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"I have a few scarves in my dresser," I say, pointing to the drawer. When I bought pretty swathes of silk in Paris, I never imagined using them for this, but now I think they're the best fashion investment I've ever made.
"Are you sure?"
I nod, and within seconds Chase is lightly fastening my wrists to my bed frame. He's always careful not to tie anything too tight, and the attentiveness he shows me in bed amazes me. He always puts me first, making sure I'm okay with anything and everything he does.
"Condom?" he asks.
"In the drawer."
"We used the last one last night."
"Fuck it. I'm on the pill."
He hesitates for a second but then smiles wide. "I'm clean, and I've almost always used a condom." He doesn't say so, but if I had to guess, I say the only times he hasn't used protection was when he was too young to know what he was doing. The thought sends rage coursing through my body, but I push it aside because it has no place here with us.
Chase leans down and kisses me as he pushes inside me. We let out a collective exhale. He's perfection. This is perfection. We are perfection.He was made for me.The thought filters through my brain, past the pleasure building in my body and settles over my heart. God, I love this man. He deserves to be loved like only I can love him, and I plan on doing it for the rest of my life.
His thrusts start slow as he runs his hands down my torso before settling them on my breasts. He squeezes them gently, and I bow into him, loving how his movements elicit pleasure from every inch of my body.
At first, he takes his time until I'm urging him to move faster. His pace quickens as he thrusts into me, and the desire to grasp onto him is so strong that I pull harder against my restraints. Pleasure pools in my core and low in my spine.I'm so close.Chase pounds into me with reckless abandon, hoisting my hips up to give him better access and the change in angle hits me just right. We're both out of control, pushing, pulling, and fucking until I feel Chase pulse inside me as he comes, and I strain upwards to follow him.
Unfortunately, my orgasm is cut short by the sound of silk ripping from my bed frame and wrist and the feeling of my fist punching myself in the eye.
"Ouch, FUCK," I scream.
"Shit, are you okay?" Chase quickly unties my other hand as I cradle my face with the one I just punched myself with. It still has part of my sky-blue scarf attached to it.
"What the fuck is going on in here?" Riley yells as she practically kicks open my bedroom door. Everyone pauses in a tableau of awkward horror. I'm sitting up naked, holding my half-tied hand to my eye, Chase's ass is out for the entire world to see, and Riley is just standing in the doorway, taking it all in like a voyeur. "What in the kinky fuckery kind of shit are you guys into?"
"Riley! Can't you knock?"
"You just screamed like someone was dying in here, and you want me to knock first?"
"She makes a good point," a masculine voice says from behind her. "It totally sounded like something painful was happening and not in a kinky good way."
"Is that Ozzy?" I ask Riley, raising the brow of my good eye. The one I just sucker-punched is already swelling. Chase discreetly pulls my bedsheet over us, but everyone's already seen everything.
"You bet it is," he says smugly, slinging an arm around Riley. And that's when I notice they're not wearing many clothes either. He smiles big, giving Chase a thumbs up before gazing at me. "Dude, what happened to your eye? Did Chase bukkake you? That's not very gentlemanly of you, Wilder. I at least give Riley some warning."
"Oh my god, shut up, Ozzy. I can't believe I slept with you,” Riley says, rubbing her temples like she has a headache.
"Again." I laugh even though the right side of my face hurts like a mother fucker. "You seem to be making a habit out of it."
"Shut up," she yells back at me, sticking her tongue out. "Ozzy, go get Lily some ice. I need to get ready for school. And you two, put on some damned clothes."
♥?
Chase
Lily looks ridiculous. Her cheek and eye are swollen, and she has a purpling bruise forming around it. It looks like someone sucker-punched her and gave her a black eye. And I doubt anyone would believe she did it to herself. In fact, Luke took one look at his sister this morning when she walked into the arena and immediately asked who he needed to kill. Holly and Avery wondered if maybe they missed someone throwing haymakers during Lily's brawl with Anna, and I just feel like a fucking idiot.
This is all my fault. I may not have thrown the punch, and even I can see the humour in this morning's events, but at the end of the day, Lily wouldn't have a black eye if I wasn't such a fucking mess. I need to get over myself. I need to leave the past in the past and be fucking normal for once in my life, which is why, for the first time ever, I'm going to talk to the team doctor.
Dr. Brooks is good people. She's professional and to the point, and she never lets any of us bullshit her about injuries. She's the sole reason most of us haven't had career-ending injuries or played through ones that could have caused permanent damage. If Stacy Brooks thinks you need time off to heal, she forces you to sit out. She never puts winning over a player's health, and she refuses to clear a guy to play unless she's one-hundred percent certain he's ready.
"Hey, Doc," I greet her hesitantly. I'm showered and ready to head up to the kitchen with the rest of the guys, but I hung back and waited for my opportunity to speak with her privately after our morning skate.
"Chase, how can I help you? Is something ailing you?" She smiles wide, looking me over, checking if I’m favouring a bad ankle or sprained wrist.
