13. Chase
Chase
# Never confuse your Bart Simpson with your Gotz von Berlichingen
I stare at the ceiling, listening to the soft crackling of the fire and replaying her words over and over. I sometimes wonder if there’s only one person for everyone, then how will I find mine in Juniper Ridge?
It took everything in me not to ask her what if she’d already found them?
Because I did leave Juniper Ridge, and I’ve still never found anyone who even comes close to her.
Not a single person who challenges me the way that she does, or who makes me want to be a better man.
No one with a kinder heart or a purer soul, who looks at me like I’m the person they’ve been waiting for their whole life.
Nobody who moans my name quite the same way that she does.
And as wrong as it is, I can’t stop wondering what might happen if I went into her room and reminded her how good we could be together.
Surely, she remembers too. I close my eyes and I can still taste her sweet skin and her cum on my fingers.
I can still recall the scent of her and the soft, sexy sounds she made when I took her first time.
And then the desperate, needy little moans when she wanted more.
I imagine going into her room right now, peeling back the covers and spreading her legs wide for me before I run my palms up the smooth skin of her legs, and then getting my mouth on her pussy.
I’d eat her until she came on my face, drinking up every drop of her release.
My cock is painfully hard and I find my hand wrapped around the base, squeezing the shaft tightly, but it’s not even nearly enough relief.
No, the only relief for me would come from burying myself inside Addison Kinsella.
With a grunt of frustration, I roll onto my side and stare at the flames instead, trying to clear all the filthy thoughts of my best friend’s sister from my head.
“Did you eat my trail mix?” She holds up the almost-empty packet.
I distinctly remember being woken at 5 a.m. by one of the busted springs in that asshole couch and then feeling hungry.
And her trail mix was right there on the counter.
I was almost the entire way through the bag when I realized I should probably leave some for her.
“I’m sorry. I was hungry and…I thought all snacks were fair game.”
She crosses her arms and that cute-as-fuck indignant look she gets settles over her face. God, she’s gorgeous when she’s mad. “The snacks we bought at the store are shared. Not my trail mix.”
“I’m sorry. But I did leave you some.”
She tips the contents of the packet out into her palm and a measly couple of unidentifiable brown things fall out. “Some? You call that some? Three nuts and a raisin. What am I, a squirrel?”
I raise a brow. “I thought after all the snacks we got yesterday you wouldn’t miss your trail mix. I assumed you’d rather eat the double-chocolate-chip cookies you hid in the vegetable crisper.”
I found her little stash last night after she stumbled to bed following our bourbon-tea confessions in front of the fire. And I’m relishing the look on her face now she knows she’s rumbled. Her nostrils flare and her lips twitch. “Why don’t you eat my ass, Chase!” she snaps.
Immediately, she realizes what she just said and the sheer horror that flashes over her face has me struggling to suppress my laughter.
I expect her slip was a result of her not being able to decide whether to tell me to eat my shorts or kiss my ass .
I have to take a minute to compose myself before I speak. “You want me to what now?”
She clamps her lips together, her eyes darting left and right like she’s looking for the nearest exit.
The wise move would be to come clean and admit that it was a slip of the tongue, but she’s Addie, so she doubles down.
Arms still folded over her chest, she looks me right in the eye when she says, “You heard me. Eat. My. Ass.”
I pull out a stool, take a seat at the kitchen island and then tap the space on the counter right in front of me. “Come on over here then, baby. Sit your ass right here and I’ll be happy to oblige.”
Her eyes narrow, her lips twitch. “Don’t be ridiculous, Chase. It’s an idiom.”
“No.” I shake my head. “ Kiss my ass is an idiom. Eat my ass is a request for a sexual favor, which as I’ve just stated, is a service I’m happy to provide.” I tap the countertop again.
She snorts. “Sexual favor.” And then she gives me the eye roll, the one that makes my palm twitch with the desire to spank her ass.
“You don’t think eating someone’s ass is sexual? Or is it the favor part that you object to?”
Her glare could melt steel. She won’t back down, but neither will I.
I’m having far too much fun watching her squirm.
We’re both stubborn enough that we might just end up seeing this twisted game of ass-eating-chicken to its end.
And the image of her on this counter with her juicy ass in my face is enough to have my mouth watering.
Her eyes dart between me and the countertop, and I’m certain she’s actually considering jumping up there and taking off her pajamas and panties just to prove a point. But I would totally fulfill my end of this particular bargain. Not a doubt in my mind.
I can see her struggling, knowing if she doesn’t back down, we will end up in a very compromising position.
Eventually, she lets out a cute grunt of frustration.
“Jackass!” she mutters and then storms out of the kitchen like a tiny tornado, leaving me to lament the distinct lack of ass in my mouth right now.