37. Summer
Summer
His eyes turn predatory and I haul his mouth to mine. Licking and tasting. There’s a faint trace of nicotine on his lips, but the distinct, familiar taste of him overrides everything else. His hands scorch a trail of fire up my skin as he runs his calloused fingers up my bare thigh.
“I don’t have a condom on me.”
The moment his knuckles dust over my slit, I throb.
“I’m on birth control,” I tell him.
Something flashes in his eyes. Relief, hunger, possession. He releases a deep groan that only spurs me on.
I’m clumsy as I fumble for his shirt.
His palm rests over my hand, his eyes boring into mine.
I should’ve kept walking the moment I spotted him. Should have ignored the way my traitorous heart stuttered at the sight of him sitting there gorgeous and sun-warmed, looking every bit the memory I’ve tried to bury.
But then he lit that damn cigarette and something inside me snapped.
Maybe it was the anger that’s been simmering since he kicked me out of his bedroom. Maybe it was the way he’s looked straight through me since I got here—like I’m a piece of history he refuses to face. Maybe it was the image of him smiling at Rachel. Kissing her. Giving to her.
All of it, festering beneath my skin.
But that cigarette? That was my final straw.
I’ve got thick skin. I’ve had to. But one thing I will never tolerate is watching someone destroy their health when there are people who would give anything to have theirs back.
Every second, every day someone dies from something they can’t prevent. Cancer doesn’t ask permission. But smoking is a choice. A slow, selfish destructive choice, and the thought of it tearing people away from their loved ones curdles my insides.
Was my explosion driven by emotion? Absolutely. But I couldn’t walk away. My conscience wouldn’t let me. Not until I said my piece.
Then he kissed me, and everything I thought I felt collapsed.
Gone. All of it. Obliterated the moment his lips touched mine.
“Are you okay?” he rasps.
I manage a nod.
“Summer,” he says. “You’re shaking.”
“I’m fine.”
He stops and I could curse myself.
I suck my bottom lip before responding. “I haven’t …” I squeeze my eyes shut, humiliated that I’m even about to admit this. “I haven’t done …” A sigh. “Since you.”
Another traitorous tear zigzags down my cheek. He sweeps it away with all the gentleness I remember. “Why are you crying?”
Because it’s mortifying to admit. “I’m embarrassed.”
His brows pinch. “Why?”
I can’t look at him. “Because … it’s been so long and no one ever felt right.” A lump forms in my throat. I sniffle. “No one else was—”
“Hayes.” His voice is rough. “Look at me.”
I do, slowly.
His green eyes hold mine and what I find steals the air from my lungs.
They don’t hold any judgment or pity.
“You think that’s something to be embarrassed about? You think that’s something I care about?”
My heart stutters and I whisper, “I don’t know you anymore.”
He gathers my hand in his and presses it to the muscle beating in his chest. “You feel that?”
My cheeks flame and I nod.
“My heart has been clawing through my chest to get to you.”
A sob catches in my throat. I press my lips together.
“It recognizes yours. It knows you.”
There you are, I think, relief wrapping around me like a warm, heavy blanket.
I can’t hide anything with him. All the walls I’ve built, all the lies I’ve repeated to myself each day fall to the wayside and leave me open and exposed.
I show him my rawest parts like muscle memory.
Like healing forgot to remind me how much it hurt the last time.
It’s what my body has always done around him.
Relaxed. Trusted. Even now.
And just like he used to, he holds me like I’m precious.
The truth spills out of me like lava. “I thought I’d moved on.”
He lowers his head, brushing his lips against mine. “I know.”
“I’m scared,” I admit.
“Me too.”
“Okay,” I breathe.
“Okay?” He traces my jaw.
“I want you.”
He looks at me earnestly. “You have me, Hayes. You always have.”
My fingers fist the fabric of his shirt, and I tug him as close as possible, the scent of salt and sweat and something masculine enveloping me. It’s heaven.
I know we shouldn’t be doing this out in the open, but I can’t help myself. I need him.
I pull his lips to mine, falling limp against the back seat. His chest vibrates with a groan before he starts devouring me like I’m his last meal.
I thread my fingers through his hair as his hand finds my thigh again.
My legs part for him, one knee against the back of the seat, the other flat along it.
I arch into him, desperate to get closer, to crawl inside this moment and live here forever.
“Chase …” His name is a plea.
“I’ve got you.” He presses the words against my collarbone, the curve of my neck, and beneath my ear, a whispered promise.
My fingers disappear beneath his tee and I drag the drenched fabric upward.
He pushes to his knees, helping me pull it over his head before tossing it aside.
I ease back and drink him in, totally awestruck.
He’s so much bigger now. The lean, athletic frame of the eighteen-year-old boy I remember has been replaced by something solid and powerful and entirely man.
He has a smattering of dark blond hair over his chest, tapering off as it trails down his defined abs and disappears beneath the waistband of his shorts. His hips have that delicious V that points south, directing me exactly where I want to be.
He moves my hair over one shoulder as my fingers lazily explore him, mapping out every hardened inch. I trace a winding line over his left pec, up his shoulder, and down his arms.
I’ve wanted to touch these arms since the moment I laid eyes on them. They flex under my touch as he holds himself above me, his muscles contracting with every breath.
“You’re beautiful,” I tell him.
He dips his head, dragging his nose along the column of my throat. “I want to see you.”
I shouldn’t feel self-conscious. I know I shouldn’t.
I sit up just enough for him to peel the dress over my head. I’m left in my bra and thong, and I don’t miss the bulge in his shorts.
The cool, stale air hits my skin, and I erupt in goose bumps.
His gaze rakes over me, taking his time, and I watch his throat bob.
“Jesus, Summer,” he grits out.
My body has changed since we were eighteen too. A decade of working my ass off, touring, dancing under stage lights, and early call times have left their mark on my body. But it’s also kept me strong, fit, and healthy.
I have curves now where I didn’t before. Softness where there used to be skin and bone. My thighs and butt have cellulite I used to obsess over in dressing rooms and under hotel lighting, and my arms will never be as toned or as lean as I want them to be.
But this is my body and it’s the only one I get. I’ve made peace with that.
I’ve learned to honor instead of punish it. To thank it for carrying me through my darkest days instead of criticizing every dimple and flaw.
Most days I even love it.
But right now? I feel nervous and exposed. Because no one has ever looked at me with the same hunger that Chase is looking at me with at this moment.
His palm flattens against my stomach and slides up my ribs, stopping just beneath the swell of my lace-covered breast.
“You’ve always been spectacular.” He lowers his mouth to kiss between my boobs. “But now?” His jade eyes flick up to mine. “You take my breath away, Hayes.”
I reach around my back to unsnap my bra. It falls loose and I let it drop into the floor.
Then, mustering every ounce of courage I have, I hold his attention as I hook my thumbs under my panties and drag them slowly down my legs.
He takes a sharp inhale when his eyes land on my center. I’m soaked and aching. And with my legs parted like this, he can see all of me.
For a long second, he leers. Like he’s committing me to memory.
Then he’s shoving down his shorts and briefs in one rough, desperate motion, his erection springing free.
I can’t help but stare.
He’s the only man I’ve ever been with—though I’ve seen my fair share of penises, thanks to quick backstage changes with male dancers who have zero shame. But none of them were equipped like this.
He’s perfect. Pretty. Thick and hard and pink and veiny.
He settles between my thighs, holding himself up on his forearms.
My head falls back against the fabric seat at the same time he hisses, rubbing his cock through my wetness, smearing me all over him.
“Fuck, Hayes.”
I cling to him. My hips move on their own, rocking against his length, desperate to feel him.
“So wet,” he says.
“I need you,” I breathe.
“Right now, I’ll be gentle. And I’m warning you—I’m not gonna last long.” He drops his forehead to mine. “But I promise, after I make you come in my car, I’m going to take you home and make you come on every surface of my house.”
Holy. Shit.
Every coherent thought I have evaporates, replaced entirely by want.
He notches himself at my entrance and I brace for the intrusion.
“You have no idea what this is about to do to me.”
I slide my knee up, urging him forward. Finally, he pushes inside me, inch by glorious inch.
He gives me time to adjust to the fullness and the overwhelming sensation of him. When he’s fully seated, we both still.
We’re joined but remain motionless, like everything around us has stopped to watch. Every sound around us dissolves until there’s nothing but us and the fire radiating between us.
The tip of his nose touches mine. His breath comes in ragged bursts. Every muscle in his body trembles with restraint. “You okay?”
I nod, unable to speak.
“Words, baby.” He lifts one hand to caress my cheek. “I need your words.”
“Yes.” I swallow. “I’m just … you feel … I’m really full.”
Then, his hips begin to move. Slowly at first and gentle, as he promised.
He drives in and out, circling, rolling, and pressing into me.
We both moan as his strokes deepen, building in intensity, sinking further with every pass.
He presses his hand to my heart, feeling how fast it races as he drives into me. My nails dig into his shoulders, and his thrusts grow more urgent, more feral.
When he pulls back to watch me, a languid smile curves my lips.
His hand snakes between us, his thumb finding my clit. He runs lazy circles around my swollen bud, coaxing ragged moans and whimpers from me. My back bows as a delicious tingle stirs inside me, heat pooling low in my core.
“Look at you,” he says, almost reverent. “Taking me like this.”
My hips buck up, hauling him deeper. He slings my leg over his shoulder, deepening the angle so he hits me in the exact right spot.
His breath is hot against my skin as he releases a broken sound, like it’s the last thread holding him together.
“Chase,” I beg, his balls slapping against me.
“I know, baby. I know.”
He rubs me into a frenzy, strumming my clit, and I feel my climax beginning to crest.
His voice thickens. “You don’t take anyone but me, do you?”
“No,” I whimper.
He grunts and something inside him breaks. He nips my bottom lip between his teeth before plundering my mouth.
“God, Chase. I’m close.”
His thrusts become more feral, his hips slapping into me, filling the cabin with obscene, sweaty, slick song of us. “Give it to me. I want it.”
Everything inside me coils and tenses. My skin sizzles, buzzes, and hums. His other hand finds mine, threading our fingers together beside my head, anchoring me as everything builds.
I clench tight around his cock as he pistons his hips, making my channel tighter. His eyes nearly roll back in his head, and I know he’s teetering on the edge with me.
We move together as one, breaking and reforming. Two bodies sparking with the same violent energy.
“Who does this pussy belong to?” he growls, pumping the words into me—hard.
“You,” I pant.
“Good girl. Good fucking girl.”
Oh my God!
He fills me again and again with steady power.
“Chase—I’m going to—”
“Fuck, yes,” he rumbles. “Let it go for me. Feel it.”
His eyes burn into mine and I tilt my pelvis, surrendering to him.
Sweat beads along his temples as he maintains his frantic tempo.
“I’m going to come!”
“Look at me,” he demands, pulling in uneven breaths. “Look at me.”
I do and that’s when I shatter. I melt into my release, my body cresting and falling. He follows close behind, burying himself to the hilt with a guttural groan. His cock swells and pulses as he paints my insides with his seed, giving me everything he’s got.
I’ve never felt anything more right.
We stay like that until we’re both completely drained. He releases his hold on my hand to cradle my face instead, pressing his temple to mine.
“That’s my girl,” he rasps.
My girl.
And that’s when I know I’m totally done for.