Memorizing

CHASE

I hooked my fingers into the waistband of her underwear and dragged them down slowly, watching her face the whole time. She lifted her hips to help. The black fabric slid down her thighs, over her knees, off her ankles, and dropped to the floor.

Naked.

Completely, devastatingly naked in my bed.

I settled between her thighs and looked—really looked. The soft curve of her stomach. The faint lines at her hips. The dark, glistening heat between her legs. Every inch of her had been burned into my memory all summer, but memory was nothing compared to this.

“You’re staring again,” she breathed.

“I’m memorizing.”

“You have the worst lines.”

“You’re still here.”

Her laugh broke into a moan when I pressed my mouth to her inner thigh.

I kissed the soft skin there, then the other side. Higher. Slower. Teasing because I could feel how badly she wanted it and I wanted to make her wait—just a little longer.

“Chase.” Her voice cracked. “Stop teasing.”

“Make me.”

Her hand fisted in my hair and yanked me exactly where she needed me.

I laughed against her, low and dark, then gave in.

My tongue found her.

The taste of her slammed into me like a drug I’d been starving for. Familiar. Devastating. She was already soaked, slick and hot, and within seconds I could feel it on my chin.

I licked her slowly at first—broad, flat strokes from bottom to top so she felt every inch of my tongue. Then I focused on her clit, circling gently until her thighs started to tremble around my head.

She was loud tonight.

No pillow. No bitten lip. No trying to stay quiet. With the door locked and Marcus gone, she let every sound out.

And those sounds—God.

Soft, broken moans that climbed higher with every change in rhythm. Whimpers when I sucked her clit. Gasps when I slid one finger inside and curled it against that spot I’d memorized in the pool house.

“Another,” she panted. “I can take it.”

I added a second finger.

Stretched her carefully. Felt her body resist for half a second before she opened around me like she was made for this. For me.

I fucked her with my fingers while my tongue worked her clit, never stopping until her thighs clamped around my head, her hand yanked my hair hard enough to sting, and her voice shattered on my name.

“Chase—I’m—oh God—I’m—”

She came hard against my mouth.

Her back arched off the bed. Inner walls pulsed around my fingers. I felt the sudden rush of heat against my tongue and groaned into her because the taste of her orgasm nearly dragged me over the edge with her.

I worked her through it—slower now, gentler strokes as the aftershocks rolled through her body. My fingers stayed inside, feeling every flutter, every squeeze.

When she finally went limp against the mattress, I pressed one last soft kiss to her clit and crawled back up her body.

Her face was flushed. Hair wild across my pillow. Eyes glassy. Lips parted. She looked wrecked in the most beautiful way possible.

I kissed her. She tasted herself on my tongue and moaned, hands cupping my jaw, pulling me deeper.

“I need you,” she whispered against my mouth. “Inside me. Now.”

I was still in my jeans.

The realization hit like a bad joke.

She noticed. Her hand slid down my chest, over my stomach, and found the button of my jeans. She worked it open, then the zipper, then her hand was inside my boxer briefs, wrapping around me.

“Fuck—Sloane—”

She stroked me once. Twice. Her thumb circled the head, spreading the wetness already leaking there, and my hips jerked into her grip.

“You’re going to kill me,” I said against her neck.

“You’ve earned it.” Her voice was soft. Almost tender.

I kicked off my jeans and briefs in one frantic motion, reached for the nightstand drawer, and grabbed a condom. Tore it open with my teeth because my hands were shaking too hard for anything smoother.

She watched me roll it on. Her eyes darkened.

I settled between her thighs again. Her legs came up around my hips, ankles locking at the small of my back, pulling me closer.

“Ready?” I asked.

She answered by reaching down and guiding me to her entrance.

I pushed in slowly.

The stretch was immediate. Tight. Perfect. She was still so warm and slick from her orgasm, but I had to fight every instinct not to slam home. I went inch by inch, pausing when her breath hitched, moving when she relaxed.

“You’re so big,” she gasped, and the words lit something primitive in my chest.

I bottomed out and held still, forehead against hers, our breaths mingling.

“Move,” she said.

I pulled back slowly and thrust in.

She gasped.

I did it again. And again. Building a deep, deliberate rhythm, each stroke hitting as far as I could go.

The bed creaked beneath us.

I didn’t care.

I drove harder, grinding my pelvis against her clit with every downstroke. Her nails raked down my back. I hissed and fucked her deeper.

“Yes—right there—don’t stop—”

I wasn’t stopping. Not tonight.

I braced on one arm and hooked her thigh higher around my waist. The new angle let me sink even deeper. She cried out—raw and desperate.

“Quiet,” I growled against her ear, even though I didn’t mean it. Even though I wanted every sound.

“I can’t—you feel too good—”

I kissed her, swallowing her moans while my hips kept that relentless pace.

She came again.

I felt the sudden clamp of her walls, the way her whole body locked up beneath me. I fucked her through it, barely holding on myself.

But I stopped.

Because I wasn’t done.

She blinked up at me, dazed. “Why did you—”

“Roll over.”

Her eyes widened, but she didn’t argue.

She turned onto her stomach. I pulled her hips up until she was on her knees. The curve of her ass in the lamplight was almost too much.

I thrust into her from behind in one long stroke.

She screamed into the pillow.

This angle was deeper. Harder. I could feel every inch of her wrapped around me, and the sight of her arched back, fingers twisted in the sheets, ass pressed against my hips, nearly undid me.

I gripped her hips and started moving—hard.

The sound of our bodies slapping together filled the room. Wet. Rhythmic. Obscene. The bed frame slammed against the wall with every thrust.

I didn’t care who heard.

“You’re mine,” I gritted out. “Say it.”

“Chase—”

“Say it.”

“I’m yours.” Her voice broke. “I’m yours. Only yours.”

Something inside me snapped.

I drove into her faster. Harder. Chasing something bigger than release—something that had been building since the night she threw hangers at me and I realized she was the only person who’d ever really seen me.

She pushed back, meeting every thrust, and the pressure sent fire down my spine.

I reached around and found her clit, rubbing tight, fast circles while I fucked her relentlessly. She shattered almost instantly—third orgasm crashing through her so hard she collapsed onto her elbows, face buried in the pillow, screaming my name.

Then she pulled off my cock and dropped to the bed.

I ran a hand through my hair, breathing hard. “What? You can’t take it?”

She didn’t answer. Instead she shoved at my shoulder until I rolled onto my back. Then she straddled me, knees on either side of my hips, looking down with an expression that was half nervous, half fierce.

“My turn,” she said.

A slow smile spread across my face.

Nothing had ever looked sexier.

She reached behind her, found my cock—still rock-hard and aching—and lined me up. Then she sank down.

Slowly.

Inch by inch.

Her eyes fluttered shut. Her mouth fell open on a silent gasp. When she was fully seated, thighs flush against my hips, she opened her eyes and looked straight at me.

“Fuck,” I breathed.

She smiled—small and wicked.

Then she started to move.

Slow, grinding circles at first, rolling her hips so her clit dragged against me. I gripped her waist and let her set the pace, watching pleasure build across her face.

She was stunning like this. In control. Taking exactly what she wanted.

“Touch me,” she said.

I reached up and cupped her breasts, thumbs brushing her nipples. She moaned and rode me faster, bouncing with growing urgency.

Head thrown back. Breasts swaying. The wet, slick sound of her body taking mine over and over.

I sat up, pulled her against my chest, and drove up into her while my mouth found her nipple again.

She cried out and ground down harder.

“Chase—yes—right there—”

I thrust up to meet her, setting a brutal rhythm that had us both gasping. The headboard slammed against the wall like a metronome. Marcus was definitely going to give me hell tomorrow.

I didn’t care.

She was close again. I could feel it in the tremble of her thighs, the flutter around my cock, the desperate sounds spilling from her lips.

“Come for me,” I growled against her throat. “Come on my cock.”

She shattered.

Her body went rigid. Walls clamped down so tight I almost lost it. She screamed—muffled against my shoulder—and I held her through every wave, hips still moving, drawing it out.

When she finally went boneless in my arms, I flipped her onto her back.

Legs over my shoulders. Bent nearly in half.

“I need more,” I said. “Can you take more?”

Her eyes were glassy, wrecked. But she nodded.

I thrust deep.

She sobbed—overwhelmed, overstimulated—but wrapped her legs tighter around me. I set a punishing pace, each stroke slamming home, my pelvis grinding against her swollen clit.

“You’re so fucking tight,” I groaned. “So perfect. You feel so good around me.”