Page 47 of Chase

“Me too,” I whisper against wet salty lips. “Me too.” Now, I need to pray she wants me enough to stay once all the options are on the table.

Chapter eighteen

Connor’s Apartment, The Level

Samantha

This man is everything. He offers a future I never believed I could have—one filled with love and hope. After everything that’s happened, he’s willing to give me a chance to figure out what I truly want. Sitting on his lap, I lay my head on his shoulder as he plays with a strand of my hair.

“How long until we need to leave to collect, Russell?” I ask him, and he smiles.

“Not long enough for what you’re thinking.” His lips touch mine momentarily. “It’s been a week since you were in my bed; I want to savor every touch. We aren’t rushing it.”

“But…” I protest, and his teeth nip my ear.

“No,” he says, firmly. “Do you understand? No.”

“Yes, sir.” His cock pulsates beneath my ass, and I shuffle to create a little friction. He groans, but strong hands lift me to my feet.

“No,” he repeats as his hard dick strains against the material of his jeans. He stands, then takes my face in his hands to kiss me again. “Every part of me wants to fuck you right now, but we have places to be. And you need to eat.”

“Eat?” I question, cocking my head to the side as I glimpse up at him.

“Yes, eat.” His hands move to my waist, and he flexes his fingers. “You’ve lost weight this past week. It’s not good. Before we go to the hospital, I’ll make you something.”

“I already had breakfast,” I tell him, waving away his concerns.

“Maybe today.” His fingers grab my chin, tilting my head back so I look up at him. “But you’ve not been eating every day, have you? Otherwise,” the hand on my waist pinches my skin, “you wouldn’t have lost any weight.”

“I haven’t been hungry,” I whisper, sullen at being scolded. “It’s been stressful.” He takes my hand, then leads me to the kitchen island before lifting me onto the counter. I open my knees, and he stands between my legs. Memories of our past encounters here flit through my mind, and my mouth dries in anticipation of what could happen next. I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him to me.

“Not today,” he warns, stepping back and encouraging my legs to release him. “You need real food.” I watch as he moves around the kitchen and starts to pull items from the shelves. Three eggs, a bottle of milk, baking soda, and flour are laid out on the counter one by one. He ducks out of sight, then appears once more with a bowl and a whisk. “Pancakes?”

“Sure, whatever is easiest. Can I help?” He signals to a cupboard behind me, and I jump down from the counter. “What do you need?”

“The scale, please,” he says, and I open the door, my eyes searching for the requested equipment. I spot it on the lowest shelf and have to bend to collect the machine. “Nice ass.” I giggle at the unexpected compliment, but when I straighten, I pretend to scowl in annoyance. “It’s true,” he says, “you have a lovely ass.”

“Thanks,” I mutter before walking over and placing the scale on the counter beside him. He hands me the bag of flour. Before I lose my bravado, and while spirits seem high, there’s something else I need to come clean about. I had considered contacting him to tell him about the conversation I’d overheard, but I hadn’t had the nerve with everything going on. “Connor,” I say, and he meets my eye. “I need to tell you something. The other night when I was at the hospital, there was an incident.”

“I know,” he says. “Russ told me.” Taken aback, I gawk at him. “You honestly didn’t think he wouldn’t. Your safety is a priority for both of us. We can all discuss what happened later, and you can both fill me in on the details. One hundred grams of flour,” he orders, gesturing to the bag in my hand. “Stop thinking about it right now; let’s just enjoy being you and me.” He flashes me an encouraging smile. “Criminals and dubious situations will always be there. They can wait until we enjoy our pancakes.”

“How many pancakes are you making?” I ask, relieved by his reaction to my withholding yet more information from him. He glances at me.

“I don’t know, but it’s the only recipe I have. Normally I get ten or something.”

“I won’t eat ten pancakes!”

He laughs, then bumps my hip with his. “It’s the only recipe I have,” he repeats. “Don’t worry, I’ll eat some.”

“You did go to school?” He turns to face me, then places both hands on his hips, leaning forward so our noses touch. “You know how to divide by two? That way, you would make fewer.”

Without a word, he pinches some flour from the bag I’m holding then flicks it upwards. The powder floats into the air, landing over us. When I look down, my top is covered. My eyes snap up to his. I take the bag in my hands and shake the open end at him. Flour flies everywhere, covering him from head to toe.

“Oh, you’re in trouble,” he says menacingly and steps toward me. I dash around to the other side of the island. We stare at one another across the counter. “Do you think this.” He taps the obstruction with one hand. “Will stop me taking what’s mine?” I bite my lip to hide my smile, reveling in the fact he called me his.

“You’ll have to catch me first,” I tell him, then make a run for the bedroom. As I burst through the door, I quickly attempt to slam it shut, but strong hands stop its progress barely inches from closing. I stand on the other side, both hands pressed up against the wood. Connor pushes on the other side, and it cracks open a fraction more.

The pressure relents for a moment before being applied more forcefully. I step back as the door gives way. “Am I getting closer to catching you?” he says, chuckling. At a standoff, we both lean against the barrier between us. I know if he wanted to, he could push his way in here, but he doesn’t. He enjoys this game as much as I do.

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