Chapter 35
Chapter Thirty-Five
ELENA
Don’t tell Rosie I said so, but no one made a Belgian waffle quite like Emma Everton.
They were so thick and fluffy, with deep, square pockets perfect for trapping all the delicious toppings she set out on the table.
They were crisp on the outside, soft on the inside, and big enough to make a regular waffle question its self-worth.
A soft whisper tickled my ear. “Sure you don’t want to go for a third?” Chase asked, and the teasing tone I was so afraid he’d left behind with the drugs and alcohol made my heart skip.
On my plate was one waffle traditionally topped with butter and syrup and a second topped with strawberries, whipped cream, and a light chocolate drizzle.
“Look, growing a human is hard work,” I said. “I’m eating for two. Plus, there aren’t any other toppings to choose from.”
“Did you need something else, sweetheart?” Emma asked, already lifting from her seat across from me. “I’m sure I can dig up—”
“No, really, this is plenty. Thank you.”
I shot a glare at the man on my left, who simply chuckled and dug in to his breakfast with a low moan. My cheeks heated when the sound registered straight in my core. Pregnancy not only made me hungry, but also really fucking horny, and it had been so long—too long.
“This is fuckin’ delicious, Ma,” Chase said.
“Chase,” Emma said on a sigh. “Language, please.”
His laughter healed some of the broken bits of my soul. Without it these past few months, I’d felt hollow, devoid of warmth and light and love. The cadence of his voice seeped into the cracks of my heart and began filling the spaces in between. His presence soothed the erratic beating of my heart.
“Let’s have a toast!” Jay said, raising his glass. “To Chase, his first brunch home, and the whole family being together again.”
Much to Emma’s dismay, a white-out snow storm last weekend had prevented the family from getting together for their weekly brunch.
It hadn’t stopped Chase from ensuring I was well-fed, though.
He’d insisted on making the twenty-minute drive to Ashford to pick me up from the hospital because my tires were, apparently, “shit for driving in the snow.” We had breakfast at Rosie’s before he walked me up the slippery driveway and dropped me off at home.
A chorus of cheers rang out. After Chase took a sip of his orange juice, he said, “Can’t believe you’re drinking OJ without the champagne, Tessa. Isn’t that against your”—he waved a hand vaguely in her direction—“entire persona?”
“What? No. I can make it through brunch without drinking. It’s fine.” Her words came out too quickly, too forcefully. Chase saw right through it.
“Uh huh,” he deadpanned. “I may have missed the last twelve, but this isn’t my first brunch. This house doesn’t need to become dry just because I’m not drinking. Hell, Kai’s sober and he runs a damn bar.”
Kai raised his glass of juice in Chase’s direction.
“Did they allow this much swearing in rehab?” Emma tsked. “Honestly…”
“Wanna see my room?” Chase asked with a waggle of his brows.
After brunch, we’d all gathered in the living room to watch the early afternoon football games—well, everyone except Charlie and Kai, who couldn’t care less and went back to their cozy little apartment above the bar.
I sat with one leg bent underneath me in the corner of the sectional, Chase on the floor below me. His head tilted back against the cushion as he looked up at me expectantly.
I smiled, and he took it for the agreement it was.
When he stood, he held out a hand for me.
When I placed my hand in his and our skin met, electric sparks shot up my arm.
That skin-buzzing sensation I’d first felt more than a year ago and had written off as some sort of medical ailment was back, and it wouldn’t be ignored.
“Door open, you two!” Jay shouted as we hit the first step.
“Ha-ha,” Chase said. “Afraid I might knock her up?” He winked at me when laughter broke out in the living room. My body felt hot all over as Chased tugged me up the stairs behind him and across the threshold to his childhood bedroom.
“Wow,” I said when I took in the space. In all the weeks I’d been here, I’d never once come up to his room, too afraid that even the lingering scent of his all-in-one body wash would break me.
But now that I was finally here, a laugh bubbled up and out of me.
The sound, the feeling, the lightness all felt so foreign after weeks—months?
years?—of aching sadness. “Leave some Star Wars posters for the other nerds.”
“I’ll have you know these are vintage collectibles,” Chase huffed, crossing his arms over his chest in mock offense. “And this room is a shrine to my superior taste.”
I ran my finger along a shelf filled with action figures still in their original packaging. “Superior taste, huh? Is that why you have three identical Darth Vaders?”
“They’re not identical!” He rushed to the shelf, pointing at each one with exaggerated indignation. “This one’s from the original trilogy release, this one’s the twenty-fifth anniversary edition, and this one—” He paused dramatically. “This one has a lightsaber that actually lights up.”
“Wow,” I deadpanned. “I stand corrected. You’re clearly a sophisticated collector.”
Chase narrowed his eyes. “You’re making fun of me.”
“Me? Never.” I pressed my lips together to suppress another laugh.
“I think you need to be taught a lesson, Dr. Ventura.” His voice dropped an octave, and something in his expression shifted.
Before I could react, his fingers found my sides, tickling mercilessly. I squealed, trying to squirm away.
“Chase! Stop it!” I gasped between laughs, backing away until my legs hit his bed. “I’ll pee!”
“Admit my collection is awesome,” he demanded, not letting up.
“Never!” I twisted away, but my pregnant belly threw off my balance. I tumbled backward onto his narrow twin bed, pulling him down with me.
We landed with Chase braced above me, his weight carefully held off my body. Our faces inches apart, laughter fading into something heavier, more charged. His eyes darkened as they traced my features, lingering on my lips.
The air between us crackled with electricity. His twin bed felt impossibly small, forcing our bodies close. One of his legs slipped between mine, and I felt the hard press of him against my thigh.
“Elena,” he whispered, his voice rough.
I reached up, tracing the line of his jaw with my fingertips. His stubble scratched against my skin, sending shivers down my spine. “Chase.”
He closed his eyes, leaning into my touch like a man starved for it. When he opened them again, they were filled with a storm of emotions—desire, fear, uncertainty.
“I’ve missed you,” I admitted, the words barely audible.
Chase’s breath hitched. “I’ve missed you, too. Every second of every day.” His thumb traced my bottom lip. “But I can’t... I’m afraid I’ll...”
“What?”
“Slip.” The word hung between us, heavy with meaning. “If I let myself have you, I might let myself have everything else, too.”
I understood then—his sobriety was still fragile, a delicate balance he was fighting to maintain. And I was a temptation, a doorway to the past where one pleasure could lead to another.
“I can give,” he said, his voice low and controlled. “But I need rules.”
“Rules?”
He nodded, shifting to sit beside me on the bed. “I stay dressed. No more kissing. I don’t... finish.” His cheeks flushed slightly. “This is about you, not me. I need that boundary right now.”
The clinical way he laid it out should have dampened the mood, but instead, it sent heat pooling between my legs. There was something intensely erotic about his control, about the way he was setting limits to protect us both.
“Okay,” I agreed, reaching for him.
He caught my wrist gently. “And the door stays cracked open.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Your entire family is downstairs.”
“Exactly. Insurance policy.” A hint of his old smirk returned. “I’m serious about recovery, Elena. This is... bending the rules. Not breaking them.”
I nodded, understanding what this cost him. “I trust you.”
Those three words seemed to affect him more than any touch could have. His eyes grew bright, and he took a deep breath. “Scoot up.”
I did as he asked, settling against his pillows. They smelled like him—clean laundry and that spicy scent that was uniquely Chase. He moved carefully, positioning himself beside me, one hand hovering over my body as if seeking permission.
“Your sweater,” he said.
I pulled it over my head, revealing a simple cotton bra. Not sexy, not planned for seduction, but Chase’s gaze turned molten as he took in the swell of my breasts, fuller now with pregnancy.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, his fingertips skimming over the top of my breast, just above the fabric. “Can I?”
I nodded, and he gently pulled the cup down, exposing my nipple to the cool air. I gasped as he circled it with his thumb, the sensation more intense than I remembered. Pregnancy had made everything more sensitive, more responsive.
“Does that hurt?” he asked, immediately concerned.
“No,” I breathed. “It’s just... more.”
Understanding dawned in his eyes. “More sensitive?”
I nodded, biting my lip as he continued his gentle exploration, learning my body’s new responses. When he lowered his head and took my nipple in his mouth, I had to stifle a moan, conscious of the open door and the family downstairs.
Chase worked methodically, reverently, as if cataloging every reaction. His hand slid down to the curve of my belly, pausing there to spread his fingers wide over our child. The tenderness of the gesture made my heart ache.
“Can I touch you here?” he asked, his hand moving lower, to the waistband of my leggings.
“Yes,” I whispered, lifting my hips to help as he slid them down my legs. This wasn’t just about sex. This was about letting him touch the pieces of me I’d been too scared to share.
He left my underwear in place, tracing the edge with his finger. The restraint in his movements was maddening. I knew he was holding himself back, maintaining that careful control.
“Chase,” I pleaded.
“Patience,” he murmured against my skin, pressing a kiss to my throat. “Let me worship you properly.”
When he finally slipped his fingers beneath the fabric, finding me wet and ready, the satisfaction on his face was worth the wait. He stroked me slowly, learning me again, finding the rhythm that made my breath catch.
“There,” he said, more to himself than to me. “Right there.”
I clutched at his shoulders as he circled that spot, building pressure with maddening precision. All the while, his eyes never left my face, watching every flicker of pleasure, every parted lip and furrowed brow.
“You’re so beautiful like this,” he said, his voice rough with restrained desire. “Carrying our baby, coming apart in my hands.”
His words pushed me closer to the edge, and I moaned.
“Shhh. Gotta be quiet, Sweetness. You wouldn’t want my mom to hear you come, would you?”
I felt the tension building, that familiar coiling deep inside. Chase sensed it, too, increasing the pressure slightly. Waves of pleasure washed over me as I buried my face against his shoulder to muffle my cries.
Chase held me through it, his movements slowing, drawing out every last tremor until I was boneless and breathless.
The quiet, “Thank you,” he whispered against my neck caught me off guard. I should’ve been the one thanking him—for the mind-blowing orgasm after months of getting myself off, which absolutely didn’t compare.
But the more I thought about it, the more I understood.
He was grateful to be able to touch me, to care for me. To him, I wasn’t a possession to own; I was a gift.