Chapter 20

Chase

She’s laughing now, which is huge. It means that at least for now, she’s not preparing her speech about how this can never, ever happen again.

Let me lay this out there: I definitely want it to happen again. Sex like that—it doesn’t show up all the time. Or pretty much ever. When it does, it’s like Christmas. Sexmas!

Okay, I might be a little giddy. But to continue the Christmas analogy, it’s like I’m a kid who just found out his favorite toy has another feature. A really good feature.

She presses her hand to her mouth and says, between her fingers, “I kind of hate that you made me feel that good.”

I laugh. I know what she means. In our strange friendship, we’re not supposed to agree on much, and for a few minutes there, we were in about the most heated agreement possible. “You hate the way I do everything. So what’s one more thing?”

“I don’t hate the way you do everything,” she says, getting a faraway look on her face, and I feel a surge of good old male pride. “But seriously, Chase, I don’t know. I just don’t know about this. What if one of us gets hurt?”

I shake my head and roll my eyes. Women can talk themselves out of anything. This is Sexmas and she won’t even let herself enjoy it. Well, I can fix that.

“That’s an excellent question, but I have an even better question. What if one of us feels really, really good?” I glide the palm of my hand down the slope of her belly until my fingers part her lips and slip into her wetness. She gasps as two of my fingers penetrate her.

“Feel good?” I demand.

“Mmm-hmm.”

“You know what I bet would feel even better?”

“What?” she asks dreamily. Her eyes are closed, her lips parted, her hips tipping up. She is gorgeous. I can’t take my eyes off her face, the color rising there. I circle her clit with my thumb.

“My cock. Inside you. I’m just guessing. But tell me if you think I’m wrong.”

“I. Don’t. Think. You’re—Chase—”

I’ve curled my fingertips to find her sweet spot, and she gasps.

“That was a really good blow job,” I say conversationally to her, even though I’m not even sure if she’s listening anymore. She’s so far away, riding her own pleasure up, up, up. “Actually, let me be clear. That was the best blow job I have ever had. And there’s not a shortage of data. I’m not saying that to brag. I’m just pointing out that I know a good blow job, and blow jobs like that don’t grow on trees. So I’m guessing, based on that blow job, that fucking your pussy is going to feel even more amazing.”

She’s coming, arched and rigid, her mouth open in a silent scream, one hand gripping the covers, the other wrapped so hard around my arm it hurts.

“Huh,” I say, when she goes limp. “You like knowing how much you turn me on.”

“You’re so dirty.” She doesn’t sound upset at all about it.

“I don’t think that should surprise you.”

“No. Doesn’t surprise me.” She’s still breathless.

“I was just getting started. I can be dirtier than that. If you think you can take it.”

She opens her eyes. Levels me an unbelievably hot look. “Oh, I can take it all right. Where’d that condom go?”

You would not believe how much I want to sink into her. I’m hard again, hard like I was when she had me in her mouth, ready to take everything she can give.

She tears open the packet I hand her and rolls it on me. Thank God for the take-the-edge-off blow job, or I wouldn’t be able to let her do that.

She draws her knees up and opens her arms, and as I lower myself over her, I am surprised and a little unnerved by how serious it feels.

All the foreplay has made her swollen and tight, and I have to fight for control as I line myself up and push into her. As eager as I am to get inside her, I want to make it good so she’ll want to do it again.

Because oh my fucking God if I didn’t know it for sure before this moment, I know it for sure now: I’m going to do this as many times as she lets me, as long as she’s under my roof.