Page 180 of Check & Chase
“Y-yes—don’t stop—oh god—”
I flip us suddenly, laying her back on the couch, hitching one of her legs over my shoulder. The new position lets me go deeper, harder, and her eyes shut, a soft moan escaping her lips.
“Look at me,” I command, my voice a low growl, slowing my pace until she forces her eyes open. “I want to see you when you come, Emma.”
Her gaze locks with mine, pupils blown wide, cheeks flushed. I reach between us, finding her clit with my thumb, circling it in time with my thrusts.
“Oh god,” she whimpers, her walls fluttering around me. “Chase, I’m so close—”
“Come for me again, baby,” I whisper, leaning down to nip her neck. “Come on my cock. Let me feel you.”
She shatters beneath me, her body convulsing as she cries out my name. The way she tightens around me, clenching down with everything she has, pushes me right over the edge.
“Fuck, Emma—” I groan as I come deep inside her, thrusting once, twice, then collapsing against her chest, utterly spent.
We stay like that, tangled, breathless, sweaty and wrecked, my face buried in her neck, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on my back as we come back down to earth.
“I love you,” I whisper against her skin, the words I’ve been holding back all night finally breaking free. “God, Emma, I love you so much.”
She turns her face toward mine, eyes shining with tears despite her smile. “I love you too, Chase. I never stopped, not even when I tried to.”
I kiss her softly. “I know we have a lot to figure out still. The distance, our jobs, all of it. But we’ll find a way through it together. No more unilateral decisions, no more assumptions about what’s best without talking it through.”
“Partners,” she agrees, stroking my face. “In everything.”
“In everything,” I repeat, holding her close, feeling her heartbeat gradually slow to match mine.
Whatever tomorrow brings, tonight we’ve found our way back to each other.
And that’s the victory that matters most.
Emma
Chapter Forty-One
Iwake to the sound of Chase’s steady breathing beside me, his arm a comfortable weight across my waist. The digital clock on my nightstand reads 6:42 a.m.—too early to be awake, but my mind is already racing.
Chase Mitchell is in my bed. The Conference Finals MVP. The man who just led his team to the Stanley Cup Finals.
It still doesn’t feel real. Not the Bears advancing, not Jackson’s season ending, and certainly not the way Chase and I reconnected last night.
He stirs beside me, his arm tightening around my waist. “You’re thinking so loud I can practically hear it,” he mumbles into my hair.
“Sorry,” I whisper, turning to face him. Morning Chase is a sight to behold—hair rumpled, stubble darkening his jaw, blue eyes soft with sleep. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You didn’t.” He reaches up to brush hair from my face. “I’ve got team breakfast at ten, remember?”
“Mmm.” I press closer, relishing the warmth of him. “So we have time.”
His lips curve into a smile that makes my stomach flip. “Time for what, exactly?”
Instead of answering, I slide my hand down his chest, over the ridges of his abs, beneath the waistband of his boxers. His breath catches when I wrap my fingers around him.
“This,” I say, watching his eyes darken.
“Fuck, Emma.” His voice is strained as I begin to stroke. “You don’t play fair.”
“Never claimed to.”
