Page 85 of Check & Chase
“Thank you for sharing that. It’s not part of our… arrangement. You didn’t have to.”
“I wanted to.” Chase moves closer, his thumb tracing over my knuckles. “You make me want to share things. That’s dangerous.”
My mind starts racing. This isn’t what I signed up for. Everyone says Chase Mitchell is this cocky hockey player who can’t keep it in his pants around physical therapists. But here he is, sharing something deeply personal about his grandfather. Looking at me like I matter.
What if everyone was wrong about everything? What if the cocky attitude is just armor, the same way my clinical detachment is mine?
“Why dangerous?” I hear myself ask.
“Because it makes me want more than what we agreed to.” His eyes search mine. “What’s going on in that head of yours?” His voice is soft, concerned.
You’re what’s in my head. How you’re not supposed to be this person. How you’re not supposed to make me feel safe and understood.
“Just… stuff.”
Chase studies my face. “Well, you need to stop.”
“Stop what?”
“Overthinking. You get this little crease right here—” He touches the spot between my eyebrows. “—when you’re spiraling about something.”
The fact that he’s noticed such a small detail sends a flutter through my stomach. “I don’t spiral.”
“You absolutely spiral.” His thumb smooths over the spot he just touched. “Let me take your mind off whatever you’re thinking about.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“Come on, Blondie.” He takes my hand, leading me toward his bedroom. “Trust me.”
Stepping into his bedroom, I notice immediately that things have changed since the last time I was here. Navy and dark blue everywhere—a new comforter, matching pillows, even curtains that weren’t there before. There’s even a Bears decal on the wall above his headboard.
He leads me toward the full-length mirror in the corner, positioning me in front of it, his hands settling on my hips. I can feel the heat of his body pressing into my back.
“Look at yourself,” he murmurs, his voice low and commanding. “Look at how fucking beautiful you are.”
I try to avert my gaze, but his fingers grip my chin, forcing me to meet my own eyes in the mirror. “Don’t you dare close your eyes, Blondie. You’re going to watch every second of this.”
My breath catches as his hands slide up my sides, his fingers brushing the underside of my breasts through my sweater.
His lips brush against my ear. “You’re so fucking perfect, Emma. Every inch of you.”
His hands move lower, skimming over my hips before slipping beneath the waistband of my jeans. I gasp as his fingers find the edge of mypanties, teasing the sensitive skin there. “We shouldn’t be doing this,” I manage to say, though my voice is shaky.
Chase pauses, his eyes locking onto mine in the mirror. “Do you want to stop?”
I shake my head, my cheeks burning with embarrassment and desire.
“Use your words, Emma. Do you want to stop?”
“No,” I breathe.
“Good girl,” he murmurs. His fingers dip lower, sliding beneath the lace of my panties to find the slick heat between my legs. I moan, my eyes fluttering shut as he presses against my clit. “Eyes open. I want you to look at yourself.”
My eyes flick to the mirror, and I can’t look away. My face is flushed, my lips parted as I pant for air. Chase’s hand moves lower, his finger sliding inside me, and I cry out at the sudden fullness. He curls it, hitting that spot that makes my knees weak.
“That’s it. Fuck, you’re so wet for me.”
He adds a second finger, stretching me, and I moan loudly, my hips rocking against his hand. His thumb presses against my clit, rubbing in tight circles that send jolts of pleasure straight to my core.
