Page 1 of Chasing Forever
Chapter One
Lottie
A protective arm drapes over my back, anchoring me to the plush bed as my legs slide effortlessly along the soft sheets. Heat radiates from the body beside me, luring me into its warmth. I turn and burrow into him without hesitation. As if he answers my unspoken need, his arms welcome me, and I melt into his side. Our legs tangle together, perfectly woven, as though we’ve done this a thousand times.
This isn’t my reality, but damn if I’m going to try to wake myself up from such a beautiful, intoxicating dream.
His thigh shifts—strong, deliberate—pressing between the apex of my legs just enough to send a jolt of pleasure straight through me. I don’t resist the urge to move, shamelessly grinding against him, taking what I need. A shiver of exhilaration coils in my core as his lips find my forehead, their touch featherlight.
It’s been so long. Too long since I’ve let myself feel this—wanted, cherished, adored. Dare I say, loved. That elusive, unattainable feeling I’ve abandoned the hope of ever finding. And yet, here, wrapped in his arms, the dream feels so real.
Our bodies move in silent agreement, a slow exploration of touch. My fingers trace the hard lines of his chest, mapping every inch of him, while his fingertips ghost along my spine, sending delicious shudders through me. No words are spoken, but the heat between us is a language all our own.
He nudges me onto my back, hovering above me, his solid frame grinding me into the mattress. His strong thighs part mine effortlessly, positioning himself between them, claiming the space as if he belongs there. As if he always has.
It’s been so long. But god, it’s never felt like this. No one has ever felt this right.
My hands roam across his broad shoulders, desperate to pull him closer. His lips brush mine, too fleeting, too teasing.
“Show me those beautiful brown eyes,” he murmurs, his voice a hushed whisper, his breath mingling with mine.
That voice, there’s a familiarity to it I can’t place.
He chuckles, and his mouth captures mine again, but vanishes too soon. “Wakey, wakey.”
That drawl. That unmistakable Nebraskan drawl.
My eyes snap open.
Panic jolts me upright, and my head slams into his. I press a hand to my forehead, wincing as splintering pain ricochets through my skull.
“Fuck!” he groans.
My heart pounds as I scan my surroundings, but nothing—nothing—about this space is familiar.
“What the hell are you doing?” My voice is hoarse and raw.
I scramble back against the headboard, pulling my knees to my chest, one hand still gripping my head as if that might piece some thoughts together as to why Brooks Watson was just lying on top of me.
Brooks flies off the bed, completely naked—and damn.
I blink.
Don’t look. Don’t look.
I look. Then I look a second time.
That’s the body that’s been hiding under his sheriff’s uniform all these years? Sure, I’ve noticed the way his biceps stretched his sleeves, how his arms—tattooed and solid—commanded attention. But this? The sharp V-cut of his waist, the valley of abs, the corded muscles?
Brooks Watson is hot as hell.
For a second—just a second—or maybe two—I stare, unable to stop myself from admiring the view. Until reality slaps me in the face.
You’re ogling Brooks Watson.
“What the hell happened last night?” I stretch my legs out in front of me, gaze darting around the room, looking for something, anything familiar. My attention lands on a sofa—then a coffee table. My stomach drops, and my pulse stutters. “Wait. My room doesn’t have a sofa. Or a coffee table.”
Brooks exhales sharply, tilting his head back, squeezing his eyes shut from the pain of my forehead hitting him. He’s not listening to a word I say.
