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He groans—a desperate, tortured sound.
‘Tell me to stop,’ he murmurs against my mouth.
I smile wickedly, loving what I’m doing to him. His mouth opens for me, and his tongue sweeps in, explorative and teasing. I nip at his bottom lip, and his hands tighten on my arse, sending a jolt of excitement through me.
I work my fingers through the gel in his hair, making it wild again, before my hands roam over his shoulders, the tensed muscles of his pectorals, to his stomach and the corded abs there, feeling his skin burn my palms. He shudders beneath my touch, and lightning skitters up my arms, setting my hairs on end, sending my heartpounding—
He dips his head, his hair tickling my cheek, as he kisses a trail up my neck, gentle caresses that leave flames in their wake. I bite my lip and tip my head back, giving him better access. My hands delve lower, my fingers hooking into the waistband of his pants. I pull him against me as I pop open the button—
He tenses, his lips going still on my skin. When he pulls back to look at me, his cheeks are flushed, his lips pink and plump. ‘Are you sure?’ His voice is rough, laced with need. Desperation.
I nod.
He stares at me, his throat working as he smooths back a stray lock of my hair. He leans in and kisses me, just once, before his hands wrap around my thighs and he lifts me off the counter. He walks us to my room—hisroom—feeling for the door knob frantically and shouldering it open.
He shuts it with my back against it. His body is flush against mine, pinning me, and at this angle his cock presses into me, exactly where I want it to be. I moan his name into his mouth, and he groans, gasping mine right back.
I don’t want anything between us. Not time nor space and most definitely not clothes.
Chase seems to agree, too.
He kisses a line down my throat, his hand coming up and behind to loosen the stays of my dress. I don’t think I’ve ever been worshipped like this. Devoured. Explored. I’ve been consumed by Archer, taken and satisfied, but never like this.
Chase takes his time, kissing everywhere his hands touch, caressing every inch of skin. It’s exquisite as it is torturous.
He pulls away from the door and sets me down on the bed, crawling on top of me, holding himself aloft by his hands. That curl falls across his forehead as he looks down at me, panting.
‘You’re so fucking beautiful,’ he whispers.
My heart swells. I can’t help but beam at him.
His eyes follow the movement of my lips, and he bends to kiss them before he moves to my chin, my throat, my chest. He watches me as he trails his hand softly down my calf, and I expect him to go higher—needhim to—so I bite my lip, but he smirks, his hand coming to my foot.
He quirks a brow. ‘Who wears boots to a wedding?’
I giggle, and his eyes light up at the sound.
Gently, slowly, he removes my boots and lets them fall to the floor. And then he grabs my hands and hauls me up. I let my dress pool around my ankles, and he’s not looking at my face anymore.
He falls to his knees before me, and I’m so glad I wore my black thong tonight.
He drags his mouth up my legs, shooting tremors all over me. His fingers hook into my underwear as he looks up at me. ‘I love you,’ he breathes. ‘Every part of you.’
He kisses my stomach as he lowers my thong. His hands come around to squeeze my arse, holding me in place, and he moves his mouth lower, lower, lower still—
I throw my head back, my hands fisting in his hair, as his tongue licks up my centre. It undoes me, shatters me, ignites me.
He pushes me back onto the bed and nudges my legs open, placing my feet on the mattress. His eyes are dark, the pupils blown wide, and they’re hungry. Fucking starving. His hand comes up to tease my nipple, flicking it and twisting it, and it makes my clit tingle, makes me clench and gasp and moan and swear. He brings his mouth down on me again, and I arch off the bed, my hands in my own hair. His tongue laps at me, plunges inside me, massages my clit in slow, agonising circles.
‘Chase,’ I gasp.
The hand on my thigh clenches. He raises his head, breathless. ‘Say my name again,’ he growls.
I say it as he plunges a finger inside me, and it comes out as a scream.
His gaze moves between his hand and my face, watching his finger pull out of me before plunging it in again, watching my face for my reaction. I writhe, curl my toes, fist my hands in the duvet. I need to touch him. Need him inside me—
He adds another finger, easing it in. He curls them as he does, hitting that spot, drawing a moan from me.
