Page 57 of Chasing Lyric
“Oh, don’t worry about that.”
He raises his brow. “You sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
We walk to the door with a heaviness in the pit of my stomach. I simply don’t want Chase to leave. We’ve had such a good night,and the way he’s hesitating makes me think he doesn’t want to go either.
“Rawrr…feed me,” Polly screams out.
I roll my eyes. “Eat your fruit, Polly,” I call back.
“Rawrr… fuck off, fuck off.”
Closing my eyes, I sigh while Chase chuckles. “Have I told you how much Ireallylike your bird?”
I stand in the doorway, tilting my head. “You do?”
Chase’s intense eyes run me up and down, making me shudder. “I like his owner, too.”
My whole body stiffens as I bite my bottom lip. Chase steps closer, his hand resting on my hip, and his fingers dig in. I gasp at the dominance he shows in that one little tug. Our bodies are so close as my arms wrap around his neck, my fingers threading through his hair while we stare into each other’s eyes.
Ba-dum.
Ba-dum.
His hand slides up, fingers threading gently through my hair until they cradle the back of my neck, firm and possessive. The contact sends a shiver racing down my spine, igniting something molten in my chest that spills heat all through me. I can’t breathe. Not properly. Because he’s looking at me like he’s been holding back for far too long, and he’s finally about to lose control.
The fire crackles somewhere behind me, casting a flickering amber glow across his face, highlighting the tension in his jaw, the dark intensity swimming in those gorgeous blue eyes.
I feel charged.
Like the air between us is thick with static, like my body’s caught in a storm I don’t want to escape. My breath stutters. My heart pounds, frantic and heavy, as his thumb brushes the sensitive spot just beneath my ear. I tilt my head before I realize I’ve even moved.
He leans in slightly, just enough to tilt the world on its axis.
The anticipation winds tight between us, clawing at my skin, tugging at something deep inside me that’s been aching for this.
Forhim.
It’s a slow, magnetic pull.
A silent question.
My body answers before my brain can catch up, swaying toward him, needing his mouth, needing his touch, needing everything we’ve been dancing around since the moment we met.
His lips hover close enough that I can taste his breath, sharp, warm, laced with restraint.
“Lyri,” he rasps, his voice wrecked with hunger, his grip tightening in my hair, no longer gentle, but possessive and commanding. Then his mouth crashes down on mine with a force that knocks the air clean out of my lungs.
He slams me back against the door. I gasp, but it dies in his mouth. My fingers claw at his shirt, his hair, anything to tether me through the storm he’s unleashing. His hands are everywhere, gripping my hips, sliding down my ass, lifting my leg to his waist as he thrusts against me like we’re seconds from tearing clothes and not giving a damn where we are.
Every move is demanding.
Desperate.
Dominant.
We’re not kissing.
