13. Chase
13
CHASE
I haven’t been able to get the taste of her out of my head all day. How I wanted to rip those leggings off her and fuck her raw and bare on my bed until she was screaming my name. To be honest, I’m not sure why I stopped. Maybe it was self-preservation from getting rejected. Or maybe I wanted to see her riled up. But now, I’m regretting the choice to stop.
After my classes, I came home to a flurry of her getting ready to go out with Liam. Had I not pussied out and kissed her like I wanted to, maybe she would be in my arms instead of running into his. Fuck.
And of course, she had to look absolutely breathtaking in the dress she chose, leaving me to pine after her. I’m pathetic. Hopelessly head over heels for this girl.
I pace our room waiting for her to come home from her date. The evidence of her getting ready is strewn about as if a tornado has blown through here. A black strapless dress is flung on the back of the couch, and I trip over a rouge pair of silver heels. Makeup containers line the bathroom sink and a curling iron sits unplugged. The air smells of her intoxicating perfume, hanging in the air taunting me as the time ticks by.
I bet he’s making her laugh in that way that shakes her shoulders and lights up her eyes. Liam can be charming. Too bad he’s a fucking douchebag.
The thought of her with him eats at me, when it shouldn’t. She should mean nothing to me, and instead I’m wearing a hole in the carpet worrying that she’ll fall for the likes of Liam Decker. That I’ll have to see them together, kissing. But he can hold her without restraint, giving her the one thing I can’t. A relationship. Something a girl like Melody deserves.
But I’m a fucking selfish prick and don’t want to be the bigger man.
No.
I want to rush down to that bar they’re having drinks at, hoist her sassy little ass over my shoulder and carry her home to be with me. How I would worship that body of hers and make her call out my name.
With nothing but torturous thoughts ebbing away at my mind, I decide to drown them out by taking a shower. But as soon as I step into the hot water, her sweet sensual scent from her body soap overtakes me. Filling my senses with her. Visions of Melody bathing in this same shower assault my mind and I imagine the water running down her curves. I’m instantly hard as a rock, wishing she was in here with me and not out with that asshole, Liam.
I picture her pressed up against the tiles, her legs hoisted around my waist as I thrust into her. The water lapping over our combined bodies as I take what’s mine. My hand finds its way to my throbbing length, and I work my hand down it, feeling every ridge and wishing it was her I was with. Taking her body soap in my free hand, I squeeze out some to coat my dick.
Whispers of citrus and vanilla swirl around me as I fuck my hand wishing with every thrust that I was balls deep in her sweet pussy instead of alone in the shower. Her siren like voice would call out my name, and only my name. Her pink painted nails would scratch down the length of my back, marking me up with the evidence of how good I make her feel.
I could make her feel so damn good her knees wouldn’t be able to hold her upright after I’m through with her. She’d be begging me for more, and I’d never tire of making her come around my cock.
Images of her heavy breasts bouncing as we fuck play on a loop and before I know it, I’m coming hard, painting the tile with my seed. I groan loudly and my back flexes as my balls empty. Fuck, it feels so good, but I want more. I want her.
Shit.
I want her.
Water flows down my body until it runs cold as I grapple with my emotions. The implications of what it means to be attracted to the one person I can’t have and shouldn’t want.
I step out of the shower and do the only thing I can—try to forget.
But as soon as I enter our room, I see the mess she’s left behind and I remember how her laugh makes me want to compose whole sonatas.
The time on the clock reads 8pm. Fuck. She probably won’t be back for hours yet.
I grab my violin and distract myself by playing random notes until they’re flowing together as easily as a knife slices through melted butter.
Music has always been my safe space. While the world burned around me, I could escape into the notes that offered me protection, welcoming me like a long-lost friend. The notes never rejected me, or left me, or told me I wasn’t good enough. No, the music just lets me be. And it’s always there waiting for me whenever I need it. And right now, with my building feelings for Melody, I need it like I need air, because I realize I can never have her. Never hold her in my arms. Not as long as our parents are together at least.
My phone rings and the screen flashes my father’s name. My back straightens and I put down the violin. What the hell could he want now?
“Hello?”
“Chase. Glad I could catch you.” His voice sounds so formal, as if he were addressing a business associate and not his own son. It’s familiar, but devoid of any affection. “Stella and I decided to rent out the club and have a proper wedding to celebrate with all our family and friends. I expect you and Melody to be there.”
“When is it?” My jaw ticks in irritation.
“In about a month. I’ll have Callista send over the information, she has all the details. But Stella was wondering if you could perform her favorite song for her as she walks down the aisle.”
Like hell do I want to perform anything for that money hungry wife of his, but I know better than to argue. “What song?” I ask through gritted teeth.
“Hallelujah. You can do that, right?” I can hear the demand disguised as a question. After all, he always gets his way.
“Sure.”
“Wonderful. See you then.”
The line goes dead, and I’m left in silence, dreading having to see the man responsible for my misery.
* * *
Three Years Earlier
“Darling, would you hurry up? We’re going to be late.” My mother’s voice calls up the stairs of our house in Florida. It’s an expansive mansion that sits right on the Gulf of Mexico. Prime real estate that cost far too much and has far too many rooms that we never use, but my dad wanted our home to make a statement. It’s his pride and joy, this place. My mom is hardly home enough to really enjoy it, and I’ll be headed to college next year. I just got accepted into Langford this week, and it seems my future is all set to become the world-renowned composer I’ve been working towards my whole life.
The muggy air from the open patio hits me as I retie my tie. It’s too warm out to be wearing a full tux, but the event at the club is black tie only, so here I am. Decked out in full penguin attire, as per my mom’s request. She’s hosting some charity gala with her company at their country club. Like we don’t frequent the place enough. The gala she’s throwing is for kids with cancer or something along those lines. She likes to give back, which I admire her for. My dad would rather we kept all our money to ourselves, but mom knows what it’s like to struggle. A lot of my friends’ parents are of the same mind as my dad, only giving back when they’re forced to. They’re always trying to skirt the system and find ways to not pay taxes.
“There you are. You look so handsome.” My mom immediately grabs my tie and adjusts it. “There. That’s better,” she beams at me. Her blonde hair is done in an elegant updo, and her dress matches the color of my dad’s tie— a deep crimson color that makes the two of them look every bit of the power couple that they are.
“Oh good, you’re ready.” My dad says, sounding bored out of his mind already.
“Really, Travis. Try to sound a little excited. It’s not every day we get to spend time as a family.”
My dad grumbles something unintelligible, before we’re out the door and on our way.
The country club comes into view after a few minutes of driving, and we wait in the valet line as flashes from cameras take pictures of everyone arriving. We pose politely on the red carpet, smiling for the cameras. First, all together as a family, and then individually. My mom is whisked away by reporters shoving their microphones in her face as they ask her a series of questions.
Once inside, I swipe a flute of champagne from one of the servers, knowing they’re paid way too little to check if I’m of legal drinking age. My friends should be sulking around here somewhere, dragged out by their parents just like me. We know this song and dance well, usually finding one of the empty rooms to congregate in while the adults have their dignified evening.
We’re several drinks in when I have to find my way back to the table for my mom’s speech. But on my way, I stumble into the wrong room and see two bodies moving together. One of them looking vaguely familiar. It takes my inebriated brain far too long to piece together what I’m seeing. One of the servers screwing my dad.
“She’ll be gone soon, I promise,” he says.
“You keep saying that you’ll leave her,” the woman’s voice answers.
“I will, because no one feels as good as you. No one can fuck me like you can, baby.”
“If you don’t take care of it soon, I will.”
My stomach roils and all the alcohol I’ve consumed threatens to make another appearance, trying to work its way up my esophagus.
“Please. Travis. Harder,” she begs, and I step back trying to exit the room without them catching me. Only I knock into a lamp, causing it to come crashing down. The noise has the two of them swinging their heads in my direction.
I take off, running towards the ballroom where I can hear a round of applause coming from behind the closed doors.
“Chase. Wait,” my dad calls out. But I don’t slow down. My movements seem clumsy and uncoordinated, and I regret having so much to drink. I’m about to open the door when he collides with me, grabbing me by the collar. He shoves me against the wall, his face inches away from mine.
“You didn’t see a goddamn thing, you hear me? I could end you with a snap of my fingers. You think I won’t?” He’s so angry that a vein pops in his forehead, stretching the skin around it. His skin looks beet red, climbing up his neck and into his cheeks. I wish I was a stranger to his outbursts, but unfortunately with mom gone as often as she is, his Jekyll and Hyde routine is one I know all too well. He can flip from menacing villain to charming hero in less time it takes someone to tie their shoelaces.
I know better than to push back when he’s like this. The many beatings I endured throughout the years have taught me to keep my mouth shut and endure. Just a few more months and I’ll be off at school. Away from him and finally able to breathe.
“I didn’t see anything.” I mutter.
He slaps me hard on the shoulder and fixes my tie roughly, tying it far too tight that I struggle against the material. “That’s right,” he says, pushing his disheveled hair into place as if he wasn’t just fucking the help mere minutes ago.
We enter the ballroom just as my mom is taking the stage. She beams at us like an angel under the lights as the room politely claps.
As she thanks us and her coworkers, the server who was fucking my dad walks in, skirt askew and tray in hand. A girl with pink hair grabs her free arm, saying something to her in a hushed, but insistent way. The server is annoyed but walks out with her. My dad however, ever the ultimate player, doesn’t pay the disturbance any mind and watches his wife with a look of pure adoration. Only I know it’s utter bullshit.
The only thing keeping me from saying anything is the very real threat he holds over me. I know just how evil he can be, and when he looks at me, there’s nothing but hatred in those eyes I inherited from him.