Grace
Mandeville, Louisiana
A camera isn’t the only thing that can preserve a moment.
These moments can resurface by accident at the most unexpected times, making us smile and filling our hearts with happiness—or doing the opposite, bringing tears to our eyes and submerging us in sadness.
Moments can be uplifting or destructive, beautiful or ugly, happy or sad.
When I’m with Chase Baker, it’s a whirlpool—every emotion in me, tearing through me in turns.
One moment I’m ten feet off the ground… the next, I’m deep underground, trapped in a prison built from his sins—and my self-pity.
These emotions are destroying me, pushing me away from him.
But when it’s the pleasant ones that are swirling in the icy waters of my confused soul, I want to curl up against him.
To get lost in his arms and pretend. To recreate the past in the laboratory of my mind.
The moment he bandaged my wound in the van, and this time I don’t hold back.
I kiss him and he kisses me back, then takes me home, and comes for me the next day instead of watching from behind a tree, skulking in the darkness…
I need to go back to the past to understand the present.
The memories, the scorching heat, and the sweat sliding down my back will help me pretend.
The truth is, that day I wanted to climb into Chase’s lap and kiss him feverishly.
My heart wanted nothing more than his hands exploring me, his skin pressed to mine, his lips sealed to mine.
But my mind stopped me, because I didn’t want to be that kind of girl.
However… the truth tastes bitter, because in the end, I was just like everyone else.
I was dating Billy because it was the right thing to do, but I was secretly fantasizing about Chase in my room—and I did something that was more than enough reason for my sister to hate me.
I showed people only half the truth and kept the other half to myself, because I didn’t want them to think I was crazy.
I fell head over heels for Chase Baker the first time I saw him.
And the fire of that “childish” love never burned out.
Its embers are still there under the ash.
I never doused them with water or sand—I only let time bury them, but I kept them alive beneath the thick ash.
I fed them. Because there was so much good mixed in with the bad.
Chase didn’t hurt me all the time, didn’t rape me every day.
God, he did awful things to me. He kidnapped me and locked me up, but he loved me with the adoration and devotion that naive, dreaming girl craved.
Chase wasn’t a knight in shining armor, but an evil prince who kidnapped a girl who wasn’t a princess—just a girl who also had some real issues in her head.
But people aren’t purely good or bad. We all commit sins—some of us worse ones, some of us smaller ones.
I should’ve been more careful back when I was secretly daydreaming about Chase—when I’d sneak a glance at my diary before falling asleep, when his eyes were the last thing I saw that day.
They say lying never leads to anything good.
But I must keep lying, because people would’ve judged me for being with Chase nine years ago—and they’d judge me even harder now, after everything that happened.
The worst part is, I think Chase knew the other half of the truth and kept my secret.
He didn’t tell anyone. He protected me and took on the role of the villain.
My eyes can’t let go of his face. My heart is beating at a dangerous pace—it wants to burst from everything I’m feeling, because I want to do exactly what I wanted to do that day: sweep that dark lock out of his eyes, cup his face in my hands, and kiss him.
Kiss him until I use up all the air in the world, until my lips and tongue go numb, until I’m completely filled with his taste, his scent, his touch.
And that’s the real problem. I could kiss him for as long as I could, and it still wouldn’t feel like it was enough.
My brain and heart would both drive me to take more, and more, and more—because I can never get enough of Chase Baker.
My mind flies back to the past, to that old, run-down van.
…
“Then the next step is touching…” he continued, placing the tips of his fingers on the pulsing vein at my temple, then slowly tracing them lower.
My body froze. Still, he didn’t do anything indecent.
All he did was pull me into that dark whirlpool—the very reason I hated him.
I was groggy with the heat, my head felt heavy, swimming, buzzing.
My heart began to pound harder, and my lungs seemed to crumple in on themselves.
Tiny, salty droplets gathered above my upper lip.
His fingers slowly traced a line along the side of my face, my chin, and down my neck, making the area between my legs tighten painfully.
I also felt a pleasant warmth and heaviness in my lower belly.
I fell into Chase’s deep brown eyes. His lips were getting alarmingly close as he kept caressing me.
Goosebumps broke out along my arms while his fingers moved up and down my bare shoulder.
My body reacted to every one of his touches.
“Is something wrong?” he asks, brows furrowed.
“No,” I reply firmly, still wriggling in my seat. Oh, God. I just pissed in a scrub near an apiary. Did I…? “Ouch!”
“Grace.” Chase’s eyes hold real, unmistakable worry. I grab my trousers with shaking hands and shove them down fast.
“It stung me,” I stammer. My skin feels like someone pressed a burning piece of coal to it, especially at the base of my thigh.
“Are you allergic?” he asks, tense. He pulls over to the side of the road.
“No,” I moan, pressing my lips into a tight line. Chase traps the bee in his handkerchief. He looks ready to crush it, but I stop him. “Let it go,” I tell him, “and could you please stop looking at me like that?”
“Like what?” he asks, feigning confusion smugly.
“Like what?” I snap. “Like you want to devour me. You don’t have to play these games with me, Baker,” I hiss through clenched teeth. “Don’t play the good guy. We both know you aren’t.”
“Did you think of me when you were masturbating?”
My breath catches in my throat. I’d blush if my skin weren’t burning up already. For a second, I even forget about the bee sting.
My breath catches in my throat. I’d blush if my skin weren’t already burning up. For a second, I even forget about the bee sting.
“I did,” he adds simply.
“Just shut up and drive,” I growl. I try to pull my trousers back on, but he stops me. “Don’t.” He shakes the bee out of the handkerchief, then tears a strip from one of his T-shirts and pours mineral water over it.
“You’re lucky. The stinger’s already out.”
His breath is fire against my lips. His eyes lock on mine. He presses the cold compress to the sting—I flinch, but it still feels good—cooling the swollen skin. Cold water trickles into my panties and drenches them, teasing the spot that’s been throbbing for days.
“Would you like to touch yourself?” he asks me in a deep, husky voice.
“No,” I snap, almost growling.
“It would help with the pain. Having an orgasm can act as a painkiller, too. The endorphins it releases don’t just make you happy—they ease physical pain, too. They flood your body with so much euphoria the pain can’t hold on.”
“I’m good, thanks.”
His offer is tempting and filthy at the same time.
Another drop of water falls on me, making me shiver and dig my nails into the plush upholstery of the car seat. My heartbeat quickens, and my breasts grow heavy. But fuck sexual attraction and fuck Chase Baker.
“Pull back the tentacles of dark power emanating from your aura, Baker!” I command. My breathing is ragged—I close my eyes when another drop of cool water reaches my burning need.
“No one will know,” he murmurs into my ear in his deep, resonant, arousing voice. “You wouldn’t hurt anyone or betray anyone. You have a right to give yourself pleasure if that’s what your body wants.”
I glare at him—and then melt into the car seat when he slips his finger into my panties.
“Relax.”
His voice tames the storm raging in my eyes. I close them because I can’t watch Chase guiding my movements to make me pleasure myself, making the tension and pain drain from my body.
“This is not good,” I pant. My nipples are hard, hot desire is twirling in my lower belly, its elemental force smashing my resistance to pieces.
“What is not good?” His hot breath caresses my earlobe. I can feel his lips on my sensitive, burning skin—and the taste of his kiss on my tongue.
I try to trick him, but he is slyer and quicker: he pulls away his hand before his fingers could touch me.
“You are doing great, Grace. Don’t stop. Just keep on going, slowly, delicately and sensually. As if those were my fingers.”
I bite my lower lip because I cannot be as good as when he does it. It has never been as good. His fingertips are bigger, warmer, softer and more skillful.
“Chase,” I whisper against his mouth.
“Yeah?”
“Fuck you.”
He lets out a quiet, dark chuckle. I suppress a smile and keep chasing pleasure. I want to ride its waves, get them under my control, make them mine. I want to be selfish.
I interlace our fingers and dig my nails into his skin.
The orgasm enslaves my body—I climax quietly by the highway with a trembling heart and shaking legs.
My heart is in my throat. A wave of exhaustion and weakness crashes over me—and the pleasure really does dull the pain.
I lift my heavy lids and look into his dark, sly eyes, full of temptation, aching desire, and victory.
“Is it still hurting?” he asks softly.
“No,” I whisper, and close my eyes so he can’t see into my soul, because love is blossoming there like bleeding-hearts in a garden. It’s breathtaking, but every part of it is toxic.
This journey stirs up memories and feelings,
digging up buried bones from the ground.