I rest my head on his chest and listen to his heartbeat. Strong. Steady. Real.
“Chase?” I say softly.
“Yeah?”
“What happens when this is over?”
He doesn’t answer right away.
I can feel his chest rise and fall under my cheek. Feel the weight of the question settle between us.
“I don’t know,” he says finally. “But I know I don’t want you hurt. Or scared. Or alone.”
I swallow. “That’s not an answer.”
“No,” he admits. “It’s just… the part I’m sure about.”
I close my eyes. I don’t want to talk about cities and jobs and miles between us. I don’t want to talk about reality yet. I just want this moment. So I say, “Okay,” and stay where I am.
I feel safe here. Cherished. Wanted in a way that still makes my stomach flutter.
His fingers drift higher on my thigh, not quite innocent anymore. I shift, pressing closer, and that’s when I feel him—hard, thick, straining against the front of his jeans where my hip is nestled against him.
“Fiona,” he murmurs, voice already rougher. “You keep squirming like that and I’m gonna lose it.”
Heat floods my cheeks, but I don’t pull away. Instead I tilt my head back, meeting his eyes. They’re dark, pupils blown, that hungry look I’m starting to recognize.
“Then lose it,” I whisper.
Something snaps in his expression. One second he’s holding me gently; the next his mouth crashes down on mine, hard and claiming. I moan into the kiss, hands fisting in his shirt as his tongue strokes deep, tasting like coffee and him. He shifts us in one smooth motion—lifts me, turns me so I’m straddling his lap, knees sinking into the cushions on either side of his hips.
“Fuck, baby,” he growls against my lips. “Look at you. Already grinding on me like you can’t wait to get filled up again.”
I whimper, rocking instinctively. The friction of his erection against my core, even through layers of clothes, sends sparks shooting up my spine. My shorts are thin cotton; I can feel every ridge of him.
He yanks my tank top over my head in one rough pull, tossing it somewhere behind us. My bra follows a second later—unhooked and gone before I can blink. His hands are everywhere—cupping my breasts, thumbs flicking my nipples until they’re tight, aching points.
“These pretty tits,” he rasps, dipping his head to suck one into his mouth. “Been thinking about them all damn day. How they bounce when you ride me. How they taste when you’re dripping wet and begging.”
I arch into his mouth, fingers threading through his hair, holding him there. “Chase—please?—”
He switches to the other nipple, biting just hard enough to make me gasp. “Please what, sweetheart? Use your words. Tell Daddy exactly what this needy little pussy wants.”
The word—Daddy—still makes my whole body clench with embarrassed heat, but god, it turns me on. “I want you inside me,” I breathe. “Now. On the couch. I don’t care.”
He groans, the sound vibrating against my skin. “That’s my good girl. So fucking eager.”
His hands go to my shorts. He doesn’t bother pulling them down all the way—just shoves them and my panties to the side, exposing me. Two thick fingers slide through my folds, finding me soaked.
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters. “You’re fucking drenched. This all for me? This tight little cunt dripping just from sitting on my lap?”
“Yes,” I moan, hips chasing his fingers. “All for you.”
He circles my clit once, twice—teasing—then pushes both fingers inside me, curling them deep. I cry out, head falling back.
“Look at me,” he orders.
I force my eyes open. His are locked on my face, watching every reaction as he pumps his fingers slow and filthy.