23. Chase
23
CHASE
“The shading here needs to flow with your existing work.” I trace the design on Skylar’s arm, studying how her previous pieces will integrate with mine. The Japanese-style dragons she already has provide perfect anchors for what we’re planning.
Her crew adjusts lighting, capturing every angle of our consultation. The gallery’s morning quiet is broken only by camera clicks and the scratch of my pencil as I refine details.
Through my peripheral vision, I catch Evie pressing a hand to her stomach, her face paling slightly. Before I can process it, she’s heading for the bathroom, steps hurried but controlled.
“Everything okay?” Skylar asks, following my gaze.
“Fine.” I redirect her attention to the sketch. “This transition here will tie everything together. See how the scales match your existing piece?”
The consultation continues. I discuss the technique and color theory, though part of me tracks the minutes until Evie returns. When she does, she’s as composed as ever and immediately handles paperwork that needs filing.
“Your line work is remarkable,” Skylar comments, showing her followers how the new design will incorporate existing elements. “The way you build depth through negative space…”
The morning progresses with a steady rhythm. Between client conversations and design work, I catch glimpses of Evie. Nothing obvious seems wrong, but something feels off. It piques my interest and adds an undercurrent to our usual workplace dance.
“These release forms need signatures,” she tells Skylar’s manager. “For any footage showing the gallery or other artists.”
Her efficiency impresses me—how she handles everything so smoothly while clearly not feeling her best. It makes me want to take care of her later when cameras are gone, and masks can fall.
Skylar’s session wraps up successfully. We schedule next week’s first outline appointment, and her crew finally pack up their equipment.
While I work on other designs and handle consultations, my mind keeps drifting to Evie, to the subtle shifts in her energy today, and to plans for tonight when we can be alone.
The day winds down with typical business—clients coming and going and appointments being scheduled. Through it all, anticipation builds—not just desire, though that’s always there, but something deeper.
Tonight, I want to learn Evie’s stories. Want to trace her tattoos and hear the truth behind each one. Want to understand the mysteries she carries in her ink.
I just hope she’ll let me in.
The girls are at Rose’s for a sleepover when I arrive at Evie’s house. Finding her in a simple T-shirt, hair damp from the shower, makes my breath catch. Whatever bothered her earlier seems gone now, replaced by a softness she only shows in private moments.
“Been thinking about you all day,” I tell her, pulling her close. She smells like vanilla soap.
“Just thinking?” Her smile holds promise as she leads me to her bedroom.
In the soft lamplight, I take my time undressing her. The T-shirt slides up slowly, revealing ink I’ve memorized but never fully understood. Each piece tells a story she keeps close.
“Tell me about this one.” I trace the small star on her hip, the first tattoo I noticed through my window that night.
“My first.” She shivers under my touch. “Eighteen and stupid, thinking a tattoo meant freedom.”
I press a kiss to the mark. “And this one?” My fingers find the vine pattern curling up her ribs.
Her breath catches. “After Daisy. Needed something beautiful to look at.”
She’s bare now, perfect in the dim light. I could spend hours just studying her skin, the way the ink flows over curves, marking moments in her life.
“Your turn,” she murmurs, tugging at my shirt. Her hands are sure as she undresses me, but something in her expression looks almost vulnerable.
When I’m naked too, I lay her back against the pillows. Start at her collarbone, where my phoenix covers her ex-husband’s name. Work my way down, learning her body’s languages.
Her nipples harden under my tongue while my fingers trace the constellation on her forearm. “These stars mean something.”
“Protection.” She arches when I suck harder. “For my girls.”
I take my time with her breasts, loving how responsive she is. When my hand slides between her thighs, she’s already wet.
“Please,” she gasps as I circle her clit. “I fucking need you now, Chase.”
“Not yet.” I kiss down her stomach, following ink patterns until I reach her core. The first taste of her makes us both moan.
I learn her body like I learn her tattoos—carefully, reverently. My tongue works her clit while my fingers curve inside. Her hands tangle in my hair, guiding me where she needs me most.
When she comes the first time, I don’t stop until she pulls me up for a desperate kiss.
I slide into her slowly, savoring how perfectly she takes me. Her legs wrap around my waist. There’s no space for escape now.
“Tell me about this one.” I trace the snake design on her arm, the one she never discusses. “Please?”
She tenses slightly before relaxing. “Not tonight.”
“Okay, love,” I tell her, then begin to focus all my energy on making her feel good and showing her she’s safe with me. When she comes again, I follow immediately, overwhelmed by how right she feels.
After, I hold her close while our breathing steadies. My fingers find that snake tattoo again, wondering about its story. I don’t know all her stories yet.
“Want to know what I’m thinking about right now?” I ask, pressing her closer.
“Yeah…tell me.”
“I’m just wondering about you. About all the pieces that made you who you are.”
She’s quiet for so long that I think she’s fallen asleep. Then, “Some pieces are better left in the past.”
“Even the ones marked on your skin?”
“Especially those.” But she kisses me softly, taking the sting from her words. “Tonight’s not for old stories. It’s for making new ones, Chase.”
“I’m thirsty,” I tell her.
“Me too.”
We’re naked as we head downstairs. We drink the water in silence, but she’s looking at me in a way that says she’s not satisfied yet—sexually.
She guides me to her sofa in the living room, and we both cuddle on the cotton material.
“What’s gotten into you, Evie?”
She shrugs in my arms, and before I know it, her hand slips lower, her fingers wrapping around my cock, hardening it again.
The touch alone has me groaning. She strokes me slowly at first, teasing, watching my reaction with a wicked glint in her eyes.
“Fuck, Evie,” I rasp, my voice rough. “You trying to kill me?”
She smirks, leaning down to press her lips to my neck. “Not yet,” she murmurs, her breath hot against my skin.
Before I can respond, she slides out of my arms, sinking to her knees. The sight of her there—her wild hair framing that gorgeous face, lips parted as she looks up at me—has my chest tightening.
“You don’t have to—” I start, but she cuts me off with a sharp look.
“Oh, shut up. You know you want it.” Her voice is firm, her hands steady as they grip my thighs and pull me closer to the edge of the couch.
“Oh, yes, ma’am. Please proceed.”
When her tongue flicks out, teasing the tip of my cock, I swear under my breath.
She takes me into her mouth slowly, inch by inch, and it’s pure fucking torture. The heat, the soft hum vibrating through her—it’s too much and not enough all at once.
“Christ, Evie,” I groan, my head falling back against the couch. My hand tangles in her hair, guiding her as she moves.
She looks up at me as she takes me deeper, her eyes dark and hungry. The sight alone nearly undoes me. “You like that?” she murmurs, pulling back just enough to run her tongue along the underside of my shaft.
“Fuck yes,” I growl, tightening my grip on her hair. “Don’t stop. You’re so goddamn good at this.”
Her moan vibrates against me, and my hips jerk, pushing deeper into her mouth. She takes it, her nails digging into my thighs as she picks up the pace. The sounds she makes—the wet slide of her lips, the occasional gag when I hit the back of her throat—drive me insane.
“Evie…I’m close,” I warn, my breath coming in sharp gasps. “You want me to?—”
But she doesn’t stop. If anything, she doubles down, sucking harder, her hands stroking what she can’t take. My vision goes white as I come, groaning her name as she swallows every last drop.
She pulls back with a satisfied smile, wiping her lips with the back of her hand. “Better?” she asks, her voice dripping with mischief.
“Better?” I echo, pulling her up into my lap. “We’re just getting started.”
I kiss her hard, tasting myself on her lips. She straddles me again, grinding against my cock, and I can already feel it hardening between us.
“You’re insatiable,” she teases, biting down on my bottom lip.
“Only for you.”
I lift her hips, positioning her above me. She grabs my shoulders for balance as I slide into her, both of us groaning at the sensation. She’s so wet, so warm, and when she starts to move, I can’t think about anything else.
She sets the pace, riding me like she owns me, her head thrown back and her nails raking down my chest. “Chase,” she moans, the sound raw and needy.
“Fuck, Evie. You feel so goddamn good.” My hands grip her hips, helping her move, thrusting up to meet her. “That’s it. Take it all.”
Her movements grow frantic, and her cries get louder as she gets closer. I reach between us, finding her clit and rubbing in time with her rhythm. She shatters, her body trembling around me as she comes, and it’s enough to send me over the edge.
We collapse into each other, breathing hard, her head resting against my shoulder. “Now it’s better,” she whispers, her lips brushing against my neck.
I laugh, pulling her closer. “Yeah. Definitely better.”
Later, as she dozes in my arms, I study her tattoos one final time—the star that meant freedom, the vines that brought beauty, and the constellation protecting her children.
And that snake curled down her arm like a warning.
Someday, she’ll tell me what it means, what all of it means.
But tonight, I just hold her close and memorize how she feels at this moment. Safe. Content.