27. Chase
27
CHASE
I shoved a chip into the jar of salsa I had wedged in the caddy, then popped it in my mouth. I chewed as I rotated the mower. Pushing through another swatch of the yard, I rewarded myself for mowing that strip with a pull from the beer bottle nestled beside the chips and salsa.
It was hot as Hades out, so I was push-mowing my lawn in a pair of gym shorts and nothing else. I was sticky and probably smelled like a dirty sock.
It crossed my mind that I should check the time, but that thought was quickly replaced by a desire for more chips and salsa.
The rumble of my truck drowned out the mower engine. Bridget pulled up and parked. Her long, limber legs dropped down from the driver’s seat. I pushed through the last patch of grass and cut the mower. If Bridget was already home from work, it meant I was running late.
“Hey, darlin’,” I said as I turned the mower off and drained the last of my beer .
She laughed as she walked across the yard, dodging piles of grass clippings. “What the hell?”
“What?” I snickered. “Can’t a man cut his own grass without a shirt?” I crossed my arms and popped my pecs for good measure. It made it giggle.
I fucking loved that sound.
Her cheeks were tinged with pink. “I meant that .” She pointed to the mower.
“That, pretty girl, is the greatest invention ever invented.”
She cocked an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. And who, pray tell, invented it?”
“Me, a stroke of genius, and a quick trip to the hardware store.” I waved her over. “Check it out. I cut down a two-by-four, measured the jar of Mateo’s Salsa, measured a beer bottle, and tricked out my mower. The spring clamps I drilled into the side hold the chip bag.”
Bridget let out a loud crack of laughter. “You have a beer, chips, and salsa caddy on your lawnmower?”
“Just for that,” I said as I took a chip and popped it in my mouth. “I’m not sharing.”
She stuck her lip out, pouting. I leaned in and nipped it, pulling the pillowy skin between my teeth.
Bridget decided to pull out the big guns and hit me with those irresistible puppy dog eyes. “May I have a chip, please ?”
“You hungry, darlin’?” I asked in a low growl as my gaze flicked from her mouth to the swell of her breasts.
I had wet dreams about those tank tops she wore to work at the bar. I wanted to peel it off with my teeth. Wanted to lay her down on the bar and drink whiskey off her skin. Wanted to watch her tits bounce as I rutted deep inside her.
Bridget’s eyes locked on mine, her light green irises darkening with lust. “Starved. ”
I leaned in, my sweaty skin sticking to her soft cleavage. “Good. Because my mom invited us over for dinner tonight.”
She shrieked as I turned away. “What!”
I dragged the mower back to the shed. I’d have to weed-eat the property line another day. Mom would kill me if I showed up sweaty.
“Chase!” Bridget yelled as she stomped over. “What the hell? You thought that was a good idea to spring on me?”
“Not like this is your first time meeting them, darlin’,” I said as I closed the shed and snapped the padlock back in place.
Bridget had known my folks since we were kids.
I tucked the salsa jar, bag of chips, and empty beer bottle under my arm. “And this morning, you told me you didn’t have plans tonight.”
“Yeah, because I don’t. That doesn’t mean you get to decide what I’m doing with my night.”
I had gotten used to Bridget being hot and cold. Some days she wanted to walk down Front Street holding hands. Some days she would go back into her shell and hide the way she had when she first moved into the cottage.
I tamped down the frustration. “Is it about me making dinner plans for us or about it being with my parents?”
She looked away.
And there was my answer.
“Come on, darlin’.” I hooked my free arm around her shoulders and steered her inside. “How was work?”
“Fine.”
“Wanda closing tonight?”
“Yeah.”
“Maybe we should run naked down Front Street after dinner.”
“That’s nice.”
“I was thinking about dying my pubes blue. ”
“Mhmm.”
I huffed. “Bridget.”
She looked up at me. A flurry of emotion swirled in her eyes, but I couldn’t discern one from the others. “Huh?”
We stalled on the porch. “Where’d you go just now?” I asked as I set my provisions by the doormat and cupped her cheeks.
She lowered her eyes, avoiding my gaze.
“Talk to me.”
“I…” She clammed up. “Moms don’t like me. I’m not the kind of girl you bring home.”
I pressed my lips to her forehead. “You have known my parents for ages, Bee. They love you. Last time I was over there, my mom basically threatened to disown me if I didn’t bring you over for dinner.”
Bridget’s stomach rumbled. “Those snickerdoodles were really good…”
“There’s a rumor going around that she whipped up a coconut cake.”
Her forehead rested in the center of my chest. “Damn you, Chase Brannan.”
I led her inside, dumping my snacks in the kitchen. “You should shower with me,” I said as I stripped my gym shorts off and tossed them straight into the washing machine.
“If we’re on a timeline, I should probably shower over in the cottage.”
My cock was already working its way into a full-blown erection. I backed her into the refrigerator and reveled in the way her lips turned up. “Remember what happened the last time I had you up against the fridge?”
Her breathing hitched.
“Are you wet for me, darlin’?” I scraped my fingernail along the denim hiding her zipper. “If I made you drop your jeans, what would I find?”
“See for yourself,” she sassed.
I tilted my head, nipping at her earlobe. “Drop your jeans. Let me see what you’ve got on underneath.”
I knew exactly what she was wearing underneath. I’d watched her get dressed this morning, and fantasized about pulling that thong off with my teeth.
My palms pressed against the cool front of the refrigerator as Bridget slowly popped the button on her jeans. Her eyes locked on mine as she wiggled them down the curve of her hips. She had just gotten them to the middle of her thighs when I cupped her pussy.
“Leave them right there. Hands on your head.”
She whimpered as I pressed the heel of my palm against her clit. Still, she did as she was told, lacing her fingers together and resting them on top of her hair.
“Do I need to frisk you?”
She pulled her lower lip between her teeth.
I had her trapped against the fridge, jeans around her knees, and her hands on her head. But she wasn’t panicking. She was soaked.
I hooked my fingers in the waist of her thong and tugged it down in one swift motion. I left it bound around the middle of her thighs, just low enough to let me see that pretty pink pussy.
Bridget closed her eyes, and her chest heaved as she took deep breaths.
“You good, darlin’?” I murmured as I slid my finger through her wet folds.
“Yes,” she panted.
“Look at me.”
Her eyes opened, hitting me with a flash of green. I pulled my finger from her core and sucked her sweetness off, making her watch.
Bridget let a throaty moan escape as I slowly drew my finger from my lips. Her knees quaked with need.
“Keep those hands on your head.”
“Chase—” she whimpered, back arching toward me.
“Let’s see what we have here,” I murmured as I wiggled her tank top down, stretching the straps to get the neckline below her bra. She sucked in a sharp breath. Bright red lace came into view, her creamy cleavage spilling out of the cups.
I buried my face between her heavy swells and breathed in. Floral notes mixed with hard liquor. Soft and strong. Bridget.
She let out a low groan of delight as I scraped my stubbled cheek against her soft skin. I felt her clench her legs, trying to eke out a little relief from the foreplay.
But I wasn’t having that.
I wedged my foot between her ankles and kicked them apart. She gasped, a smile curling at the corner of her mouth.
So, she liked that. Noted.
I flipped her bra cups down, and her breasts tumbled free. Her rose-colored nipples were pebbled, begging to be toyed with. I pinched them between my thumbs and index fingers and rolled them back and forth.
The back of her head hit the fridge with a thump . I was about to ask if she was okay when Bridget spoke up.
“I swear to God, Chase. I will go upstairs and waterboard my clit with the shower head if you don’t fuck me right now.”
“Good things come to those who wait.” I dropped one hand from her tits and stroked her clit to prove my point. “That what you need?”
Bridget’s hands fell from her head. Before I could make sense of what was happening, she wrapped her palm around the erection clawing its way out of my boxers. “ This is what I need,” she hissed.
“Patience, darlin’,” I said, and teased her pussy without giving her anything.
Bridget scowled. “Don’t give me that slow Matthew McConoughey voice.” She squeezed my dick, and I couldn’t help but groan at the shot of pleasure. “I. Want. To. Be. Fucked. Hard. ”
Before she finished the last syllable, I spun her away from the fridge and bent her over the countertop. “Then you’re gonna want to hold on tight.”
I freed my dick and nudged her feet further apart. Denim still shackled her legs, and it turned me the fuck on. Her ass was on full display as I lined myself up with her pussy. I wanted to sink my teeth into those cheeks.
I held her hips as I inched my cock into her tight warmth. She arched her back in response, pushing her ass into my hips.
There was no way I was going to last long. Not with her bent over the counter, blonde hair spilling over her shoulder as she turned her head and watched me fuck her.
Not with the way she met each of my thrusts, taking it deep. I could feel her muscles strangling my dick. I could see her breasts flattened against the counter.
Bridget was a goddamn beautiful sight.
I levered up, changing the angle and hitting a secret pleasure spot deep inside her core.
Bridget detonated, crying out as she collapsed on the counter. Her legs shook as she rode out her orgasm.
I pistoned twice as hard as I felt my own climax building. Her knees buckled as I emptied my balls inside her tight center. I held her hips and steadied her ass as the flutters of her inner walls milked my cock.
My release streamed down her thigh when I pulled out. Seeing that was hot enough to make my dick think we were going for another round.
Bridget’s cheek was pressed against the counter, and her eyes were closed.
“You okay, darlin’?” I asked as I ran a washcloth under warm water and wrung it out. I knelt behind her and gently cleaned the mess.
“So good,” she whispered on an exhale. “I feel all tingly and zen. Is this why people do yoga?”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “If you’re having orgasms while doing yoga, I’m pretty sure you’re doing it wrong.” Slowly, I helped her off the counter.
Instead of getting dressed, Bridget stripped off her jeans and tank top right there in the kitchen. Her red lace bra and matching thong were downright sinful.
“This one’s my favorite,” I said, fingering the crimson fabric.
Her brow furrowed. “I think it’s the first time I’ve worn it in front of you.”
“Then I have a confession.”
She cocked her head. This was going to be good.
Or she was going to kill me.
“When you’re behind the bar and you bend over to grab the crates of glasses, I can see what bra you’re wearing.” I cupped her breast and grazed my thumb over the lace. “You wear this one when you’re feelin’ yourself. You’re a little sassier on red bra days.”
Her jaw dropped.
I expected her to give me a thorough dressing down, but instead, she laughed. “You are something else.”
I drew her in for a kiss, slow and steady. Lingering on her lips, I asked, “Am I wrong?”
“No.” She giggled. “You’re not wrong.”
I pulled her lower lip between my teeth, sucking before releasing it with a pop. “I like it when you talk back to me. When you tell me what you like. What makes you feel good. How you want to be fucked.”
She slid her palms down my chest. Now we both really needed a shower. “I like it when you respect that I know what I want and trust me to handle it.”
Cupping her cheek, I nodded. “I hear you.”
“Come on.” Bridget took my hand and let me through the house.
“I’ll go up and get the water started,” I said as we neared the stairs. “You come on up when you’re ready.”
Bridget’s fear of stairs was one of the remaining holdouts from that night.
She didn’t like walking up or down the stairs, even when she was alone, but she especially hated someone standing behind her. Usually, I would let her know I was going up or down, and that there wasn’t any hurry for her to come. She could take her time.
When Bridget reached over and slid her hand into mine, I could have been knocked over with a feather.
She gripped the rail with her other and offered a tense smile. “I’ll come up now.”
I rubbed the back of her hand with my thumb, offering a little reassurance. “You sure?”
“Yeah. I’m sure.”
Her body went rigid as steel as we took the first step. But she did it. And then took another.
Together.
“Chase?” she asked as her steps turned from stilted to smooth.
“Yeah, darlin’?” I kept a tight grasp on her hand. My heart raced. Pulse throbbed. This was a moment I’d never forget.
“Are you really gonna dye your pubes blue?”