Chapter Seven

Lauren

A rumble of victorious laughter wells in my chest, the corners of my lips curving into a grin as I hear Chase rasp a curse above me.

I’ve got him now.

Ignoring the abrasive soil beneath my knees, I pop out the lone button of his jeans then pause to take in the sight before me, my heart and my breathing at a standstill.

There’s a tent in his dark blue boxers, a darker stain at the tip that’s straining against the cotton. If I breathe in, I can inhale the scent of sweat, soap, and something else that lightly resembles the smell of a cleaning product and crepe batter.

I press my nose against it, sniffing the soaked cotton and finding the scent both soothing and stimulating, a similar stain forming in my panties as my sex begins to throb. Then as carefully as I can with my shaking hand, I reach inside to wrap my fingers around his cock, freeing it.

It springs free before my eyes, its shaft about nine inches long and as thick as an unopened tube of toothpaste, the girth the same from tip to root. It curves outward, its engorged mushroom head pointing up and dripping.

I’ve never seen anything like it, the sight making my eyes wide and my heart pound. I swallow the lump in my throat.

Now what?

The alcohol has made me brave enough to flirt with him and take out his cock – maybe I am drunk – but now that I am faced with it, I realize I don’t know what to do. True, I’ve read books before where the hero and the heroine engage in something… naughty but they’ve never been detailed. Well, I know the heroine takes the hero’s cock in her mouth and savors it like some treat. But how exactly does it start?

“Lauren.” Chase says my name softly and I look up, meeting his clouded gaze.

I can see his nostrils flaring, a bead of sweat dripping down the side of his face.

“You don’t have to do this,” he tells me.

And that makes me want to do it all the more, whatever it is.

Staring back at his cock with wide eyes, I wrap my fingers around its base and slide them slowly up to the tip, feeling the smooth, firm skin and each pulsing, bulging vein beneath it. Nearing the tip, I feel something warm and sticky on my hand and I bring it to my lips, letting my tongue dart out to taste it.

It’s a little salty but unlike anything salted I’ve tasted before. I can’t quite place the taste so I take another lick, smacking my lips after.

“Well?” Chase asks.

I still can’t describe exactly how it tastes but I can honestly say I don’t mind it.

“It tastes better than beer,” I answer.

He grins.

I lean forward, gripping his cock and swiping the rest of the liquid with the tip of my tongue, all the way up to the soft head where there’s a puddle of it gathered.

Chase gasps, his hands gripping my hair.

I must be on the right track.

Opening my mouth wider, I stick my tongue out to let his cock slide across it and then wrap my lips around him.

His hips buck, his hands tugging on my scalp.

“Fuck.”

Closing my eyes and breathing through my nostrils, I take his cock inside my mouth slowly, inch by inch.

As my throat constricts around him, I gag, spitting him out and coughing.

“Lauren?” His voice drips with concern.

I don’t answer or look up, my eyes teary.

I just try again, relaxing my throat, telling myself that I can do this, that I want to do it.

This time, I don’t gag, though my throat burns and more tears spill out of the corners of my eyes. I must be doing something right, though, because I can hear Chase gasping for air, his fingers still in my hair.

I swallow around his cock and his knees shake, his hands moving to my shoulders.

“Fuck!”

Blinking away tears, I grip one firm cheek of his ass in one hand and wrap the other around his cock. I start moving my head back and forth, hollowing my cheeks and feeling the friction build between his cock and my tongue, my lips, the heat traveling through the rest of my body all the way to my toes. Saliva leaks out the corner of my mouth and dribbles down my chin. Something else leaks out of me, drenching my panties. Sweat covers my skin.

I’m hot, messy, and wet.

And I don’t care.

I move my head faster, my headband falling off. Chase gathers my hair, keeping it out of my face as he guides me. His hips start moving. His pants fall to his knees.

I keep going, the slurping sound I’m making adding to the chirping of the insects in the bushes.

He clutches my hair tighter, hips shaking.

“I’m coming, Lauren.”

He tries to push me away but I place both hands on his backside, burying my nails in the cotton and the soft flesh as I keep bobbing my head.

“Lauren!”

His hands move to the back of my head, keeping it in place as his cock pulsates in my mouth, his entire body trembling. I feel something warm explode on my tongue and on the insides of my cheek, some of it sliding down my throat.

His hips jerk then he lets my head go and I release his cock, swallowing the liquid swirling in my mouth. It’s a bit saltier, its taste stronger, but I still don’t mind.

I sit on the ground, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand as I catch my breath. Chase pants as he leans against a tree, pulling his pants back up and tucking himself back in. I catch a glimpse of the bigger stain on his boxers before he pulls the zipper of his pants up.

When my gaze meets his, I lick my lips.

“Now I’m drunk,” I say, grinning mischievously.

After what I just did, my naughtiness must have climbed up a few notches.

“Fuck, Lauren,” he mutters, kneeling beside me.

Gripping my hair again, Chase kisses me, his lips bruising, demanding what breath I’ve managed to catch. His tongue slips past both our lips to caress and battle with mine.

My hand on his cheek, I kiss him back.

A delicious shiver goes up my spine then heat surges down it, swirling in my sex that’s drenched in its own sweaty and sticky mess.

One of his hands reaches inside my dress to cup a breast through the lace and I give another shiver, gasping into his mouth. His hand slips beneath the thin fabric, his thumb finding my stiff nipple.

I moan.

Chase lays me down on the ground, leaves crunching beneath my weight. Then he stares at me and I gaze up to meet those eyes of blue flame, the moon and the stars shining far above his head.

He kisses my neck, his fingers traveling up one of my thighs and slipping past the hem of my dress. As his hand crawls beneath the denim, I hold my breath, my heart and my sex pounding in anticipation, my thighs quivering.

His lips move to the hollow of my throat as his fingers brush against my underwear, making me tremble. The breath I’m holding comes out as a sharp gasp as those long fingers stroke me through the drenched cotton, one of them grazing my sensitive nub.

My hands rake the leaves at my sides, my hips rising off the ground.

Chase buries his head between my breasts, planting a tender kiss there as he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of my panties. He pulls the piece of clothing down my legs and off one ankle then he moves lower, lifting my skirt and spreading my thighs to settle between them.

I lift my head, eyes wide.

Wait. He’s not going to lick me there, is he?

Holding my gaze, he grips my thighs, the hair on his jaws tickling them. A second later, I feel something soft and warm rub against my clit. My eyes fall shut, my head crashing down to the ground as my arms and legs shake.

Shit.

He licks my clit over and over, teasing the nub then he moves even lower, spreading my other pair of lips open to let his tongue delve between them.

I grab his curls and lift my head to let out a strangled breath, my trembling thighs closing around him.

That wicked tongue of his explores me without mercy as my body breaks into shivers, my mind spinning as I thrash my head from side to side. My toes curl and my nails scratch his scalp.

I can feel myself getting hotter in spite of the night breeze sweeping through my face. And wetter. I’m sure there’s a puddle beneath me by now even as Chase laps up what’s seeping out of my sex.

My heart is racing, my breath in gasps. My eyes moisten as I squeeze them shut.

“Chase!”

That’s the only warning I can give before my back arches, my toes digging into the soil and my hips pushing forward as I throw my head back. My fingers become entangled with his hair as I hold him fast, smothering him. Then just like a band of rubber that’s been stretched too far, I snap, my back, arms, and knees falling to the ground.

Through the wisps of hair swept over my face, I stare at the moon, my chest heaving as I force air back into my lungs.

Beside me, leaves rustle.

“Are you okay?” Chase asks, brushing the strands of hair off my cheeks.

I nod, not yet finding my voice.

He sits beside me and I reach for my underwear, lifting my hips to put them back on and pull down my dress. Then I just lie there, too tired to move. A lone firefly drifts above me and I give a contented smile.

I know I’m a mess. I know my dad’s going to get mad at me for drinking too much and I might probably regret what I just did.

Still, I don’t care. I’ve just had the craziest, most magical night of my life.

---

The next day, I wake up on a soft bed to bright sunlight seeping through the thin curtains.

I squint then rub my eyes, which grow wide as the creaky wheels of my head start turning and I realize it’s probably almost noon.

“Shit.”

I reach for the brass clock on the bedside table, its hands confirming my suspicion.

11:08.

As I sit up abruptly, I feel a throb on one side of my head. At the same time, pain shoots up my legs. The former is probably from drinking more than I should, the latter from walking too much or kneeling for too long.

That last thought conjures an image that makes my cheeks blush. I dismiss it, though, as I comb my hair, a hard task with all the tangles I have to deal with, some specks of dirt even caught in them. I remove as much of them as I can, taking note to use more conditioner when I take my bath later. Then I put on my shoes and head downstairs.

The living room is empty. The kitchen, too.

Even Smoke isn’t there.

There are dirty dishes in the sink, though, and a used bowl that has traces of batter on it.

I smell the batter. Pancakes.

Thank goodness my dad at least knows how to make those for breakfast. Or did Chase make them?

At any rate, my father must be angry enough that I came home drunk and woke up late so I quickly wash the dishes and then prepare lunch.

As I’m peeling the vegetables, I see Chase heading to dad’s old, green pickup truck. Putting down my knife and wiping my hands on my apron, I go after him.

Surely, after last night, I’m not supposed to stay away from him anymore.

“Hey,” I greet him as I approach.

“Good morning.”

Chase gives me a smile before loading a box on to the back of the truck.

“Though it’s almost afternoon already.”

“I know.” I sigh, my hands on my hips. “Was Dad mad?”

“He was grumbling a lot,” Chase answers, loading another box. “But I wasn’t really listening. So, how are you? Hangover?”

“A little.” I touch my head.

“Drink lots of water.”

“I will.” I approach the truck. “So, where are you going?”

“Billings,” he says. “I need to get some supplies for the farm.”

“Oh.”

My eyebrows crease. Don’t we usually get our supplies from Bozeman and not Billings? Besides, didn’t Dad just get some supplies last week? How quickly could they run out?

He’s lying. I know it.

There’s something else at work here, another secret he’s keeping.

I frown. After last night, he’s still keeping secrets from me. Unbelievable.

Just then, I hear a car approaching and as I turn my head and place my hand over my eyes, I see a patrol car coming down the winding driveway. Chase sees it, too, and at once, his eyes grow wide, the color draining from his cheeks.

“I have to go,” he mumbles, quickly getting into the truck.

He pulls away, the truck speeding off seconds before the patrol car comes to a stop.

A uniformed policeman, tanned and about six feet tall, gets out of the driver’s seat, turning his head to look at the truck.

“He’s in a hurry,” he says.

“He is,” I agree, watching the faded green truck disappear from sight, a hand clasped over the lower part of my face to keep myself from inhaling the cloud of dust it has stirred and left behind in its hasty departure.

What I don’t know is why. Why did Chase scurry off at the first sign of the cops? Is he a fugitive, after all? What crime has he committed?

“I’m Detective Allen from Billings PD,” the cop introduces himself, showing me his badge.

Billings?

“Do you live here?”

“Yes,” I answer, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear and smoothing the front of my apron. “What’s this about?”

“Don’t worry. I’m just going to ask you some questions.” He puts away his badge. “Well, one question really.”

He reaches into his front pocket for a picture and shows it to me.

“Have you by any chance seen this man around here?”

I take the photo, my breath catching. The man staring out from it has just shaved, his hair clean cut and neatly combed, his skin smooth and pale, but I would know those macaroon-colored curls and turquoise eyes anywhere.

Shit.

“Well?”

I pause, thinking. I know I shouldn’t lie to a police officer but every bone in my body is telling me I shouldn’t say anything about Chase.

Whoever he is, I intend to find out myself.

I shake my head, handing the photo back to him. “Why? Who is he?”

“Chester Donahue. I’ve received reports he might be in the area.”

Chester Donahue. Chase Donner. I’m sure it’s the same man.

“I’ve never heard of the name,” I tell the officer.

That, at least, isn’t a lie.

“And you haven’t seen him?” Detective Allen holds up the photo again.

“No.” I shake my head again. “I haven’t seen Chester Donahue. Why? Is he dangerous?”

The detective puts the picture back in his pocket. “I’m the detective, miss. I’ll ask the questions.”

I place my hand over my chest. “Sorry. I just got worried. There are only of a few us here and I’m well aware the ranch isn’t well-guarded.”

“I did notice that you don’t have an electric fence.”

“My dad doesn’t like it.”

“And that your gate is in need of repair. You might want to fix that.”

I nod. “I know.”

“Well, don’t you worry about Chester Donahue.” He takes out his wallet and hands me a card. “If you see him, just give me a call, and I’ll pick him up before he causes any trouble.”

I accept the card. “Sure.”

“Well, good day.”

He smiles as he tips his hat then goes back inside his car.

“Take care,” I call after him, waving.

He waves back then drives off.

I go back inside the house, sticking the detective’s calling card on the fridge. Then I rush upstairs, turning on my laptop and immediately typing the name Chester Donahue in the search box.

As before, I get plenty of results, most of them about different men. One, though, has the same photo Detective Allen showed me. My heart stops as I read it.

Chester W. Donahue, 29, passed away last Tuesday, May 22, of injuries sustained while hiking in the Pryor Mountains. He is survived by his mother and was predeceased by his father, Walter Donahue. Funeral services will be performed at the Silvermist Memorial Park on Monday, May 27.

I blink. An obituary?

Closing the page and the laptop, I toss away my apron and head to the bathroom to shower.

It’s time for me to find the truth about Chase.