Page 41 of I Despise You
When Chase returns, something cold brushes my leg under the table, making me jerk back. Chase is looking at me with a smile on his face.
His fingers. They’re moving up my leg. He must’ve washed his hands in freezing water just to tease me, but the cold sensation against my heated skin feels better than I’m willing to admit.
Luckily, the waiter comes with our food, and Chase pulls his hand back. I close my legs together as tightly as possible, but I can still feel the heat traveling through my center.
I need a distraction so desperately that I dig into my food, not looking up from the plate. Chase laughs softly as if he can tell I’m trying my best to ignore him.
“Try this,” he says, lifting his fork with a fry dipped in some kind of sauce.
I eye him for a moment, but then I open my mouth. It tastes good, but some of the sauce smears around my mouth. Before I can reach for the napkin, Chase leans forward and brushes the tip of his finger over the corner of my lips. My skin tingles, but I ignore it as I return to my food.
“Want some more?” he asks.
“No.” I don’t look up at him.
When there’s nothing left on my plate, I lift my gaze to Chase’s and wish I didn’t. He’s looking at me so intently, like he wants to see into my soul.
His hand lands on my knee under the table, and I want to scoot away, but the waiter comes for the plates. Chase effortlessly talks to the waiter as his fingers creep up my leg. I clench my legs together, but he pushes through. His hand is between my thighs, his finger rubbing against my panties.
When the waiter’s gone, I open my mouth to tell him to stop, but only a soft gasp exits my mouth. My legs part as Chase keeps rubbing me through my panties, creating little shocks of desire.
“I can make you come. Right here, right now,” he says. “In front of all these people.”
My mouth fights to form words, but I can’t say anything because I’m trying hard not to moan. He tugs my already wet panties aside, and one of his fingers dips inside me. It feels so good, and it’s stronger than any embarrassment, shock, or horror I may feel too.
“Chase,” I manage to whisper his name because, out of the corner of my eye, I can see the waiter coming toward us with more plates.
“You can’t pretend that you’re an ice princess when you burn like fire,” he says, his voice like a caress.
Instead of letting go of me, he increases the pressure, his fingers moving quickly in and out of me. The waiter is about to reach our table, and I don’t know why, but it makes me even more aroused. I bring my hand to my mouth, biting lightly on my finger as my release buzzes through me just as the waiter serves us our dessert.
Chase thanks the waiter, who glances at me, but all I can do is give him a small nod. When he’s gone, I gasp for breath.
Chase pulls his hand back, dips the finger that was just inside me into the slice of cake in front of him, coating it with chocolate, and then slips it into his mouth.
A smile stretches across his lips. “Mmm. Everything tastes better with your flavor on it.”
I’m mortified. I don’t know how I can enjoy any of this, but I do. The whole thing being wrong in so many different ways makes it all more interesting.
I despise Chase for all of it, even if it’s not completely his fault.
When our lunch is over, I don’t know what to think.
“I’ll be back in a sec,” Chase says after he opens the car door for me. I get in and watch him go back to the restaurant, wondering if he forgot something.
My gaze catches on the glove compartment, and I reach for it. To my surprise, it opens easily and I spot a phone. I grab the phone. It has to be Chase’s. But why would it be in the glove compartment? I guess it has a password or some other type of protection, but when my finger touches the screen, it comes to life. No password. I glance up to make sure Chase is still inside, and then I search through the contacts and texts. Nothing. It’s empty. He’s deleted everything. It’s probably his emergency phone or something, which makes the whole thing even scarier. Why would he even need another phone? I wipe the phone on my skirt and quickly tuck it back where it was.
Whenever I look at Chase, it’s hard to see a murderer. He doesn’t look like one. But if he killed Kayla, then he is one. I should never, ever forget that. I should never, ever be distracted by him in any way.
But that’s easier said than done.
When Chase returns, he’s holding two boxes.
“Do you want one?” he asks. “It’s a sandwich. They’re awesome, even cold.”
“No, thanks.”
“More for me then.” He grins and places the boxes in the back seat.
I turn my head toward the window, wishing that I could stop thinking about the way he touched me not too long ago.
