chapter 104
Our last day in Chicago. I stepped from the elevator, into the huge lobby, one that towered upward, its grandeur constructed over a century ago.
I paused, my eyes sweeping the room, looking for Tobey.
He’d come down fifteen minutes earlier, anxious for our lunch with Dick and John.
Not seeing him, I headed for the restaurant, walking quickly, tension knotting my veins, any public experience always running the risk of—
“Ty.” Chase. Freshly shaven, a nick on his jaw, his hair wet. He wore sweatpants and a long-sleeve T-shirt, the smell of soap drifting off his skin, a duffel bag hanging from one shoulder. He joined me, our steps carrying us closer to the restaurant, and I glanced around.
“I’m meeting a group for lunch,” I said quickly.
“Right here,” he ordered, herding me left, down a short hall and through a doorway. I stopped just inside, a long desk holding three computers and a printer—the business center.
“Chase,” I argued quietly, reaching for the handle, his hand covering mine for a moment, one dip in heartbeat, before he reached higher and locked the latch, my eyes following his movement as he reached for the blinds, twisting slowly, our window to the outside world reduced, then shut off.
There was a dull thud when he dropped his duffel.
“Don’t fight me on this, Ty.” He stopped before me and rested his forehead on mine, inhaling deeply, his voice gruff, hands sliding up my arms and into my hair. “Five minutes. Please.”
“What is this?” I asked faintly, my eyes closing as his fingers traced across the scoop of my sweater and down, over my breasts, his mouth soft as he pressed just under my ear, then on my collarbone, then up to my mouth.
“This is a dying man’s taste,” he whispered, brushing his lips over mine. Softly. Harder. “This is me reminding you of what we have.”
“I don’t need reminding,” I mumbled, stumbling back as he stepped forward, pushing me until my butt hit the desk, and he broke from my mouth, his hands at the back of my pants. Unzipping. Pulling.
“Turn around,” he choked out, pulling up my sweater, the scrape of his nails against my skin when he yanked at my bra.
I did. I turned around.
I turned around, and he bent me over, my name a hiss between his lips when he pushed—bare and thick and hard—inside of me.
My panties stretched around my thighs, my pants not even at my knees, my sweater and bra pushed just high enough that my breasts hung out for him to grip, to squeeze, to tease as he began to fuck me.
And that was what it was. Hard fucks that knocked across the desk, my fingers grasping for some hold, one of his hands hard on my back, pushing me forward, until my bare breasts were flat on the cool surface, my cheek turned sideways, hair falling in my face.
I gasped, hiccupping for breath, the steady motion one of absolute need and lust, my right butt cheek gripped hard by his hand, pulling me on and off him in rhythm with his thrusts, the hum of the idle printer broken by the loud sounds of our bodies connecting.
“Tell me that you love me,” he begged, his fucks increasing in speed, the staccato building my own climax, both of us racing to the top. I squeezed with my inner muscles, and he almost came out of his shoes, a swear crossing his lips, one hand reaching down and gripping my waist.
“I love you,” I gasped. “I love you so much it hurts.”
He didn’t slow when he came, he kept at it, fucking and fucking and fucking, my own orgasm coming, his cry of my name only pushing me higher and higher and higher until I reached heaven and fell back down, his arms catching me, crushing me against his chest, both of us collapsing into a kiss that didn’t want to end, never wanted to stop.
Certain loves can’t be fought. The harder you tried, the harder you would be knocked back, over and over again, until it beat you into submission, until your heart caved and body surrendered.
Love like that didn’t know the rules of society; it didn’t care about life mistakes.
It only knew what must be, and what would happen—no matter what.
I kissed him and didn’t care about the Series anymore. I kissed him and only wanted to run away. I kissed him and tasted our future.