently. And fast. She’d never had a guy bail on her immediately after sex, but she suspected this might be the first time. Which sucked, because he was her ride. The trip upstate to Yardley would be a bucket of fun, because she knew he wouldn’t leave her on her own. He’d just not talk to her and make her life miserable.
But hey, she wasn’t crying about her show anymore, so…win?
“Get dressed.” He picked up her dress and sweater off the floor and set them on the table, then strode to the door to pull the chair away.
“But—”
“We’re leaving in five.” He glanced back over his shoulder as he opened the door. “No, it was not unsatisfying. Are you fucking kidding me? Jesus, Summer.” He slammed the door shut behind him.
She grinned and hopped off the table. And winced.
Looked like she’d need a hot bath—or five—before bed. But dang, it had been so worth it.
Chapter Seven
Much to Summer’s shock, Chase asked if she minded spending the night at his place again. It was late. He was tired and had an early meeting in the city. Since she’d figured he would dump her off like last week’s takeout as soon as humanly possible, she eagerly agreed.
Would they actually sleep together in his bed? Whoa, too much to anticipate. But still, it was possible.
The ride home went a
bout as well as she’d expected. Chase fiddled with the radio, with the to-go cup of coffee he bought on the way, with the folded papers in the ashtray. He couldn’t seem to settle. Since his attempts to be casual amused her, she folded her gloved hands primly in her lap and hummed under her breath after pleasantly refusing his offer for coffee or a late night snack. She nearly said she was horny again just to tease him, then decided that would be skirting too close to the truth.
“Can you stop that?” he snapped, making her pop open her eyes—she’d been almost asleep—and gaze at him in confusion in the wavering beams of light from oncoming traffic. They were almost to Chase’s building. “It’s really annoying.”
“What?”
“You know damn well what. Stop humming. I get that you enjoyed yourself. You don’t have to be smug about it.”
She tried to stifle her laughter, but it was no use. “No? Well, I stand corrected then. Suppose I’ll sit here and stew like you.” She fixed a pout on her face and hunched over. “Better?”
He picked up his coffee and slapped open the top. “Yes. Thank you.”
A few minutes later they walked into his apartment. She tugged off her coat and tossed it on the couch. “I’m going to take a shower before bed, okay?”
No answer. She turned around and realized the room was empty. Fabulous. Clearly Chase had gotten more spooked than she’d thought.
She glanced up as he came down the hall with a stack of bedding in his arms. “Oh hell no. I’m not sleeping out here. You invited me over, I’m not getting guest accommodations.” She walked over to him and poked him in his formidable chest. “I’m your lover now, remember?”
If he tightened his mouth anymore, he would look like he’d swallowed a lemon whole. “Having sex once doesn’t mean we’re lovers. Technically.”
“Merriam-Webster would beg to differ, and so would I. I’m not sleeping out here. You can’t make me.”
The slightest hint of a smile lifted his lips. “Fine, squirt, where do you want to sleep? And only sleep,” he stressed before she could pounce on him for calling her squirt. He hadn’t used that dreaded name since high school and she’d be damned if he’d resurrect bad habits now.
“Your bed.”
He jerked a shoulder and headed down the hall. “As you wish. But I need to get up early, so don’t cover hog. I have to get some actual sleep.” Yet again he overemphasized that word like she was some sort of middle of the night sex creeper. The jerk.
Rather than continue to argue, she went into his bathroom and shut the door. Very softly, like a mature adult. She wasn’t going to have a tantrum.
She also wasn’t going to glower at her reflection while she stripped and tried to figure out why he found it so easy to dismiss her after such earth-rocking sex. At least on her end. And his too, she was almost positive, even if he would never admit it.
Soaping and shampooing and standing under brutally hot water for the better part of an hour eased some of her annoyance, though none of her frustration. She got out, wrapped herself in a giant plush towel that smelled of citrus and opened the door.
To Chase.
Instead of commenting on her state of near-nudity, he peered over her shoulder at the clothes-strewn floor. “Are you incapable of picking up after yourself? Or not using all the hot water?” He waved a hand at the steam that flowed out of the bathroom.
Cocking her head, she gave him a bright smile. “Nope.” She let the towel fall before sidling past him—with full body contact, of course.
She marched into his bedroom and yanked open a dresser drawer. The obnoxious ass was going to get it. Just as soon as she sorted through all the neat piles of boxers and shorts to find a T-shirt.
Finding a suitable choice, she pulled it out and tugged it over her head. The hem fell to above her knees. Perfect. She wouldn’t accost anyone with the unseemly sight of her upper thighs.
God, and he called her church girl? She’d seen priests who behaved less prudishly than Chase was at the moment.
The floorboards creaked near the door and she whirled, prepared to do battle. “Look, Dixon, we fucked. I know it traumatized you, but can we act like adults? I won’t try to maul you in your sleep, I promise.”
She didn’t expect him to laugh or to drag his hands through his hair. His wet hair. How had he managed to take a shower in under three minutes flat?
Slowly, her gaze drifted from his water-sprinkled shoulders to his ripped torso and down to the towel precariously hitched on his hips. Suddenly she wasn’t so irritated anymore. It was hard to be mad when facing more than six feet of pure, damp lusciousness.
And eight or nine inches of that were particularly memorable.
It was only then that she realized his mouth was moving. Whoops. “Sorry, what did you say?”
His lips twitched as he gestured toward the bed. “Sit down for a second. Please,” he added when she hesitated.
She climbed the steps to the bed and perched on the edge of the firm mattress—the bed was immaculately made once again—and tugged his shirt down until she was sufficiently covered. He blinked, obviously just realizing she’d borrowed his clothes. “That’s mine.”
“Yes, Sherlock. I don’t usually wear Daggers shirts. Only on special occasions.” Smirking, she patted the bed. “C’mon, sit. Then we’ll get some sleep so you’ll be ready for your early appointment. How early in the morning is it?”
“Eight.” He sat, giving her a moment to appreciate the colorful playing card tattoo on his left shoulder blade before he shifted awkwardly toward her. “That’s what I wanted to tell you. It affects you, so I shouldn’t keep it from you any longer. Tonight’s show proved that to me.” He adjusted the knot of his towel, not looking at her. Making her worry because he wouldn’t. “I’m seeing a doctor tomorrow morning. He doesn’t normally take Sunday patients, but he’s doing me a favor.”
“Oh God.” He cut his gaze to hers and she bit her lip. Great. She sucked at handling emotionally sensitive situations. “I mean, okay. Um, yes. Thank you for sharing.” She turned away to pull at the comforter. She’d crawl onto her side of the bed, roll over and let the poor terminal man sleep. “Uh, good night then.”
Yet again he laughed. The sound was so foreign that she looked back at him, sure she was recalling happier memories of a simpler time. The Chase she knew now hardly ever laughed so freely. “Aren’t you going to ask what’s wrong?”
“No. As long as it’s not a sexually transmitted disease, it’s not my business.” The light in his eyes flickered before fading completely. She groaned and shut her own. “I’m going to stop talking permanently. I can’t say anything right.”
He took her hand and threaded their fingers together. The sensation of his callused palm rubbing over hers startled her eyes right back open, but he didn’t appear to notice her staring. “Us starting up anything would be a mistake for a number of reasons, not the least of which is my physical situation. I hope you can understand.”
“Well, since I didn’t know a thing about your health until just now, no, I didn’t.” She waited a beat and tried to calm her racing pulse. Odds were good he wasn’t dying. She hoped. “And actually, no, I don’t understand. I won’t until you tell me what’s going on. Otherwise I’ll have to point out you already did start something with me. You did, Chase, not vice versa.”
“You were crying.”
“So you had to give me a sex-cookie to make me feel better?”
His laughter made her smile. God, she loved that sound. It was like summer days and making love—fine, fucking—and blue raspberry cotton candy all rolled into one. “No. I’m saying I wasn’t thinking all that clearly. Add in the leftover adrenaline rush from seeing that dickwad throw a glass at you earlier and I was off my game.”
“He didn’t throw it at me. He threw it on stage. Because that’s what drunk people do.” Only once the words were out did she remember she was talking to a member of AA. God, she needed to sleep. Forever. “I didn’t mean—I meant
—”
The fingers around hers squeezed. “I know. That’s why I don’t drink anymore. That, and other reasons.” His exhale reminded her of air steadily leaking out of a tire. “You’re beautiful and so talented and—”
“And you’re not interested in having sex with me again.” She nodded briskly. “I understand.”
“It’s not that simple. We’re friends.”
“Friends can’t have sex?”
He continued as if she’d never spoken. “I work for you.”
Not that again. “No money has ever changed hands between us. I could pay you—and I fully intend to—but you haven’t let me yet. Besides, I didn’t really want to hire you. You basically forced me to. Not that I’m saying I disagree about the whole security thing,” she added, unwilling to get into that same old fight.
“I’m…injured.” His shoulders slumped and for the first time she could remember, genuine fatigue lurked in his voice. “I stood there tonight and couldn’t concentrate on keeping you safe because I was so hard for you that I couldn’t think straight. Do you have any idea at all what your singing does to me?”
She had nothing to say to that, nothing at all. Her shock was so absolute that it froze her vocal cords. Only the warmth flowing up from her chest could combat her sudden deep freeze.
He liked her voice. Thought she had talent. Maybe one day he’d even believe in her dreams. Maybe then he’d start going after his own again.
“And if that wasn’t enough, my stupid fucking arm fails at the worst possible times. I never know when it’s going to happen. Usually I’m okay, but all it would take is one bad moment and I could risk someone who matters to me.”
“Me?” she managed.
He slanted her a look. “I’m your bodyguard.”
“You’re my friend first, and my lover second.” At his derisive snort, she cupped his cheek with her free hand. “We’re lovers now. You can’t pretend otherwise.”
