Chapter 23
The gray tank flew through the air seconds before Chance lifted Naomi off her feet. Soft breasts flattened against his chest as her arms and legs wrapped around him, and every instinct screamed to take her. To feel her pulsing around him, hot and wet until she screamed his name.
Mouths met in a rush of lust and need as he carried her into the bedroom. When he reached the California king, he braced his weight on his right hand and let her fall to the covers. Feasting his eyes on the beautiful woman beneath him, he couldn’t help but be in awe.
“You’re perfect,” he whispered, lungs still burning.
Cheeks already pink from the stubble on his chin grew redder. “Not as perfect as you are.”
Standing tall, he hooked his fingers inside the waistband of her shorts. “I’m far from perfect, darling.”
When he tugged, her ass lifted off the bed and he grinned at the lack of panties. Naomi lifted her legs, allowing him to slide the shorts off one, then the other. Discarding them on the floor, Chance planted a knee on each side of her thighs as she scooted farther onto the bed. Without warning, he slid his middle finger through her folds, finding her wet and ready.
A shudder racked her body and her back arched, making his mouth water to taste her hardened nipples. But he held back, determined to bring her to the brink the same way she’d done for him. He slid his finger down the hot path again and rolled her clit with his thumb at the same time. Naomi’s hips drove up hard against his touch, a silent plea for more.
“Feel good, baby?”
Bottom lip clenched between her teeth, she nodded with a whimper. Adding his ring finger to the mix, Chance slid down to her entrance and drove inside, drawing a husky moan from her lips. Heat enveloped his hand as she ground against him. Curving his fingers, he found the spot that sent her flying, taking her mouth as she came into his hand.
Slender arms shot around his neck and she pulled until he was on the bed beside her, his left arm above her head while he continued rocking her G-spot, sending tremors down her legs.
“I need to be inside you, baby,” Chance whispered in her ear, dragging his damp fingers up her torso to lick them clean. “You taste so good.”
Panting, she threw her leg over his hip. “I don’t want to wait anymore, Chance. I need you now.”
That he could do. But there was no way he could hold himself over her for long. Not with only one good hand. Rolling onto his back, Chance took her with him, putting her in the top position. “You’re going to have to ride up there, baby. Is that good for you?”
“Oh yeah.” Hands braced on his chest, she arched like a cat in heat. “This is more than good.”
Before they got too far, Chance reached around to her bottom to keep her from sliding fully down his shaft. Barely maintaining control, he said, “The condoms are in the nightstand.”
Without a word, she leaned over and opened the drawer, withdrawing a strip of blue pouches. After tearing one off, she opened the packet with her teeth and sheathed him in one smooth motion. Once they were safe, Chance ran his hand up the inside of her thigh to once again give her clit attention. A long, erotic sigh rolled across her lips as she eased into the pressure.
“I need you inside me. Deep, deep inside.”
Rising just enough, she positioned him at her entrance and took her fill, burying him in her heat to the core. Chance bared his teeth as ecstasy thrummed in his veins, blood rushing to his dick. Her hips circled as she lifted up and down, and he drove up to go deeper.
She leaned forward, hands beside his ears, and took his mouth with hers. Every nip and bite drove him higher, and when she leaned up to increase the pace, Chance cupped her breast, twirling her nipple between his fingertips.
Moans drifted into sensual whimpers as their bodies met again and again. With a final arch, Naomi cried out his name, her core contracting tight around him. Muscles taut, Chance gave one final drive home and a powerful orgasm ripped through his chest.
Bones melting, he clutched the comforter while she quivered and toppled onto his chest. Fighting for air, he tossed his good arm over her back and placed a kiss on the top of her head.
“Gotta say,” he panted. “That was worth the wait.”
Naomi’s husky laughter teased the hairs on his chest. “Definitely.” Lifting her head, she perched her chin on his sternum. “Is your hand okay?”
Chance brushed a damp lock off her forehead. “Honey, every last inch of me is better than okay.”
Warm lips kissed his nipple before she lowered her head again. “Chance?” she said.
“Yeah?”
“We have an audience.”
He turned to find Willie perched on the pillow beside his head. “That we do.”
“How long do you think he’s been there?”
“Not sure.”
She leaned up again, eyes narrowed at the cat. “He doesn’t look impressed.”
Squeezing her bottom, Chance replied, “Then he wasn’t there for long.” Rolling until she landed in the middle of the bed, he shooed the cat away. “Now let’s see if the second time is as good as the first.”
Naomi was spent.
Sex with Chance was like doing CrossFit. Or what she imagined doing CrossFit might feel like. Burning muscles. Aching lungs. Copious amounts of sweat. Of course, sex with Chance included a bonus the other did not—mind-numbing orgasms.
Three of them. She’d never had three orgasms in one week, let alone in one night. Even with Chance all those years ago. Who knew delayed gratification had such a payoff?
They’d gotten little sleep, but Willie still expected to be fed his breakfast, which he’d made abundantly clear by scratching at the bedroom door incessantly until Naomi caved and got up. After his unexpected appearance on the pillow, he’d returned again, this time leaping onto Chance’s hip at a most inopportune moment. At which point the cat had been immediately banished for the night.
Since she was awake, Naomi took the initiative to whip up some breakfast, humming a happy tune as she stirred the pancake batter. In the past she’d rarely turned out an unburned pancake, but, feeling optimistic, she decided today would be different. Today would be perfect pancakes day.
Her mistake in the past had been to leave the stove. She was always doing that, putting water on to boil and then sitting down to check her phone. Twenty minutes would pass and she’d return to find the pan nearly empty.
Not this time.
Diligently watching the little breakfast disks, Naomi failed to hear the barefoot man sneaking up behind her.
“Something smells good,” Chance murmured, wrapping his arms around her and planting a kiss on the side of her neck. “Looks good, too.”
Naomi held her breath while flipping a pancake. The other side was a perfect shade of golden brown.
“It worked!”
“Batter on a griddle does that.”
Smart-ass. “I mean, I didn’t burn it. That never happens.”
So far that week, Chance had been tolerant enough to eat overdone hamburgers, and pork chops the consistency of a snow tire. Needless to say, her burned-pancake admission did not surprise him.
He squeezed her tight. “Maybe sex makes you a better cook.”
She wiggled her bottom against him. “Maybe. We should probably keep doing it. Just to see what else I get better at.”
After a quick nibble of her ear, he said, “Hold that thought. Harmon will be here in five.”
Tugging Chance’s T-shirt down over her bare behind, Naomi asked, “Who is Harmon?”
“My sponsor.” He carried socks and a pair of boots to the couch. He was wearing jeans, and she realized he hadn’t needed her to button them. “I go to two meetings a week. I missed the one on Tuesday”—Chance held up his bandaged hand—“thanks to this.”
“Do you have time to eat?”
One boot slipped into place. “Throw a couple on a plate and I’ll eat ’em on the way.”
Naomi didn’t know how she felt about being left behind. Not that she didn’t want him to go. Having a sponsor, and folks who understood his disease, available for moral support was important to his recovery. But until last night, her only role in the house had been to take care of him. If he wasn’t there, she didn’t have a reason to be there, either.
“I guess I could run into town and check on my apartment.”
The second boot slid on. “If you want to.”
“I’d have to take your truck.” Since Shelly had driven them home from the hospital, Naomi didn’t have her car.
Chance got to his feet. “That’s fine by me.”
Twirling the spatula, she leaned on the edge of the peninsula that ran between the kitchen and the living room. “Should I come back?” Naomi asked. If he could dress himself and was well enough to attend a meeting, maybe he didn’t need her hovering over him anymore.
“Why would you ask that?” Chance closed the distance between them. “Do you not want to come back?”
“Well,” she said, shrugging, “if you don’t need me anymore . . .”
Dragging her forward by a handful of cotton, Chance took her mouth in a searing kiss that curled her toes. “I need you, baby. Promise you’ll come back.”
Warmth filled her chest, and Naomi nipped his bottom lip. “Okay. I will.”
“Good.” The kissing commenced again, progressing until Naomi found herself perched on the cool counter. Just as Chance’s hand found the side of her breast, a horn sounded outside. Breaking the connection, he pressed his forehead to hers. “I can tell him to go away.”
“No,” she said, pushing against his chest. “This is important. Go on, before this Harmon person comes in looking for you. I’m not exactly dressed for company.”
“You’re dressed just right for me.” He dropped another hard kiss on her lips before heading for the door, where he turned to give her one more smoldering look. “We’re picking up right here when I get back.”
She hopped down to the floor. “I’ll be ready and waiting.”
His lopsided grin unleashed butterflies in her belly. “That’s my girl.”
As the door swung shut, Naomi padded to the window to watch him leave, making sure Sponsor Harmon couldn’t see her. As the white Chevy pickup rolled down the drive, Willie nearly scared the pants off her—if she’d been wearing any—by wrapping around her bare ankle.
“Keep that up, beast, and you can wait until noon for your breakfast tomorrow.”
Glancing out the window one more time, Naomi noticed a certain smell in the air.
“No!” she cried, running for the kitchen, but it was too late. Six black pancakes covered the smoking griddle. “This is Chance’s fault.” She turned off the heat and threw the spatula in the sink. “I was so close.”
She supposed it was for the best. Since there was no one there to eat them anyway. With a sigh, she strolled out of the kitchen and took a lap around the couch. Her things were still in the guest room, but she supposed moving them upstairs made sense now. Gathering bits of mail and scattered magazines, she put them all in a pile on the table and noticed a plain black notebook with a pen tucked inside the wire binding.
Throughout the week, Chance had carried it to the porch and scribbled what she’d assumed were notes. Maybe ideas for songs. Curious, she flipped the cover open and found rows of lyrics with letters over certain words. At the top of the page it said “Man Up.” She read through lines and sensed a hint of familiarity.
Dismissing the notion, she turned to the next page and found a song called “Same Old Thing.” Those were the words she’d used the day of the Ruby Barnett interview. Ha! Fun to know that she’d given him an idea. Another flip and another song. This one titled “Warrior in High Heels.” That didn’t sound like anything she’d say, so she kept going.
Reading the next one raised goose bumps along her skin. The title at the top of the page read “Yet,” and in the middle of the first verse he mentioned a girl with pretty hazel eyes and lips he used to kiss. That was her. The song was about a man hoping the woman he loved would come back to him, but she wasn’t ready yet.
Naomi dropped into the chair with tears clouding her vision. The next page offered a song about being happy just to be with her. The next carried a lighter note, talking about the woman who challenged him head-on and refused to walk away. He’d titled it “Met His Match.”
In disbelief, she realized all the songs were about or inspired by her. And since he hadn’t written any of them since last night, they’d all come before they’d had sex. No, before they’d made love. That’s what last night had been. Not about scratching an itch, but something more.
Closing the notebook, she made sure to leave it exactly where she’d found it. If Chance wanted to show her the songs, he would. Until then, Naomi would be content knowing she was in his music. Which meant she was also in his heart.
“Chance, do you have something you want to share?”
The question came out of nowhere in the middle of the meeting. A couple of new folks had told their stories, and Chance had chimed in on all the collective responses, per the usual. But he hadn’t raised his hand—the one good one he had—or made any sign that he wanted to talk.
“No,” he said. “I’m good.”
“That bandage on your hand says otherwise. Do you want to tell us how it happened?”
When their trusty leader, Thompson, had been a no-show, Chance hadn’t thought much about it. They’d had stand-ins before, but never this Dennis person. Since a press release had gone out far and wide explaining exactly how he’d hurt his hand, Chance assumed everyone staring his way already knew the answer.
“Got cut on some glass,” he said. “Nothing to tell.”
“Were you drinking?” Dennis asked.
Chance ignored the kick in his gut. “No.”
With a doubtful look, the leader said, “Are you sure?”
“You’ve seen the news, just like the rest of us, Dennis,” Harmon cut in. “We know how it happened.”
“We know what the press says happened. I’m simply trying to find out if something else might have been involved. Admitting our wrongs is a vital part of this program. Continuing to maintain our moral inventory. That applies to all.”
Dennis wasn’t hunting for the truth. He’d already created the truth in his mind. The bad-boy chart topper had obviously gone on a bender and tossed himself through a window.
Leaning forward, Chance propped his elbows on his knees and locked eyes with the self-righteous asshole. “You want to know what I did wrong, Denny?”
“It’s Dennis.”
“I’ll tell you, Denny. I forgot to put the key to my front door back in its hiding place, so I couldn’t get into my house. The next thing I did wrong was try jimmying a window open to get inside. You know what I didn’t do, Denny? I didn’t touch a fucking drop of liquor.” Chance jerked to his feet. “So you can shove your moral inventory up your ass.”
Chance strode from the room before doing something he’d really regret. Every time. Every goddamn time he did anything, people assumed the worst. Fine. He’d fucked up a few hundred times. He wasn’t perfect, but who the hell was? He owned his shit. It was impossible not to when the whole world constantly threw it back in his face.
For ten minutes, Chance paced the hall outside the meeting room, fighting the urge to punch a hole through the wall. The only thing that stopped him was knowing he had only one good hand left. If he broke that one, his life would really suck.
“You good?” Harmon asked, when he found him stewing by the water fountain. “I’d have been out sooner, but I replaced Dennis as lead after you left. He won’t be taking that seat again.”
“What was his problem?”
Harmon tilted his head. “Somebody with an ax to grind. Or he doesn’t like celebrities. Maybe he just gets off on being a jackass. I don’t know. But you did well in there.”
“Bullshit.” Chance twirled the unlit cigarette in his fingers. He hadn’t smoked since the night of his birthday party. “I lost my shit. That isn’t handling anything.”
“I disagree. What you did was defend yourself by speaking the truth. Six months ago, you’d have broken his nose.”
“He hasn’t come out yet,” Chance quipped. “That’s still an option.”
Harmon plucked the cigarette from his hand and tossed it in the garbage. “Forget about Dennis. Let’s grab some lunch so you can tell me about that pretty girl I saw through the window this morning.”