Chapter 10
Ten
Chase
Today has been one for the books. After I kissed Paisley for the second time, we watched some more TV and cooked dinner together. Now I'm in bed, wondering what the hell she's doing in her room, on the other side of the wall.
Groaning, I think back to the two kisses we shared, and for the first time in a long time my cock stirs. My body is interested, and it hasn't been in almost a year. Kind of thought I was passed that part of my life, even though I'm only thirty-seven years old.
In the past when my body has responded, it's been thinking about my deceased wife, not about the woman in the bed in the other room. Reaching down, I circle my length with my hand, and close my eyes.
Paisley's face appears behind my eyelids immediately. The way she looked at me before she kissed me. The soft sound she made when my lips touched hers. The way her body felt pressed against mine when I pulled her closer the second time.
My hand moves slowly, almost tentatively at first. It's been so long since I've done this, since I've wanted to do this. But thinking about her, about the taste of her mouth and the way she sighed my name—it's enough to make my body respond in ways I didn't think it could anymore.
I imagine what it would be like to kiss her again, to really kiss her.
To take my time exploring her mouth, learning what makes her gasp and what makes her moan.
To feel her hands on me, not just gripping my shoulders like they did earlier, but sliding under my shirt, tracing the muscles of my back.
My breathing picks up as my hand moves faster. I think about the way she looked today in the side-by-side, cheeks flushed from the cold, eyes bright with life. The way she moved around my kitchen tonight, like she belonged there.
Like she belongs here. With me.
The thought sends a jolt through me, and I have to bite back a groan. I imagine her walking into my room right now, wearing one of my oversized shirts. Climbing into my bed. Kissing me the same way she did earlier.
I picture sliding my hands under that shirt, discovering if her skin is as soft as it looks. Hearing my name on her lips as I touch her, taste her, make her feel good in all the ways I'm desperate to.
My hand moves faster, my hips lifting off the bed as pleasure builds low in my spine.
It's been so damn long, and thinking about Paisley, about all the things I want to do with her—it's overwhelming.
My palm catches pre-cum and rubs it over the head as I speed my hand up.
This won't take long, and when I reach down to cup my balls, I know that's it.
I come with a strangled sound I barely manage to muffle, her name a whisper in the darkness. My chest heaves as I catch my breath, staring up at the ceiling and trying to process what just happened.
Guilt tries to creep in—guilt that I'm moving on, that I'm having feelings for someone who isn't my wife. But underneath that is so much more. Relief, maybe. Hope. The realization that I'm not as dead inside as I thought I was.
Paisley makes me feel alive again.
I clean myself up and try to sleep, but it's a long time coming. Every time I close my eyes, I see her. And every time I see her, I want her more.
Morning comes way too early. I wake to sunlight streaming through my window and the memory of what I did last night. Heat crawls up my neck as I get out of bed and pull on clothes, trying to figure out how the hell I'm supposed to look at her today.
She's already in the kitchen when I come out of my bedroom after my morning workout.
She's got her hair pulled back in a messy bun, wearing leggings and a soft-looking sweater that makes me want to touch her.
She looks up when I walk in, a smile on her face that fades when my eyes don't quite meet hers.
I'm dealing with some shame now that I'm facing her in the light of day.
"Morning," she says, her voice a little uncertain.
"Morning." I move to the coffee pot, keeping my back to her. "You sleep okay?"
"Yeah. You?"
"Fine."
The lie sits heavy between us. I can feel her watching me as I pour my coffee, as I lean against the counter and stare at the dark liquid like it holds the answers to all my problems.
"Want me to start the eggs?" she asks after a moment.
"Sure."
We move around each other in the kitchen, but it's different than the last couple of weeks.
Where before we were in sync, now we're awkward, careful not to get too close.
I can feel the tension building between us, and I hate it.
Hate that I've made things weird because I can't get my head straight.
She's cracking eggs into a bowl when she finally speaks. "Did I do something wrong?"
My head snaps up. "What?"
"Last night. When I kissed you." She's not looking at me, focused intently on the eggs. "Did I overstep? Make you uncomfortable? Because you've barely looked at me since you woke up, and I just—I need to know if I made you angry."
"No." The word comes out more forcefully than I intend, and I set my coffee down. "Paisley, no. You didn't do anything wrong."
"Then what's going on?" She does look at me now, and there's vulnerability in her eyes that makes my breath hitch. "Talk to me, Chase."
I run a hand through my hair, trying to find the words. There's no good way to say this, no way that doesn't make me sound like a complete idiot. But she deserves the truth.
"I pleasured myself last night," I say bluntly, thinking it sounds better than jacking off. "Thinking about you."
Her eyes go wide, the whisk in her hand freezes mid-stir. "You... what?"
"I couldn't stop thinking about kissing you.
About you. And my body responded in a way it hasn't in a very long time.
" I force myself to hold her gaze. "I feel guilty as hell about it, and I didn't know how to face you this morning.
That's why I've been acting weird. Not because you did anything wrong, but because I don't know how to handle what I'm feeling. "
The silence that follows is deafening. I watch as shock gives way to understanding, and then—surprisingly—something that looks like pleasure. A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth.
"You were thinking about me?" she asks, and there's a note of wonder in her voice.
"Yes."
"And your body... responded."
"Yes."
The smile breaks free, full and genuine, and it transforms her face. "That's... actually kind of hot."
I blink. "Hot?"
"Yeah." She sets the bowl down and moves closer, stopping just out of reach. "Chase, you don't have to feel guilty about wanting me. Or about what you did last night. I'm not offended. I'm flattered."
"You are?"
"Very." Her cheeks are pink now, but she doesn't look away. "For the record, I had some thoughts of my own last night. About you. About us."
Heat pools low in my gut at her words, at the implication. "Paisley—"
"I'm just saying, you're not alone in this. Whatever this is." She reaches out, her fingers brushing mine. "We're both feeling it."
I turn my hand over, threading our fingers together.
Her palm is warm against mine, and I realize this is the first time we've held hands.
It's such a simple touch, and one I've missed.
There wasn't a moment where I thought to myself that I miss holding hands with another person, but now that our skin is touching, I have.
"We should probably finish breakfast before we starve," I say, not letting go of her hand.
She laughs, the sound echoing through the room. "Probably."
Together we make the meal, just like we have been for the past few weeks.
The awkwardness from earlier is gone. Instead, there's an invisible string between us, a simmering tension that makes every accidental touch send a ribbon of arousal down to my cock.
When we sit down to eat, I make sure to sit close enough that our knees brush under the table.
I need to touch her, even if we're not touching in a sexual manner.
Grinning over at her, I take a bite of my eggs, and then put my head down to just enjoy the moment.
After breakfast, I set up my laptop on the coffee table.
"I've got to input some birthing records for the state," I explain, as I boot up the laptop.
"It's what I do in the winter, instead of checking on breeding operations and ranches.
It's boring, but it has to be done, and since I'm the one out here with nothing else to do, it falls to me. "
"That's fine. I'll just read or something. There were a bunch of books in the room you gave me."
My wife was a big reader, so I'm not surprised. I didn't get rid of anything she had in there. She's got a book in her hand, and she flips through it, before she takes a seat.
But she doesn't read. Instead, she settles on the other end of the couch with her phone, and I try to focus on entering data about calves and birth weights and maternal lineages.
It's mindless work, and I usually enjoy it.
It lets me turn my brain off and I can just knock out a full day without thinking about how alone I am out here.
But today, I'm hyper-aware of every movement Paisley makes.
She shifts, tucking her feet under her. I glance over, catching sight of the curve of her neck as she bends over her phone.
I type in another record, but I'm not really seeing the numbers. I'm thinking about the way she smiled this morning when I confessed about what I did last night. The way she said it was hot.
I look up and find her watching me. She quickly looks back at her phone, but not before I see the flush creeping up her cheeks.
When I can't handle the silence between us any more, I clear my throat. "Wanna turn Blue Bloods on in the background?"
"Sounds good, that ticking clock is about to annoy the shit outta me." She points to the clock on the wall.
I get back to work, and she keeps scrolling, but it's all mindless.
I keep stealing glances at her, and every time I do, I catch her doing the same thing.
It's like we're teenagers, unable to stop looking at each other but too nervous to do anything about it.
Fuck, when I was a teenager I was less nervous, truth be told.
"This is fuckin' ridiculous," I finally say, setting my laptop aside, with a loud noise.
"What is?"
"This." I gesture between us. "We're both sitting here pretending to watch TV when the only damn thing I can think about is kissing you again."
Her breath catches, and her face flushes, before she pulls her bottom lip in between her teeth. "Oh."
"Yeah, oh. So I'm going to kiss you now. If that's okay." I rub my palms along my denim-covered jeans as I wait for her to answer with a pounding heart.
"That's very okay," she whispers.
I lean in slowly, giving her time to change her mind, but she meets me halfway. This kiss is different from the ones yesterday. We dive all in, her mouth opens for me. I cup her face with both hands and take my time, exploring the taste of her, the softness of her lips.
She makes a small sound in the back of her throat, and it sends heat through my body. Her fingers come up to grip my shirt, pulling me closer, and I go willingly. I want to be closer, want to eliminate every inch of space between us.
But some rational part of my brain reminds me to slow down. We have plenty of time out here. There's no rush.
I pull back, resting my forehead against hers as we both catch our breath.
Rolling my head against hers, I groan, mad at myself for putting a fucking stop to this.
But I also know that I don't want to rush into anything that might make things awkward between us.
"We should take this slow," I say, even though every part of me is screaming to do the opposite.
"Okay." Her fingers are still twisted in my shirt. "How slow?"
"I don't know. Slow enough that we're both comfortable. I don't want to do this because we're out here with no one else around, just because we're convenient for each other."
She nods, then pulls back enough to look at me. There's heat in her eyes, but understanding too. "I can do slow. But Chase?"
"Yeah?"
"I want you to know that I'm more than willing to have fun with you until we figure out what we're comfortable with.
" Her cheeks are red, but she doesn't look away.
"I'm not made of glass. And I'm attracted to you.
Really attracted to you. What happened to me before that field?
I'm not ready to talk about it, but I need to feel like I'm a woman again, want to feel like a woman again. "
"Paisley—"
"I'm just saying, we can take things slow and still... explore. If you want to."
Do I want to? God, yes. Every cell in my body is screaming yes. But I also know we need to be careful. She's been through something obviously traumatic that brought her out to that field. And I'm still learning how to feel again, how to let someone in.
"I want to," I tell her honestly. "But I also want to do this right. Whatever all of this is."
She smiles, although there's heat behind it. "Then we'll figure it out together. One day at a time."
"One day at a time," I agree.
She settles back against the couch, and I pull her into my side.
She fits perfectly there, her head on my shoulder, my arm around her waist. We go back to her pretending to watch TV, and me continuing to work, but now there's no awkwardness.
We're just content and looking forward to whatever is to come.
Outside, I can hear the wind starting to pick up. The storm Eli warned us about is coming. But in here, with Paisley, I'm not worried. I'm actually excited. We have no place to go, and all the time to be together.
For the first time in six years, I'm looking forward to spending time with a woman who excites me in ways I thought were over for me.