Page 2 of Chase's Kind of Trouble
Even when nothing about this situation is logical.
She’s might as well be a star in the sky for how fucking far apart out world’s are.
But here I am…watching. Paralyzed. When all I can think about is how good it would feel, how right, having her beneath me.
On top of me. Too.
Bouncing those perky, ripe tits in my face while she whines my name and gushes all over my cock.
Don’t. Think. About. That. Idiot.
I shift in my seat, jaw tight as welded steel, and adjust myself, trying to ease the bite of my zipper. This is my life now.Fucked.
Been like this since the night she delivered my takeout to the register and checked me out. Since she smiled and called me sir like she didn’t even know she was handing me a loaded weapon.
Her taillights flash as she climbs into her sensible little Chevy sedan and rolls out of the lot. She drives slow. Always under the speed limit like she’s made of all the caution I was born without.
She’s delicate, beautiful, and soft. An angel on earth.
This obsession is fucking inconvenient.
But I can’t stop. In the pit of my gut, there’s a humming sixth sense. If I don’t watch and follow, and obsess, something bad is going to happen to this perfect creature.
This isn’t just lust, it’s much deeper and much more deadly.
I’m raked out of my desperate, disjointed thoughts when her brake lights flash unexpectedly. With a quick hit on the turn signal, the Chevy veers into the gas station at the corner.
The shitty one. No canopy. Just bare lightbulbs on a night with the rain hammering down in sheets.
I don’t think at all. Just flip into motion. Pulled by her magnetism, driven by chivalry.
Before she’s parked, I swing my truck into pumps on the opposite side from her car. Moving on auto-pilot, I kill the engine, shove my arms into my coat, and dive into the storm.
She hasn’t stepped out yet when I swipe my card and grab the nozzle.
Her door cracks open slowly. She peeks out, squinting through the downpour, an adorable scrunch to her nose.
I move in, taking control of the situation. With my coat hood low over my face, I gently tap on her door. “You can stay in there, ma’am. This one’s on the house.”
For a second, she just blinks, confused. The smile that follows nearly makes me swallow my tongue.
“Wow, thank you. I’ve had a long night, and you just made it so much better.”
“You’re welcome,” I croak with my head swimming.
Fuck. That smile, the way her luminous blue eyes dance. That sweet, unsuspecting sunrise is light in the middle of the darkness of my soul.
My spine lights up like someone just jammed a live wire into it.
I shut her door gently before I do something stupid.
Like crawl in there, kiss her until she’s drunk, drag her into the backseat, slake this raging hunger, and tell her every way I’m a scary bastard.
“Oh god,” I mutter as I ram the nozzle into her car a lot harder than I need to.
Jesus. I’m a fucking monster.Just tell her you’re worried about her. That your intuition is never wrong.
I pace while the pump ticks up slowly. Anyone who can see me probably thinks I’ve been snorting RedBull, pacing like a lunatic in an electrical storm.
