Chapter 15 Fiona
FIFTEEN
FIONA
The air feels different. Not colder. Not louder.
Just… tighter. Like the whole compound is holding its breath.
I notice it in the way people move. They move with more purpose, fewer jokes.
I, also, notice it in the way radios chirp more often.
In the way Gavin keeps checking his phone and Silas keeps disappearing into quiet corners to take calls he doesn’t want anyone overhearing.
And I notice it in Chase.
He’s still gentle with me. Still warm. Still makes sure I eat and drink water and remember to breathe. But there’s an edge to him now, a coiled readiness under his skin like he’s already halfway into a fight he hasn’t started yet.
Which means they’re close.
Close to Marcus.
Close to whatever he’s tangled up in.
Close to the thing I’ve been running from.
I sit on the porch steps with my coffee and try not to think about what happens after.
Because after is a big, scary word. After they catch him, I’m supposed to go home.
Back to my apartment with the bad lock. Back to my job where my boss still calls me “kiddo” even though I’m thirty.
Back to a life that suddenly feels… smaller.
Do I even want that? The thought startles me.
I came here because I was scared. Because I needed help. Because I had nowhere else to go. I didn’t come here to find something I’d miss.
Or someone.
Chase finds me a little later and sits beside me without a word. His shoulder brushes mine. It’s enough to steady me.
“You okay?” he asks quietly.
“Yeah,” I say, because it’s easier than saying I’m terrified and hopeful at the same time and I don’t know what to do with that.
He doesn’t push. Just stays there.
Later, we head back to his cabin as the sun starts to dip behind the trees. The light turns everything gold and soft, like the world is trying to pretend nothing bad ever happens.
Inside, we don’t turn on the TV. We don’t talk much. We just curl up on the couch, my legs tucked under me, his arm around my shoulders.
It feels… right. Which is dangerous.
I rest my head on his chest and listen to his heartbeat. Strong. Steady. Real.
“Chase?” I say softly.
“Yeah?”
“What happens when this is over?”
He doesn’t answer right away.
I can feel his chest rise and fall under my cheek. Feel the weight of the question settle between us.
“I don’t know,” he says finally. “But I know I don’t want you hurt. Or scared. Or alone.”
I swallow. “That’s not an answer.”
“No,” he admits. “It’s just… the part I’m sure about.”
I close my eyes. I don’t want to talk about cities and jobs and miles between us. I don’t want to talk about reality yet. I just want this moment. So I say, “Okay,” and stay where I am.
I feel safe here. Cherished. Wanted in a way that still makes my stomach flutter.
His fingers drift higher on my thigh, not quite innocent anymore. I shift, pressing closer, and that’s when I feel him—hard, thick, straining against the front of his jeans where my hip is nestled against him.
“Fiona,” he murmurs, voice already rougher. “You keep squirming like that and I’m gonna lose it.”
Heat floods my cheeks, but I don’t pull away. Instead I tilt my head back, meeting his eyes. They’re dark, pupils blown, that hungry look I’m starting to recognize.
“Then lose it,” I whisper.
Something snaps in his expression. One second he’s holding me gently; the next his mouth crashes down on mine, hard and claiming.
I moan into the kiss, hands fisting in his shirt as his tongue strokes deep, tasting like coffee and him.
He shifts us in one smooth motion—lifts me, turns me so I’m straddling his lap, knees sinking into the cushions on either side of his hips.
“Fuck, baby,” he growls against my lips. “Look at you. Already grinding on me like you can’t wait to get filled up again.”
I whimper, rocking instinctively. The friction of his erection against my core, even through layers of clothes, sends sparks shooting up my spine. My shorts are thin cotton; I can feel every ridge of him.
He yanks my tank top over my head in one rough pull, tossing it somewhere behind us. My bra follows a second later—unhooked and gone before I can blink. His hands are everywhere—cupping my breasts, thumbs flicking my nipples until they’re tight, aching points.
“These pretty tits,” he rasps, dipping his head to suck one into his mouth. “Been thinking about them all damn day. How they bounce when you ride me. How they taste when you’re dripping wet and begging.”
I arch into his mouth, fingers threading through his hair, holding him there. “Chase—please—”
He switches to the other nipple, biting just hard enough to make me gasp. “Please what, sweetheart? Use your words. Tell Daddy exactly what this needy little pussy wants.”
The word—Daddy—still makes my whole body clench with embarrassed heat, but god, it turns me on. “I want you inside me,” I breathe. “Now. On the couch. I don’t care.”
He groans, the sound vibrating against my skin. “That’s my good girl. So fucking eager.”
His hands go to my shorts. He doesn’t bother pulling them down all the way—just shoves them and my panties to the side, exposing me. Two thick fingers slide through my folds, finding me soaked.
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters. “You’re fucking drenched. This all for me? This tight little cunt dripping just from sitting on my lap?”
“Yes,” I moan, hips chasing his fingers. “All for you.”
He circles my clit once, twice—teasing—then pushes both fingers inside me, curling them deep. I cry out, head falling back.
“Look at me,” he orders.
I force my eyes open. His are locked on my face, watching every reaction as he pumps his fingers slow and filthy.
“You’re gonna come on my hand first,” he says, voice low and commanding. “Get that pussy nice and ready to take my cock. Then I’m gonna fuck you right here until you’re screaming my name. Understand?”
I nod frantically, already trembling. His thumb finds my clit, rubbing firm circles while his fingers stroke that spot inside me that makes my toes curl.
“That’s it,” he praises, voice rough with want. “Come on, baby. Squeeze my fingers. Show me how bad you need to be filled.”
The orgasm hits fast and hard. I shatter with a broken cry, clenching around his fingers, thighs shaking. He works me through it, murmuring dirty praise the whole time—“Good girl, soak my hand, fuck yes, just like that”—until I’m boneless against him.
He doesn’t give me long to recover. His hands grip my hips, lifting me just enough to shove his jeans and boxers down. His cock springs free—thick, veined, already leaking at the tip. I stare, still dazed, licking my lips without thinking.
“Eyes up here,” he says with a wicked grin, though his voice is strained. “You can suck it later. Right now I need to be buried in that perfect cunt.”
He guides me down. The head notches at my entrance, stretches me open as I sink slowly. We both groan—long, low, matching sounds of relief.
“Fuck, Fiona,” he grits out when I’m seated fully, his hands gripping my ass hard enough to bruise. “You feel like heaven. So tight. So wet. Made just for my cock.”
I start to move—slow rolls of my hips at first, then faster, chasing that deep, grinding friction. He lets me ride for a minute, head tipped back against the couch, watching me through heavy lids.
Then he takes over.
His hands clamp on my waist and he thrusts up—hard, deep, controlling the pace. The couch creaks under us. Every stroke punches the air out of my lungs.
“Ride it, baby,” he growls. “Take every fucking inch. Show me how much you love being split open on Daddy’s dick.”
I can’t speak—only whimper, nails digging into his shoulders as he pounds up into me. The angle is perfect; he hits that spot over and over until I’m shaking again, so close already.
“You gonna come again?” he asks, voice dark. “Gonna come all over my cock while I fuck you silly on this couch?”
“Yes—Chase—please—”
He slides one hand between us, thumb pressing hard on my clit. “Then come. Now. Milk me dry, sweetheart. Let me feel that pussy flutter.”
I break with a scream, clenching so tight around him I feel every pulse.
He curses, thrusts turning erratic, then slams deep one last time and comes with a guttural groan, filling me in hot, endless spurts.
We stay locked together, panting, foreheads pressed.
His arms wrap around me, holding me close like he never wants to let go.
After a minute he kisses my temple, my cheek, the corner of my mouth. Soft now. Tender.
“You okay?” he murmurs.
I nod against his neck, still trembling. “More than okay.”
He chuckles low. “Good. Because I’m nowhere near done with you today.”
He shifts us carefully—still inside me—until I’m lying back on the couch cushions with him braced over me. He stays buried, softening slowly, kissing me lazy and deep while his hand strokes my hair.
“Stay right here,” he says eventually, easing out. I whimper at the loss. He grabs his discarded shirt, uses it to gently clean between my thighs, then pulls the throw blanket over us both.
He settles behind me, spooning me tight against his chest, one arm banded around my waist, the other cupping my breast like it belongs there. “Rest a minute,” he whispers against my ear. “Then we’re doing that again. Slower this time. I want to feel every second of you coming apart.”
I smile, sleepy and sated, nestling back into him.
“Promise?” I ask.
He nips my earlobe. “Baby, that’s a fucking guarantee.”