Page 86 of Check & Chase
“That’s it, Blondie,” he murmurs. “Let me hear you.”
His words send a shiver down my spine, and I moan again, louder this time. His thumb never stops moving, circling my clit with relentless pressure that has me teetering on the edge of release. My hands grip the edge of the dresser, needing something to anchor me.
Just as I’m about to come, his fingers slip out of me, and I whimper. “Chase…”
“Mmm,” he hums, his lips brushing against my neck as his hands move to the waistband of my jeans. He tugs them down slowly until they pool around my knees. His fingers hook into the lace of my panties next, pulling them down too, leaving me completely exposed in front of the mirror.
“Fuck, Emma,” he murmurs. “Your pussy is so fucking perfect. I could eat you out for hours.”
His tongue drags up my slit slowly, and I gasp, my hands instinctively flying to his head, tangling in his hair. He does it again, swirling around my clit before dipping lower to tease my entrance.
“Chase,” I whimper, “don’t stop.”
His thumb finds my clit, rubbing it in tight circles while his mouth stays locked on me. The combination is overwhelming, and I cry out, my body arching as the pleasure builds.
“That’s it, baby,” he growls against me. “Ride my fucking face. Take what you need.”
I do as he says, grinding against him as he devours me. He doesn’t hold back, dragging me higher and higher until I’m teetering on the brink.
“Chase, I’m so close,” I moan.
“Come for me, Emma. Let me taste you.”
His words push me over the edge, and I come with a scream, my body convulsing as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over me. Chase doesn’t let up, his mouth and hand working me through it until I’m a trembling mess.
When he finally pulls away and stands up, he looks down at me, cupping my face in his hands.
“You’re fucking incredible,” he breathes before crashing his lips to mine in a searing kiss. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, claiming me completely, and I melt into him.
Fuck the ground rules.
Chase
Chapter Seventeen
“You’re sure about this?” Emma studies the papers in her hand, brow furrowed. “The MRI still shows significant healing needed in the lateral section of the ligament.”
“But the stability tests are all positive,” I counter, trying to keep desperation from my voice. Five and a half weeks of recovery has led to this moment—the possibility of stepping onto the ice again. “You said yourself my progress is remarkable.”
“Remarkable doesn’t mean complete.” She tucks a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, a nervous gesture I’ve learned to recognize. “There’s a difference between walking unassisted and skating, Chase.”
“I know my body. I’m ready for this, Emma. Please.”
The plea in my voice must register because her expression softens. We haven’t even discussed what happened the other week—the way her body responded to my touch in front of the mirror. Nothing has happened since then, just our usual bickering and getting on with my rehabilitation.
“Controlled environment only,” she finally says. “No stick. No puck. No other players. Ten minutes maximum.”
Relief floods through me. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. This is a test, not a clearance. If I see any signs of pain, you’re done until next week.”
“Yes, Ms. Anderson. Crystal clear.”
“I mean it, Chase. The Bears-Wolves game is in three days. I’m not clearing you for that regardless of how this goes.”
The reminder of the upcoming game—the one we’d originally agreed would mark the end of our fake relationship—sends an unwelcome jolt through me.
The sensation of lacing up my skates after nearly six weeks feels both familiar and strange, like returning to a childhood home to find everything slightly rearranged.
