Chapter 14 #3
A soft shudder runs through my body. His fingers trace a line beneath the tender skin below my belly button.
I tip my hips forward. His chiseled jaw is hard, his lips are full—and this time they don’t twist into a derisive, lopsided smile.
There’s no victory in his eyes as they darken with the desire burning in him—just the same obsession they held nine years ago.
Chase never looked at me like I was a piece of meat—he never treated me without respect.
The way he moved, the way he touched me, the way he looked at me…
everything he did spoke of obsessive love.
To him, I was never just an ordinary girl.
He watched me and touched me with a reverence that bordered on worship, as if I were a goddess in mortal skin.
He’s a dark artist with an empty soul and a resourceful mind—and I’m his muse, the woman he adores, the woman he sets on a pedestal above everyone else.
And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like it.
I’ve seen how most men treat women. I’ve heard the way Bo and his crew talk about girls.
Chase was never rude—just strange. And he doesn’t have Lucas’s smug arrogance.
He touches me delicately beneath my belly button. I bite my lower lip and get lost in his bright eyes. He must have been waiting so long for me to absolve him of his sins—to hear the words that would soothe his restless heart and warm the cold caverns of his soul.
But I’m not ready yet. I can’t tell him I love him. My words will find him when he least expects them, each one a gift.
His index finger catches at the waistband of my pants. My breathing turns uneven, I gasp, and my heart races. My skin tingles as if someone had poured burning coals over it.
He works the buttons of my pants open and lowers the zipper.
The moment his hand slips beneath the fabric, a sound breaks from me and I clutch his shoulder.
Chase pulls me against him. One hand threads into my hair, the other slides lower under my pants, sure and intimate.
This is his ritual. He buries his face in the crook of my neck and presses kisses to my trembling skin.
His mouth lingers at my pulse while my body shudders—endlessly—but from desire, not fear.
I close my eyes and melt into his hand which is rubbing me shamelessly down there.
“Chase,” I whisper, my voice soft and warm, but before I can say more, he claims my mouth in a passionate kiss that steals my breath—sweet as honey, hot as fire.
He pulls me away from the cold, stinking wall and guides me to the bed.
The blanket and pillow are dirty, revolting…
it’s awful. The smell leaves a bitter taste in my mouth—still, I obey his gentle, wordless request and push down my jeans, then my panties.
Chase pulls my T-shirt over my head. I don’t have a bra on, so my breasts rise and fall softly.
His hungry eyes don’t make me blush—their gaze is almost an erotic caressing in itself.
He takes in every part of me with devotion, the sight of my body stunning him.
I step up to him, grab the hem of his T-shirt, and help him pull it over his head. My eyes trace the lines of his body. I smile to myself, because I was right—he still doesn’t have a six-pack. But his stomach is flat, hard. His arms are strong.
We were together countless times when I was his captive. Sometimes it was just sex. Sometimes we were making love. Still, we never explored each other with this kind of freedom, this kind of depth.
We’re free.
I cup his face in my hands. I stroke the hard line of his chiseled jaw, those cool, unmistakable features.
The admiration in his deep brown eyes makes my heart lurch.
I brush my fingertips over his lips, then let my hand drift down the length of his muscular neck, slow and deliberate, following the center line of his torso.
My touch trails lower. His breathing turns uneven, ragged, his heart pounds like a summer storm, and lightning flashes in his dark eyes.
When I reach his belly button, I pause and trace a slow circle around it.
“Grace…” His voice is deep, hoarse.
“Hmm?” I bite my lip, smiling, and lift one eyebrow. Then…
Chase shudders under my touch. I want to press kisses to the sensitive skin just below his belly button.
He grabs my wrists and pulls them away from his throbbing manhood. He steps so close my hard nipples touch his hot skin. My senses tingle with the sexual tension.
“Lie on your back,” he breathes and kisses the sensitive skin behind my ear. Chase never made me go down on him, never expected me to. He was considerate—even when he hurt me, he never chased his own pleasure alone.
I do as he asks. I lie on my back with my legs spread wide—it makes me feel a bit timid. My hair spreads on the worn fabric, grey with dust, like a fan. The spring of the mattress is pricking my skin.
I watch with amazement as he presses down his pants and his underpants.
The dim light glints on his hot desire. My breasts grow heavy, and my lower belly is tingling with a painful intensity.
Chase kneels between my legs, his lips touching my sensitive skin.
He presses a soft kiss on my breasts while his fingers are tracing the delicate lines of my body in silent worship.
My back arches as my nails dig into the frayed bedsheet, tearing new holes as dust rises into the air.
I tip my hips up. Chase presses me back to the mattress.
A rough sound breaks from him as his hand slides lower, sliding into my wet, warm flesh.
I rake my fingers through his hair and drag him down to me. I suck on his lower lip, then press my tongue in his mouth. Our tongues dance a wild, dangerous dance. His fingers, however, move in and out gently. It’s an avalanche of passion, a beast trying to claw its way out from under my skin.
“I have one last thing I need to take care of.”
“The cop.”
Chase’s jaw tenses and he pinches my butt. The sharp sting makes me hiss. He gives me an apologetic look and caresses the red spot.
“Cyrus is a good man. He deserves an explanation. Between the two of us, I’m the quote-unquote monster,” I tell him, making air quotes. Then I slide my hand back under the blanket, into the pleasant warmth.
He kisses the tip of my nose. The corner of my mouth quirks into a soft smile. Apart from the cold, absurd circumstances, everything feels wonderful. It’s wonderful to be in his arms.
“Chase…”
“Hmm?”
“The cameras aren’t on right now, are they?”
Chase looks at me, then at a spot on the wall, and flips it off.
My lips part in surprise and disgust. I stare at him, bleary-eyed, accusation burning in my gaze—and that only tugs a faint smile onto his face.
His smile warms my heart.
“I’ll get rid of all the videos as soon as I have a little time.
” He says it so low only I can hear. The promise steadies me a little, but the thought of people jerking off to us…
it makes my stomach turn. Disgusting. Sick.
Perverted. I feel nauseous when I think about how much money our videos must’ve made Lucas.
“We should leave.”
He traces the line of my spine. I snuggle closer against him, and a wide smile breaks across his face—making me smile, too. I love it when he smiles.
“Out there,” I say, staring into the distance, “I’ll get confused again. You have no idea how people look at me.”
“Then think about how they look at me, because I’m the bad guy.”
He presses a quick, hard kiss to my lips and flips the blanket open. I curl into a fetal position, covering myself.
“This was unfair.”
Chase smiles again, then slips out of bed, lightning-fast. He pulls on his underwear and jeans with one movement, then hands me my cold, stinking, wet clothes. I shudder when the damp T-shirt hits my sensitive skin. As soon as I button my pants, he holds out a sweater.
“It’s warm out there.”
His gaze flicks to my breast. The outline of my nipples is unmistakable. Heat floods my face with shame. I take the sweater with my eyes downcast.
I didn’t ask Lucas to kidnap me without a bra. The memory leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.
“You know he’s already seen them, right?” I ask carefully.
“That doesn’t mean he needs to see them one last time.”
“Chase… you have to accept the fact that I lived with him for two years.”
“But you were mine during those two years, too,” he says. He cups my face and kisses me—passionate, possessive, hard enough to wipe my mind clean. I press into him, melting against his body, snuggling against his lap.
“I’m afraid,” I whisper, making sure he hears what I’m really saying.
“Listen to me, Grace. The only person you need to answer to is yourself. Don’t think about how people look at you or talk about you. The most important thing is being happy in your own fucking life, you understand?”
I laugh loudly. Tears fill my eyes. “Happiness is like a butterfly—beautiful and short-lived.”
“Happiness isn’t a state. It can’t last. Just like pain can’t last forever. Emotions change like the seasons. Nothing is constant, and nothing is eternal.”
“And your obsession with me?”
His lips twist into a dark, cold smile.
“It seems there is something constant in life, after all,” he whispers, his voice low and sensual.
Dim lights glow in the thick night. On the driveway, I can see the acid-green Pontiac and the polished Harley.
My stomach clenches, and my throat and heart constrict painfully.
Cyrus deserves better than this after everything he’s done for me.
But when I think about how much making love with him hurt…
not physically—emotionally. I couldn’t spend a lifetime with him.
Not after what happened between Chase and me.
Chase opened my eyes and gave me a chance to open my heart to a love that’s been lurking there for years—a love like an old injury that keeps flaring back up.
“I’d like to do this alone.”