Page 11 of Haven Bound
“You pretty much just added garlic powder and pepper to everything,” I tease.
“You can never have too much garlic! It’s the reigning champion of all seasonings.” I don’t necessarily disagree, but it’s fun seeing her all riled up.
There’s a weight in my chest that has me aching for a past I should’ve had and a future that I never will.
8
Chelsea
“Austin, this looks sogood!” I’m practically dancing in my seat as he slides a bowl of homemade alfredo over my favorite pasta—cavatappi—in front of me. I can’t help the moan that escapes me when the first bite hits my tongue. There’s just something about pasta that will always be a comfort food.
After I’d met Hailey, her family welcomed me with open arms, and I swear they could tell whenever things were rough at home with my mom. Hailey and I were in our freshman year of high school when my mom’s mental health took a dive. The Anders family didn’t hesitate to take me in over the summer while my mom got the help that she needed. Help that required her being admitted to a behavioral health facility while they adjusted and readjusted her medication in an attempt to find the perfect chemical balance.
On my first night with them, Lara Anders made the most delicious macaroni and cheese that I’d ever tasted and told me that she was convinced there wasn’t a problem in the world that couldn’t be fixed by pasta. Even then, I knew that wasn’t true. Pasta wasn’t actually going to solve any of my problems, but at the time, her words gave me a sense of comfort that I’ve always held on to.
After a minute or so of dancing happily in my seat and eating a few bites of the delicious alfredo, I look up to see Austin’s eyes glued to me, his lips slightly parted as he holds his fork halfway to his mouth.
“What? Do I have something on my face?” I’m suddenly setting my fork down and reaching for a napkin. He sets his bowl on the counter, clearing his throat and bracing his hands against the countertop as his chin dips towards his chest.
Damn, he’s gorgeous.
I shift in my seat, a burning ache filling my core and causing my thighs to clench together.
“You can’t make noises like that, Chels.” His deep voice is barely above a whisper, and for a moment, I think I’ve heard him wrong. Then he picks his head up, our gazes collide, and I see the storm that’s swirling in his ocean-blue eyes.
I honestly didn’t even realize that I was making noises, but the heat in his eyes and the way he’s staring at me as though I’m his next meal tell me everything that I need to know. Holding his gaze, I slip from the barstool and start to walk around the corner to stand in front of him. Austin stands up from where his hands were braced on the counter and clears his throat as he breaks eye contact and says, “Wanna watch a movie? Or, if you’d rather just crash—”
“A movie would be nice,” I reply, cutting him off before he can finish whatever he was going to say. There’s no way I’m going to be able to sleep right now with the heat that’s coursing through me, and I’m not ready to say goodnight to him.
Austin’s hand grazes my hip as he moves around me and heads for the large sectional in the living room. I grab the blanket off the back ofthe couch and sit down, covering my lap with the blanket as I pull my legs up underneath me. He sits down right next to me as he brings up a streaming app on the TV and starts flipping through the movies.
His thick brown hair has been effortlessly styled, like he rubbed some gel between his palms and ran his hands through his hair, the sleeves of his charcoal gray long-sleeve have been pushed up to show his forearms, and I can’t resist running my gaze down the rest of his body. His fitted black jeans are pulled tight across his thighs and hips, and I watch as he reaches down to adjust his jeans, lifting his hips slightly as he does.
“Chels.” His voice startles me, and I realize I’ve been sitting here staring at him.
More like eye-fucking him.
“Hmm?” is all I’m able to respond with, my gaze shifting to meet his.
“Don’t look at me like that.” His mesmerizing blue irises are locked onto mine, a smirk tugging at his lips while one of his hands rests on his upper thigh near where my attention had caught. He moves the arm nearest me to rest across the back of the couch.
“Sorry,” I mumble, my cheeks heating as I turn my focus back to the movie he selected. I do my best to ignore the fact that his arm might as well be draped across my shoulders.
After twenty minutes or so into the movie, I finally allow myself to relax, letting my head tip back to rest against his arm. His fingers slowly start to play with my hair, and he seems to be absentmindedly twirling strands around his fingers, his focus remaining locked on the movie. The sensation of his fingers running through my hair has me struggling to keep my eyes open.
Austin’s hand grabs the back of my neck as he tugs me against him, his lips crashing against mine. I’m immediately grabbing for the front of his shirt and pulling him closer to me as his tongue swipes at the seam of my lips, seeking entrance. My lips part for him, a deep groan escaping him as his tongue glides over mine.
Releasing my grip on his shirt, I run my hands down his sides to his hips, finding the hem of his shirt and sliding my hands under it so that I can feel his skin beneath my fingertips. His muscles tighten under my touch as he groans, “Fuck, Chelsea,” before releasing the back of my neck and then trailing his hands down my sides until they reach my hips. He holds my hips tightly, dragging my body forward and encouraging me to grind against him.
I can’t help the whimper that escapes my lips at the feeling of his hard cock rubbing against me through the denim of my jeans. I’m desperate to have him closer, to feel his naked skin against mine. Austin grips the hem of my shirt, his blue eyes the color of a storming sea when they meet mine. I pull my bottom lip ever so slightly between my teeth and give a gentle nod, wanting so desperately for him to remove even one of the fabric barriers between us.
“Chelsea.” His voice barely above a whisper as his fingertips rub against the bare skin of my upper arm right below my shoulder. A soft whimper escapes me. I want to feel his hands everywhere. “Chelsea,” he says again, and this time I open my eyes, looking up to meet his gaze. “You fell asleep.” He smiles softly, continuing to run his fingertips over my skin. “I was trying to let you sleep, but the movie’s over, and I figured you’d be more comfortable in mybed.”
His bed?
“Your bed?” I ask, shifting to sit up so I can take in the quiet room. The television is off, and aside from a nightlight or two, the room is shrouded in darkness.
“Yeah, you can take my bed for the night. I’ll crash out here on the couch.”
