Page 61 of Check & Chase
I should. God, I should. We’re in public, surrounded by his teammates. This is beyond unprofessional, beyond reckless.
But the memory of his fingers inside me a year ago overwhelms all rational thought.
“Don’t stop,” I whisper.
He groans. “You’re going to be the death of me, Blondie.”
His hand continues its torturously slow ascent, fingers tracing the edge of my lacy thong. My head falls forward against his shoulder, eyes closing as I focus on the sensation.
“Look at me,” he commands, his voice low but firm.
I obey, lifting my gaze to his. The intensity I find there steals my breath.
“I want to see your face,” he explains, his fingers finally slipping beneath the lace to find me hot and embarrassingly wet. “When you come for me. Again.”
The first touch of his fingers against my clit sends a jolt through me so intense I have to bite my lip to keep from crying out. It’s been too long, and I’m too sensitive, too keyed up.
“Fuck,” he breathes, his eyes darkening as he feels how ready I am. “You’re soaked, Emma. Is this all for me?”
I should be embarrassed by how eager my body is. But the look on his face banishes any shame.
“Yes,” I admit.
Surprise flashes in his eyes before he captures my mouth in another searing kiss. At the same time, his fingers begin to move, circling my clit.
I gasp into his mouth, my hips jerking at the sensation. He swallows the sound, his free hand tangling in my hair as he kisses me deeply, his tongue matching the rhythm of his fingers between my legs.
Around us, the party continues—music pulsing, bodies moving, nobody paying attention to the couple in the corner. The risk should terrify me. Instead, it only heightens the intensity.
He breaks the kiss, his breath ragged against my ear. “That’s it, Blondie. Ride my hand. Let me make you feel good.”
I comply, unable to resist the commanding tone. My hips rock in small, subtle movements, chasing the friction as he slips one finger inside me, then another.
“Chase,” I gasp, the pressure building rapidly. “I’m close.”
“I know,” he murmurs, his thumb finding my clit as his fingers curl inside me, hitting that perfect spot that makes stars explode behind my eyelids. “Let go, Emma. Come for me.”
And I do, shattering against him, my face buried in his neck to muffle the sounds I can’t contain. Wave after wave of pleasure crashes through me, my inner walls clenching around his fingers as he works me through it, drawing out the orgasm until I’m trembling and oversensitive, clinging to him for support.
“That’s it,” he soothes. “So fucking beautiful.”
Eventually, the intensity recedes, leaving me boneless and dazed in his arms. He withdraws his hand slowly, and the sight of him discreetly wiping his fingers on a cocktail napkin should not be as erotic as it is.
Reality begins to seep back in as my breathing returns to normal. We’re at a party. Surrounded by people. I just let Chase finger me on a dance floor where anyone could have seen.
Panic starts to rise, but he seems to sense it, his hand coming up to cup my face gently.
“Hey,” he murmurs, his eyes searching mine. “You okay?”
I nod, not quite trusting my voice yet.
“No regrets?” he presses, a hint of vulnerability in his expression.
I should have regrets. Should be mortified. But the truth is, I don’t regret a single second.
“No regrets,” I confirm.
The smile that spreads across his face is worth any potential fallout. “Good.”
