Silk whispers across my forehead, against my temples, down the side of my face. I try to stretch and realize I can’t. Something prevents me from moving. The blankets are pinned on either side of me. I can’t move. I can’t move! I gasp for breath and scream. My heartbeat speeds up, and I start to panic and struggle.

“Shhh, baby, there you are. You’re finally awake.”

Chase’s voice penetrates the layer of fear, calming me instantly. I breathe in and out a few times. The panic eases. For a scant moment, I was back there. Back to when I awakened tied to the bed against my will. The room is dark, though I can still see Chase’s sly smile. He’s in the same suit from this morning and distractingly handsome. I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. The rest of the anxiety trickles out the edges of my pores as I inhale his woodsy scent. His fingers slide along my temple and he cups my chin. He pets the apple of my cheek, which is probably still twice its normal size.

“What time is it?”

“It’s six. I’m taking you out. Get up. Get dressed.”

A sigh escapes. “I told you, I was tired. I’m not going out.” I stick to my guns, though Chase’s nearness sends all pretense of a defense crumbling into a pile of mush. When he’s close, I just want to be with him. Alone, it’s easy to pretend what’s happening between us isn’t real.

He brings his mouth down for a slow luxurious kiss. Mmm, this man can kiss. He slowly sweeps his mouth across my lips and nibbles on the plump lower one. I groan as he deepens the pleasurable assault. His tongue enters my mouth, sweeping along mine. He tastes so good. Like a perfectly ripe strawberry. I know he’s using my lack of restraint when he’s touching me to get what he wants. Sneaky bastard.

I twine my fingers through his thick dark hair, scraping his scalp lightly. He groans while sliding one hand against my chin to turn my head, delving deeper. He swipes his tongue languidly against mine, and I feel that tingling down low in my belly. God, I want this man. Just as I grip at his waist to pull his shirt out of his pants, he pulls away.

“Seriously?” Frustration seeps out in a snarl.

“Gillian, as much as I’d like to fuck you right now, you’re in no state.”

I roll my eyes in disbelief. He’s the only man in the universe with a conscience.

“Believe me, I want to sink my dick so far into you, you won’t know what hit you, but it would be taking advantage.” He stands and tucks his shirt back into his slacks. “I’m taking you to one of my restaurants this evening. I’ve had a dress sent over.” He grabs a box that he must have brought in because it wasn’t there when I went to sleep.

“How did you get in here?”

He shrugs. “My hotel.”

“Do you ever take no for an answer?”

“Rarely,” he admits. “Now slip this on.”

He holds the box out, but away from the bed, so I have to get out of bed to retrieve it.

Two can play at this game. I smile coyly, and his eyebrows rise into sculpted triangles. He has no idea what he’s in for. I pull back the covers and stand tall in a royal blue bra and thong matching set and nothing else. The cups of the bra are see-through, leaving nothing to the imagination. My pale pink nipples have hardened and puckered through the sheer fabric. His mouth opens and closes on a gasp. He takes a deep breath, and those ocean eyes scan me from head to toe before zeroing in on my chest.

I grab the box from him and delight in the knowledge that the second I turn around, he’s going to see bare ass with only a tiny wisp of lace above my tailbone and a string across each hip holding the garment in place. I turn and sashay toward the bathroom.

“God, woman! You’re going to be the death of me!”

In a second flat, he’s behind me, one hand on my ass gripping and squeezing the cheek, the other cupping a breast, pinching the nipple through the sheer fabric, elongating it further. My back is smashed against his front. He kisses the side of my neck, across my shoulder blades, ending at the opposite shoulder, where he bites down, leaving a slight indentation in the skin. I moan and melt against him as he soothes the bite with his tongue and lips.

“You smell so good. Baby, I’ve never held back before, and it’s killing me.”

The breath against my ear sends shivers down my spine and a new bout of need through my core. His fingers do wicked things to my nipple, and I moan, leaning against him harder, pressing and rubbing my ass into his growing erection.

“Then don’t hold back,” I goad.

He pulls back and slaps my ass. I shriek and jump forward.

“Get dressed,” he says with finality, and adjusts his crotch.

Gritting my teeth, I enter the bathroom. Closing the door, I take a firm hold of the sink, gripping the tile. I have never wanted to make love to a man more than I do right now. He’s driving me insane waiting. After a few deep breaths, I’ve cooled the fevered emotions and hormones his mere presence sends raging. Looking in the mirror at my reflection, I go cold.

I haven’t really looked at myself since the attack. Unfortunately, I’ve seen this woman before, and she’s hideous. My cheek is still swollen, though it is not nearly as noticeable as last night. There’s a garish purple-and-yellow bruise forming and spreading along my cheek into my hairline and up to the bandage over my right eye. I pull at the sterile strips, removing the bandage completely, and take a good look at the stitches. There are five stitches accompanied by a sticky dark orange substance surrounding the area. It’s the iodine they used to prep the area before stitching it. It’s not the first time I’ve been sewn up after an attack. Hopefully, the last though. I sigh. How many times have I looked in the mirror at this ugly woman? Too many to count.

I wash away the iodine, and the area looks better. The doctor did a good job stitching up the wound. Maybe it won’t scar. Concealer helps to hide the bruise and discoloration. I pull up my hair and pin it into a messy bun with the longer layers sweeping across my forehead and cheek. That serves as a nice cover to the wounded area and hides the stitches quite nicely. It’s the best I can do. I hate that I’m an expert at covering up bruises and wounds. Too many years of practice. But not anymore. I shake the thought away. Now’s not the time to go digging into the past.

Opening the box, I pull out the garment Chase brought for me. Extravagant would describe it best. I’m pretty sure I’ve never worn anything so exquisite. It’s a deep chocolate with a high neck that will cover the cuts and bruises at my throat. I slip it on, clip the back, and the dress falls to just above the knee. It delicately hugs my curves. The silk fabric feels like flowing water on my skin, it’s so soft. I look at myself in the mirror and do not recognize the woman staring back. The dress is stunning and makes me look elegant. Chase might actually be proud of having this woman on his arm.

The entire back opens in a cowl-style hanging just above my bottom. The little dips above my sacrum wink into sight as the fabric sways over them with the slightest movement. Awkwardly, I remove my bra.

I’m happy he came for me, even though I tried to push him away. In this dress, I feel like myself. The pounding headache from earlier is gone, thanks to the long nap and double dose of meds, but now I’m ravenous. Hungry for both food and Chase. Though, if Chase sticks to his ridiculous no hanky-panky policy, I’m only going to be satisfied with one.

I slide a sheer glistening gloss over my lips and exit the bathroom. Chase is sipping a glass of wine. He hands me a glass and grasps my hand, twirling me around to inspect the dress.

“You’re an incredibly sexy woman, Gillian.” His voice is seductive as he trails one finger along the open back, caressing my spine from nape to tailbone.

Goose bumps appear across my flesh, and I hold in a moan, biting my lip instead.

Boldly, he dips his fingers into the back of the dress to trace the tip of my thong. “I love that I’m the only man who gets to do this.”

“Chase, the things you say,” comes out breathy and labored. I go to the closet and pull out a pair of nude peep-toe heels, relieved that I packed the perfect staple shoes. They go with anything and everything. I step into them, and the additional few inches of height make me feel better immediately.

“I have one more thing for you,” he says.

I take another sip of the wine and set it down on the side table. He hands me a bag with Louis Vuitton emblazoned on the outside.

“Why are you buying me things? You hardly know me,” I ask nervously.

“Because I want to. If I want to buy a beautiful woman nice things, I will.”

I gaze into his eyes and see honesty there. “Thank you,” I reply, not knowing what else to say. Mom always told me that when someone does something nice you, just say thank you. Don’t question it. Just be grateful they thought of you.

I open the bag and find a sleek black midsized purse. It has medium-length handles and is square. Very minimalist. It’s exactly what I would have picked for myself. The style and color will easily go with most outfits. He has excellent taste, and it is a lovely, thoughtful gesture after mine was stolen last night.

I smile and look at him grinning. “This is amazing, Chase. Really, thank you.” I pull it out and hold it next to me. The price tag drops over the side of the strap and I catch the amount. Oh. My. God. “You spent eleven hundred dollars on a purse! This is too much.” I push the bag toward him as if it has suddenly grown teeth.

He doesn’t take it and it drops to the floor in a beautiful leather heap.

“Chase, the purse that was stolen probably cost me fifty dollars. This is more than my share of rent for a month!” I’m breathing too fast. I swallow slowly and try to avoid the mini-panic attack. I look up at Chase. His teeth are clenched and that little muscle in his jaw is ticking.

“You deserve nice things, Gillian. I can afford it,” he says almost mockingly.

“I don’t want your money!” I stare at him in disbelief.

“I know.” His statement is matter of fact. “Boggles the mind.” He shakes his head and smiles. “Come. Dinner waits.” He picks up the purse and hands it to me.

Chase is a man used to getting his way. I don’t stand a chance against him. I’m going to need a new strategy if I’m going to guard my heart and my morals. We are so not done with this conversation though. I cling to the purse and grab a light jacket.

In the limo, I’m still flustered and irritated. Now I’m wondering how much he spent on this dress. It would probably horrify me. Does he typically just burn money? There are so many better uses for it than material things. It is a lovely purse, though. The leather is buttery soft, the style perfect to go with any dress, and it even has a name written on the inside lining. Madeline. I guess if you’re going to charge eleven hundred dollars for something, you might as well name it.

Chase twines his fingers with mine, bringing our hands palm to palm. Energy buzzes between us instantly.

He leans over and whispers, “I can’t stop thinking about your ass in that blue thong. I’m looking forward to licking and spanking every inch of it when you’ve healed.”

He bites the tender flesh of my earlobe, sending a zing straight to my core. Did he say spank? I’ve never been spanked before. Hit with intent to harm, but never spanked for pleasure. Not sure if I’d like it, but if Chase is naked and doing the spanking, I’ll give it a whirl. He places a leisurely kiss against my shoulder. It’s an intimate gesture from someone who’s only known me a couple days. I’m having a hard time with how much of my attention this man has in such a short time.

We reach our destination, and I am wired for sound. With little touches and caresses, the man has me on sexual pins and needles. Men have not paid attention to me the way Chase does. Maybe because I never let them. Chase seems to watch every move, every subtle nuance—the flick of my hair, the shake of my foot. Everything. It is as if he is intimately in tune with my natural self.

Sex spills from his lips as he speaks and in the way he inches his body closer to mine. I want to climb into his lap and stay for a week. There is this heavy, needy ache that fills the air around us, stifling with its unfulfilled intent. If he doesn’t put me out of my misery soon and take me, I fear I’ll explode. Icarus flying to close to the sun. I look at the flesh of my arms and legs to ensure they aren’t sizzling and burning already, sitting so close to white-hot fire.

We arrive at the restaurant, and Chase escorts me up a narrow staircase, his hand firmly planted on the bare skin of my lower back. I can hear the melodic lull of a piano playing as we enter a large space filled with white columns and hardwood floors. My heels click against the dark surface. A catacomb of open rooms makes each dining space seem small, intimate. The walls are a soft, buttery yellow, the light so low that the room glows. The walls have few adornments, only a couple of pieces of large art hanging on one wall. Tall skinny vases stand like sentinels along the wall, and giant sticks poke out in every direction. A simple frosted glass lights each table with a small orchid lying alongside it. Golden leather high-back seats nestle against a cappuccino-colored table. It’s very simple and a complete contrast to the bar we went to last night. It has an Asian-inspired spirit to it.

People talk quietly at their tables. Everyone is dressed impeccably. Chase caresses my lower back, his palm pressing lightly against the naked flesh to usher me forward.

“Mr. Davis, it’s lovely to see you tonight,” says a man in a structured black suit.

“Thank you, Jeffery. I would like my table. We will be staying for dinner. Please tell the chef to prepare a seafood dish for two.”

I tug on his suit coat. He leans in. Whispering into his ear, I respond, “I don’t eat seafood.”

“Really? None at all?” He looks at me quizzically.

“No.” I bite my lip and check my pedicure. Yep, still looking good. No chips in the pink paint.

“Hold that, Jeffery. This stunning lady does not eat seafood. What would you like, baby?”

Baby again? A girl could get used to that endearment. “I’d give anything for some pasta.” I grin and lick my lips.

He brings his thumb up to gently pet the moist flesh, stealing my breath. His eyes go dark, his gaze intense as he studies my face.

“Don’t lick them, or I will,” he warns.

I nod. Excitement swirls in my gut at his words. Would he lick me right here in the middle of a restaurant with everyone watching? If I were a betting woman, I’d say the odds are a complete and resounding yes.

“Apparently the lady would like some pasta, sans the seafood. I will have the same.” He makes a tsking sound. “What this woman does to me.” He shakes his head and leads the way with his hand splayed along my back.

I can’t focus on anything because his finger is distractingly close to the fabric of my thong. He’s definitely ramping up the seduction. I’d give in with a loud “take me” if I thought he would go against his earlier decision to wait.

The maître d’ leads us to a secluded table set apart from the other patrons. It’s separated by a wall of dark plantation-style shutters. Chase pulls out my chair. I don’t think in all of my twenty-four years I have had a man pull out my chair. It’s so noble and old-fashioned. It’s part of what makes this mercurial man unique, so…special.

Wine appears without Chase ordering it. “I took the liberty of bringing you the newest selection, sir,” Jeffery says confidently.

“Have at it, my friend.”

I love how Chase is jovial and respectful with his staff, especially after what I thought was rudeness to the bartender the other night. He claims it was his impatience to ensure I’d have a drink with him. I choose to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Jeffery pours the wine.

Chase sips it. “You’ve done it again. It’s perfect and will go well with the pasta.”

The maître d’ fills our glasses and exits, closing the shutters, providing complete privacy.

He clinks our glasses together. “To us,” he says.

My cheeks heat as I tap his glass then take a sip. The wine is to-die-for splendid. This is the third time I’ve had a glass of wine in Chase’s presence, and every last one was incredible.

Chase smiles as I assess the legs in the glass of red. “So, Gillian, what does a typical day for you look like?” he asks and takes his own sip of wine.

I’m about to answer but am interrupted by the buzzing of my phone from the new purse. “Just a sec.” I check and realize I have six missed calls. Not good. The text display is from Maria.

Oh, no. She knows. Shit! This is not going to be good.

“Everything okay?” Chase asks at the same time another ping rings out from my cell phone.

I glance down, reading the text.

I look up at Chase with what must be a miserable expression because his gaze fills with concern. “Um, looks like the girls found out about last night?” Another ping. I roll my eyes. Not now! I look down. It’s Kat. I sigh loudly.

“What the hell is going on?” Chase’s voice rises above the static of irritation swirling around my subconscious.

Damn that Phillip!

I turn my phone off and concentrate on him. “They found out. I’m going to kill Phillip tomorrow,” I say, annoyed. Phillip can’t just leave well enough alone. I should have never told him. No, that was never an option. I should have told him not to say anything to the girls so that I could tell them first. Preferably after they’ve had a couple glasses of wine. None of us take kindly to the other being hurt and being mugged at gunpoint… I take a huge gulp of my wine and am momentarily assaulted by the lush berry notes. It’s delicious.

“Who found out? What did they find out?”

I wasn’t planning on going into detail about my family. Technically, they’re not my blood, but they are the only family I have and they are fiercely protective.

“The girls. Phillip must have told Maria what happened. Now they’re all freaking out and blowing up my phone.”

“Gillian, back up. Who are the girls?”

I light up at the mention of my soul sisters. I miss them terribly. My huge grin must have set him at ease because his eyes twinkle as he smiles at me. “This could take a while,” I joke.

“I’ve got all night, especially when you have that gorgeous smile on your face. Tell me about them.”

Jeffery brings a cheese, olive, and meat appetizer that pairs perfectly with the wine. After a few nibbles, I explain the loves of my life.

“Maria De La Torre is half Italian, half Spanish. Very feisty. She’s the most incredible dancer you’ve ever seen. Watching her dance is like”—I fan my hands and arms out, trying to show it—“watching a painting come to life. It’s breathtaking.”

He nods.

I continue, “We’re roommates. We’ve lived together the past couple years, but have been friends for half a decade.” I stop a moment when the memory of that first meeting invades my mind.

We were both black-and-blue, sitting quietly with a group of other battered women who’d escaped their bad relationships. The other women were there to coach us. But neither of us felt a connection to them. They looked perfect, didn’t have a scratch. Even though they said they’d been in our same chair a time or two, Maria and I looked at one another and clasped hands. Right then and there, I knew we’d support one another for life.

“You’ve got this glazed look in your eyes. Tell me.” Chase breaks into the memory.

I smile, trying to recall where I was before I took a detour down memory lane. “Maria just has a fire in her. When you’re near her, she’s warm and comforting. She traveled the world dancing until she had uh…an accident.” I settle on accident. I don’t intend to go into the details behind the particular event that almost ruined her career. “But she’s back to her old self and working at the San Francisco Theatre with one of the local dance companies.”

“Incidentally, I know the company and the theatre well. Beautiful architecture,” he says.

I nod. “You should see one of her shows. Everyone is impressed when they see her talent.”

“Looking forward to meeting her. Maybe tomorrow when I take you home from the airport?”

“Sure.”

He smiles before plopping in a bite of meat and cheese. “Continue.”

And I do because it’s fun and easy to talk about my girlfriends. “Bree Simmons owns ‘I Am Yoga’ in downtown San Francisco. We met several years ago when I took up yoga. She’s absolutely gorgeous, flexible.” I waggle my eyebrows at him.

He laughs.

“She has the voice of an angel. She will bring any grown man to his knees through her songs, flexibility, and huge heart. But what is so amazing is that she doesn’t even have a clue about her beauty.”

“Neither do you.”

I tilt my head to the side.

“Gillian, you’re gorgeous. You have no idea of your own beauty.”

I’m fairly certain my cheeks are back to being rosy as I smile shyly, take another bite of Brie cheese, and think about how funny it is that I’m talking about Bree and eating Brie at the same time. I tell Chase, and we both laugh.

“Is that all of them?” he questions.

I shake my head. “You know about Phillip, now.”

His eyes darken, almost slamming a shutter down over the easy conversation but I forge on, determined to bring it back.

“Last, but most certainly not least, is Kathleen Bennett, otherwise known as Kat. She’s reserved, quiet, and the most talented costume designer in the business. She does the costume work for the San Francisco Theatre. I met her through Maria. I like to think of her as my tree-hugging comrade because she cares so much about the earth and the environment. We both do, but she’s very green.”

“Being green is excellent,” he says.

“True. I like doing my part.”

“Is that all of them?” he asks with the most stunning smile.

“Those are my soul sisters.” I grin and twirl my fingers around the stem of my wineglass.

His eyebrows knit together. He waits for me to continue but it’s hard talking about my family, or lack thereof.

“I don’t have any siblings or family besides my biological father. I don’t see him much. They are all I have. We support one another through everything.”

Chase sips his wine. “They sound wonderful. I’m looking forward to meeting them.” His tone is sincere.

I wonder if he will really be around long enough to be introduced. “Wait until they get a load of you. You might want to go after those three beauties. Two hot blondes and a brunette. More your speed?”

He frowns. “Don’t compare yourself to any woman. I. Want. You.” His eyes are heated, daring me to comment.

“Why, Chase?” I hate how small my voice sounds.

“A woman hasn’t caught my eye in years. I don’t date, never bring them to my home.”

My mouth drops.

He looks away. “Hell, most women I meet I bed within hours.”

I can imagine how any woman would fall willingly into bed with him. Also it explains why he assumed what he did when we met. He’s the real living version of Superman. Hell, bedding him is all I can think about right now. I squeeze my legs together, relieving a bit of the throbbing ache he’s left me with since waking me.

Chase continues, “Gillian, I take women to one of my hotels, fuck them, and go home.”

I process this information and shake my head. It doesn’t make sense. He took me to his room last night. Lay in bed with me. Took care of me through the night. That’s the sweet knight in shining Armani I know. Not this callous womanizer.

Chase takes a deep breath. “All I can think about with you is bringing you to my penthouse in San Francisco and locking you away with me for a week. I’m not sure what is between us, but I’m committed to finding out why I’m so drawn to you.” He frowns as if he doesn’t like what he said.

“And then what? Are you going to love me and leave me too?” My voice is meek, so unlike the strong person I’m trying to pretend to be.

He shakes his head. “I haven’t yet, and I’ve had ample opportunity.” His gaze is intense, daring me to argue.

He could have had me several times and didn’t. What does that mean?

“I slept better next to you last night than I have in years, even waking every couple hours to take care of you. I’m still trying to understand it.” He covers my hand with his, and his thumb caresses the pale skin, tracing smooth circles.

I shiver and pull away, feeling a bit awkward and insecure.

Jeffery comes in with our pasta dishes. They’re beautiful. The pasta has a cream or white sauce with sprinkles of fresh herbs and sits in a square plate. A perfectly white orchid nestles at the side with a sprig of rosemary. It’s almost too pretty to eat, but I twirl a long noodle around my fork and taste anyway. It’s out of this world good. I moan around the cheesy goodness. The food is indescribable.

Chase watches me intently. “I love watching you eat. The sound coming from those ruby lips makes my dick hard.” He licks his lips solicitously.

Will I ever get used to him, his candor, and the intensity? I feel like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff. A subtle gust of wind will topple me over the edge at any moment.

“Tell me about your family, Chase.”

He wipes his mouth with his napkin, sips his wine, and rests his elbow on the table. “I spent most of my childhood and teen years living with my Uncle Charles on my mother’s side. He was a widower taking care of my four cousins, Craig, Carson, Cooper, and Chloe.”

I giggle and he stops, that sculpted eyebrow going into a curious point. “You all have a name that starts with C?”

“Yes, and we all share the surname of Davis.”

That’s odd. He said his uncle was his mother’s brother. Wouldn’t Chase have his father’s name?

“My uncle and his nannies raised me from the time I was seven until I was eighteen and went off to Harvard. My cousin Carson was already there. He’s two years older than I am.”

“So what’s the difference between the ages of the five of you?” I take another bite of the creamy pasta.

“Craig is thirty-five. Carson, thirty-two, Cooper is thirty. We’re about the same age. I turn thirty this year. Then Chloe is the baby. She’s twenty-seven.”

“Are you close to them?” His large family sounds interesting. I’ve never known the love of a big family. It was mostly just me and mom growing up. Now, it’s me and the girls, and of course Phillip.

“I respect them. I’m close with Carson. Craig is married and living in New York. I see him when I’m traveling for business or checking on one of my companies. Chloe is a fashion designer and in and out of Europe, so I don’t see her as much as I’d like. She has an incredible eye for detail. I have a couple suits she designed for me when she was dabbling in menswear. Mostly, she designs for women.”

“I’d love to see her work.”

He smiles and nods.

“What about Cooper?”

He looks away, his teeth clench, and his jaw muscle starts to twitch again. “Coop and I used to be very close, but not any longer.” He twists noodles around his fork and eats them.

I expect him to continue after he’s done, but he doesn’t. Sipping my wine, I wait patiently, hoping he’ll finish what he was saying. An uncomfortable vibe crackles in the space around us.

“I don’t want to talk about Cooper.” He looks down and fiddles with the pasta on his plate.

I’m not going to press it. I’d rather he not press me for information about my past either. “Okay.” I shrug, trying to be nonchalant.

The tension dissipates as we grin over our wineglasses and eat. It’s comfortable sitting with Chase, talking about our upbringing. My belly has warmed from the wine, and I take a moment to analyze his features. The way his dark brown hair whisks across his forehead makes me want to brush my fingers across it. His eyes gleam like a multicolored opal. He has a five o’clock shadow, making him look edgy. I’d like to drag my tongue across that lower lip and feel the prickles of the overgrown stubble. Chase’s gaze catches mine, and power exudes from him like a tornado. I’m powerless against the pull.

His large hand comes over mine on top of the table and he turns it over, running his index finger from the crook of my elbow to my palm. A tremble runs through me at the simple touch. He trails his fingers along the expanse of skin again as I look into his eyes. They burn with intensity and—as he’s told me not to do—I lick my lips.

He stands with a jerk and is around the table in a nanosecond. He hauls me out of my chair and against his chest. One large hand cups the back of my head, and he crushes my lips to his. I open my mouth to allow him access. He plunders my mouth fiercely with deep swipes of his tongue. We’re all lips, teeth, and tongue, arms desperately pulling at one another. His left hand trails warmly down my bare back and dips into the opening of my dress. He slips under the fabric of my thong to grip my sex from behind while he grinds his erection into my belly. When he slips one long digit into my center, I cry out. Before I can object, he adds a second finger and thrusts in and out. Instantly my sex clenches around the intrusion. His mouth swallows my cries of passion and desire.

Chase pulls away and trails wet kisses along my hairline, behind my ear, punctuating his movement with a nip to the chin. Talented fingers continue their glorious torture, and I grind against his hand.

He laughs as he whirls his tongue around the edge of my ear. “Eager to come, are we?” he says huskily.

“Yeah.” It’s the only coherent thought I can mutter. My eyes are tightly closed, my mind solely focused on those fingers delving so deep. In and out, tug and clench. My pleasure soars and hits that effervescing peak. I’m ready to explode at any moment. I feel wanton and desperate for release, even with the knowledge that at any moment Jeffery could enter and catch us in a compromising position. The exhibitionist in me moans and gasps at a particularly hard thrust. It feels as though he’s reaching to the farthest depths within me. He crooks his fingers, rubbing against the inner wall. Bursts of need spike in all directions, and I become a lifeless doll, clinging to his shoulders, my body shaking all over as he jerks and tugs at the tiny knot of nerves, as if he is wringing it out of me by force.

Chase’s other hand covers my breast, and he zeroes in to pinch and twist the nipple. Fresh ribbons of heat fly down to my sex, coating his fingers with my essence. The fabric of my dress adds an extra layer of tension against the tight peak he’s plucking. I groan and slide my hands up his back into that sexy hair. I drag his mouth to mine and bite his plump lower lip, sucking it inside. His hand leaves my breast, and I groan in frustration. His fingers steadily pump into me. Wetness drips around the apex of my thighs.

“You are so wet. God.” He inhales, his nostrils flaring. “I can fucking smell you,” he growls and nips at my neck.

I moan and gasp when he speeds up. I’m so close, but I need something more to tip me over the edge. “Are you ready to come for me, my lovely?”

“Chase, please!” I beg.

“Look at me, Gillian.”

My eyes meet his. He’s stunningly beautiful. His brow is tight, jaw clenched as he focuses on my pleasure. Slowly, he trails the hand that was twisting my nipple down the front of my dress. He scrunches up the fabric, finding my wet center. He winks and opens his mouth on an exhale as his fingers press down on my clit. He twirls two fingers around the hardened nub.

“Come for me, baby.”

He presses hard on my clit, his fingers reaching so far into me I scream out in release. It’s too much, too good. His kiss swallows the noise, and I ride the ephemeral waves, gripping him tightly as my entire body detonates. It goes on and on as he pinches my clit and tickles my insides, extending the orgasm while wave after glorious wave consumes me.

When those beautiful fingers leave my sex, he holds me against him, both of our chests moving up and down with great effort. I lean my face into the crook at his neck, the woodsy citrus scent so strong I stick out my tongue and lick along the tendon. He groans and hugs me tighter to him. God he tastes good. Like man and sex.

“It’s mesmerizing watching you come,” he whispers in my ear. “I plan on seeing that expression a lot more in the very near future.”

Someone clears his throat behind me, but I don’t turn around. I have no idea how much he may or may not have seen or heard. Instead, I choose to keep my heated face cowering in Chase’s neck where I kiss and lick the surface as I breathe deep, letting my heart rate slow.

“Dessert, Mr. Davis?”

I look into Chase’s face. His desire shines strongly in those beautiful orbs. He brings his fingers to his mouth, and I watch with intense fascination as he sucks the two digits that were inside of me clean. He closes his eyes as if he’s in pure bliss.

Finally he answers Jeffery. “No, thank you. We’ll be leaving shortly.”

My heart may have actually stopped. Never in my years of having sex has a man been so blatantly graphic or sexually stimulating. I knew in that moment, he was going to take me to heights I’d only ever dreamed of experiencing. I could hardly wait.

“It was lovely having you visit, sir. Until next time,” Jeffery says with his eyes down as he leaves.

“Nothing will be as sweet as you.” Chase kisses me languidly.

I’m sure a blush is roaring across my cheeks and down my neck. The Irish blood in me does no favors at hiding the way I react to him.

As we walk through the restaurant, Chase holds me tight to his side. Several patrons wave, but he doesn’t stop. He’s on a mission. I can only hope it’s to conquer me back at the hotel.