just above the line of her panties, before he began to trail his hand back upward. He rested his palm over her chest, reaching up and tracing her lower lip with his thumb.
She darted her tongue out, sliding the tip of it over his skin, tasting salt, tasting Chase. A flavor that was becoming familiar.
Then she angled her head, taking his thumb into her mouth and sucking hard. His hips arched forward hard, his cock making firm contact, sending a shower of sparks through her body as he did.
“You’re going to be the death of me,” he said, every word raw, frayed.
“I might say the same about you,” she said, her voice thick, unrecognizable. She didn’t know who she was right now. This creature who was a complete and total slave to sexual sensation. Who was so lost in it, she could feel nothing else. No sense of self-preservation, no fear kicking into gear and letting her know that she needed to put her walls up. That she needed to go on the defense.
She was reduced. She had none of that. And she didn’t even care.
“You’re a miracle,” he said, tracing the line of her collarbone with the tip of his tongue. “A damn miracle, do you know that?”
“What?”
“The other day I told you you didn’t look like a miracle. I was a fool. And I was wrong. Every inch of you is a miracle, Anna Brown.”
Those words were like being submerged in warm water, feeling it flow over every inch of her, a kind of deep, soul-satisfying comfort that she really, really didn’t want. Or rather, she didn’t want to want it. But she did, bad enough that she couldn’t resist.
But it was all a little too heavy. All a little too much. Still, she didn’t have the strength to turn him away.
“Kiss me.”
She said that instead of get the hell out of my house, and instead of we can’t do this, because it was all she had strength for. Because she needed that kiss. And maybe, just maybe, if they didn’t talk, she could make it through.
Chase—gentleman that he was—obliged her.
He angled his head, reaching up to cup her breast as he did, his mouth crashing down on hers just as his palm skimmed her nipple. She gasped, arching up against him, the combination of sensations almost too much to handle.
Yeah, she did not remember sex being like this. Granted, it had been a million years, but she would have remembered if it had come anywhere close to this. And her conclusion most certainly wouldn’t have been that it was vaguely boring and a little bit gross. Not if it had even been in the same ballpark as what she was feeling now.
There was no point in comparing. There was just flat out no comparison.
He kissed her, long, deep and hard; he kissed her until she couldn’t breathe. Until she thought she was going to die for wanting more. He kissed her until she was dizzy. And when he abandoned her mouth, she nearly wept. Until he lowered his head and skimmed his tongue over one hardened bud, until he drew it between his lips and sucked hard, before scraping her sensitized flesh with his teeth.
She arched against him, desperate for more. Desperate for satisfaction. Satisfaction he seemed intent on withholding.
“I’m so close,” she said, panting. “Just do it now.” Then it would be over. Then she would have what she needed, and the howling, yawning ache inside of her would be satisfied.
“No,” he said, his tone authoritative.
“What do you mean no?”
“Not yet. You’re not allowed to come yet, Anna. I’m not done.”
His words, the calm, quiet command, made everything inside of her go still. She wanted to fight him. Wanted to rail against that cruel denial of her needs, but she couldn’t.
Not when this part of him was so compelling. Not when she wanted so badly to see where complying would lead.
“We’re not done,” he said, tracing her nipple with the tip of his tongue, “until I say we are.” He lifted his head so that their eyes met, the prolonged contact touching something deep inside of her. Something that surpassed the physical.
He kissed her again, and as he did, he pulled his T-shirt over his head, exposing his incredible body to her.
Her mouth dried, and other parts of her got wet. Very, very wet.
“Oh, sweet Lord,” she said, pressing her hand to his chest and drawing her fingertips down over his muscles, his chest hair tickling her skin as she did.
It was a surreal moment. So strange and fascinating. To touch her best friend like this. To see his body this way, to know that—right now—it wasn’t off-limits to her. To know that she could lean forward and kiss that beautiful, perfect dip just next to his hip bone. Suddenly, she was seized with the desire to do just that. And she didn’t have to fight it.
She pushed against him, bringing herself into a sitting position, lowering her head and pressing her lips to his heated skin.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” he said, his voice rough. He took hold of her wrist, drawing her up so that she was on her knees, eye to eye with him on the couch. “We’re not finishing it like that,” he said.
“Damn straight we aren’t,” she said. “But that doesn’t mean I didn’t want to get a little taste.”
“You give way too much credit to my self-control, honey.”
“You give too much credit to mine. I’ve never...” She stared at his chest instead of finishing her sentence. “It’s like walking into a candy store and being told I can have whatever I want. Restraint is not on the menu.”
“Good,” he said, leaning in, kissing her, nipping her lower lip. “Restraint isn’t what I want.”
He wrapped his arm around her, drawing her up against him, her bare breasts pressing against his hard chest, the hair there abrading her nipples in the most fantastic, delicious way.
And then he was kissing her again, slow and deep as his hand trailed down beneath the waistband of her pants, cupping her ass, squeezing her tight. He pushed her pants down over her hips, taking her panties with them, leaving her completely naked in front of him.
He stood up, taking his time looking at her as he put his hands on his belt buckle.
Nerves, excitement, spread through her. She didn’t know where to look. At the harsh, hungry look on his face, at the beautiful lines of muscle on his perfectly sculpted torso. At the clear and aggressive arousal visible through his jeans.
So she looked at all of him. Every last bit. And she didn’t have time to feel embarrassed that she was sitting there naked as the day she was born, totally exposed to him for the first time.
She was too fascinated by him in this moment. Too fascinated to do anything but stare at him.
This was Chase McCormack. The man that women lost their minds—and their dignity—over on a regular basis. This was Chase McCormack, the sex god who could—and often did—have any woman he pleased.
She
