“Do you think you’re falling for me?” The words tumble out, a little more forcefully than I would have liked. Chris averts his eyes again. “Look at me. Please.”
He does, and in the bright sunlight, the jade-green flecks are more prominent in his eyes. I get lost in the many facets of his gaze, the ever-evolving colors…“A part of me has been falling for you. Cautiously, yet deeply.”
“Time holds no meaning for us, does it?” He traces my jaw with an aching tenderness that makes me weak.
I understand his meaning. I feel more for him than I ever thought possible, and it has taken me by surprise. While I wouldn’t call it love, I can admit that I see the possibility of it. In the future.
“Serena, I want us to move into the next stage, the dating stage, the commitment stage.” Statements I never thought I’d hear from the god of ice hockey. Statements that send my pulse racing, and cause my heart to lurch within my chest.
“That means us going public. I mean it’s not like we haven’t already, but that wasn’t by choice. Are you sure you want to date me, for all to see?” This is my way of giving him an out. One last chance to bolt before things get complicated.
Chris stares at me, his gaze intensifying with each second. “Why is that so unfathomable to you?”
“Because our every move will be under scrutiny and everyone will wonder What is Christian Chase doing with her?” There it is again. My self-doubt rearing its ugly head. I was shaken by seeing Evan today. It brought back all of my insecurities. Add to that my parents’ ire, never-ending disapproval, and perpetual disappointment in me. All of it makes for a lethal blow to my self-confidence.
His jaw clenches, and a vein begins to pulsate in his neck. He’s trying to control his irritation; that much is obvious. “I hate that Asshole made you feel this way. The truth is, I’m proud to date you. To be seen with you. When will you get that through your thick skull?”
“Feeling insecure is something I’ve fought for a very long time. All those years of pushing it aside, of creating a new me, one that doesn’t give a damn. It all comes crashing down when Evan makes a crack about teaching me to kiss.” My admissions leave a crevice where my wall of protection once sat. Solid, and unyielding, it withstood even the harshest self-doubt, around my heart. Until now. Until Chris.
The line creasing his forehead deepens. “You stood up to him. You stood up to all of them. You wielded the power.”
He’s right. I did. I admitted what Evan did to me in front of my parents and grandmother and have no regrets. Not a one. It’s time I put my big-girl sass back on. “I’m allowing my past to rob me of the joy I should be feeling right now.” I smile at him, my voice laced with wonder. This man wants me in his life. My choice is either release my insecurities and take what I want or wallow in past hurts. I choose Christian. I always will. “Chris, will you go steady with me?”
Wrapping my arms around his neck, the blanket slides from my shoulders. I don’t care. He wants me for who I am. It’s enough for him. It is enough for me.
“You sure?” he asks.
I lace my fingers over the short, prickly hair at the nape of his neck. “I’ve never been so certain of anything in my life.”
Chris buries his head in the crook of my neck and inhales deeply. “It’s about fucking time.”
How can the king of ice hockey be so insecure? It dawns on me that we have more in common than I originally thought. We’re both emotionally wounded, with scars that remain hidden, but still hurt deeply. For the first time, I realize that Chris needs me.
I kiss him. Remembering what he said about slow, my kisses are featherlight, with a touch of yearning for good measure. With each kiss, I give this man more of me. I open my heart and soul to him. In return, he does the same to me. He then trails his tongue along every curve, every indentation and bump, every inch, checking periodically that I am still watching him, that I am witnessing his devotion to me and my body.
Each imperfection is his to cherish. He does so, followed by a nip of his teeth, a kiss, a lick. His every action conveys that I am beautiful to him. Even my imperfections. Especially what I perceive to be my imperfections. He concentrates on them most. Because to Chris, my imperfections make me even more beautiful.
Heat emanates from him, as does his strength and his conviction. When he plants his palms between my thighs, he gives them a gentle squeeze. It doesn’t matter to him that they touch, unlike the image on every magazine cover, where you see a gap between a woman’s thighs. No. He doesn’t find fault with me; instead he studies me, his hands quivering ever so slightly. Sliding between my thighs, he whispers, “I want all of you.”
When his gaze meets mine again, it conveys admiration and affection. Always affection. I sigh, because seeing such tenderness, hearing Chris use such heartfelt words, express such emotion, is euphoric. It’s exhilarating. It fills my soul until I feel like I never truly lived until Christian admitted his desire for something deeper and more meaningful from me. Surely, I must have been hollow before this? Because my heart is overflowing with adoration for this man and his capacity to accept me.
To adore me.
My grandparents used that word a lot. It seems silly, but I always wanted someone to adore me like they did each other. I have found it, in a burly man with hair the color of rich mahogany and a beard to match. In this strong, kind, tender, passionate man full of contradictions.
Gently, I tug him closer and kiss him with all the emotion that he has stirred within me. This is more than sex. This is a man and a woman committing to one another. The rest of the world be damned.
“I adore you,” he sighs, his lips hovering over mine.
He adores me. Me. He’s oblivious to precisely how much that statement means. To what that word means to me. Granted, if you look up the word adore in a thesaurus, you’ll come up with words like admire. He could mean that. It doesn’t matter, because of what the word means to me. Because, as always, I feel that electrifying current that flows between us, the strong pull between us, like a magnet, drawing me to him.
I lean into him closer, until I admit, “That’s why I’m yours.” My voice is hoarse, but my sentiment is fierce. I belong to him now. In body and heart. There has never been any man like him, and there never will be again. Just Chris.
Always Chris.
He is part of me, an extension of myself now. Based upon his wide grin, this is what he wants from me. I give him all of me—freely, with everything I am.
His erection throbs against my sex, his intense gaze unswerving, as I part my legs wider for him. He remains still, waiting…as if for permission. Through my haze of yearning and unspoken desire, I realize he isn’t wearing a condom, and for the first time I feel all of him against me. His smoky eyes refuse to release mine as we lie, flesh to flesh, in the most intimate possible way.
“Tell me what you want.” His baritone is deep, sensuous, sinful. His request—the thought of him giving himself completely to me—makes that invisible magnet between us hum, charging the air around us with more heat and sizzling electricity.
I list the realities in my mind, ticking away each little box. I’m on the pill. I know he’s clean. So am I. That’s my due diligence. That’s all I need before I answer, my voice desperate, showing just how ravenous I am for what he’s offering. “I want all of you, too.”
His breath hitches in his throat and his muscles ease. He was anxious. I imagine that this is a first for Chris—completely offering himself to someone. This intimacy is for me alone, and I want it so badly that I ache for it. More so, I need it. I need all of him. I need a piece of him that no other woman has ever possessed.
I shudder as he penetrates me, bare for the very first time. Our eyes remain fixed, and upon sliding inside me, his intense gaze becomes even more smoky, more voracious, the pull between us strengthening, building into something more command
ing than before. Everything is amplified. His dominance, and my desire for more.
He leans into me, grazing his lips against mine in a feather-soft kiss. “With this, you’re my only.”
Though I suspected it, his affirmation fills me with ecstasy. I’ve never used drugs, but I imagine this is equivalent to a high—that Chris is my drug. His words, his gentleness, his playing every inch of my body as if it is his instrument, cause me to vibrate from within. Our heat charges the air until I feel as though a spark will ignite.
Sliding in and out of me, teasing me, tempting me, his fingers curl around mine and rest next to my head. His thrusts are gentle, building gradually until I moan.
“I’m yours.” With each thrust, he offers me more of himself.
He trails his tongue across my neck, to my earlobe. “I’ve wanted you. From the first time I saw you.” His admissions, sultry and laced with a simmering hunger, are almost more than I can bear.
“You feel the same. I know it. Just like I know if I nip your earlobe with my teeth…” He pauses, nibbling my earlobe, and my breath immediately hitches in my throat. “I know you’ll release a throaty sigh as you tighten around my cock. Just like that.”
I can’t deny it. Chris knows me, my body, better than anyone. He also brings me one step closer to an earthshattering climax as he traces a path to my left breast, my hands still pinned under his. We are one as he suckles my nipple and nips it with his teeth. My core tightens harder still around him, and he consumes my mouth. I arch my back, unable to get enough. I adjust to where he is deeper inside me, then deeper still. I moan, my voice more husky than usual.
“Yeah, baby, I know.” His thrusts are in rhythm with mine. “I know what you want.”
In truth, he’s all I want. All of him. I won’t settle for less, as I adjust beneath him. Until he is so deep that I don’t know where each of us begins and ends. The fact that I’m pinned beneath his weight as we climax makes the sensations even more intense, causing rushes of heat to consume me as spasms wrack my body.
“Christ!” He clutches my hands until his own climax subsides. Afterward, he refuses to release me, instead wrapping his arms around me. Our bodies slick with perspiration, the air heady with the scent of passion, he holds me tight. As if he never wants to let go. Which is fine with me, because I never want him to.
I snuggle against his chest, his prickly hairs oddly comforting against my cheek. He’s real. He’s here. With me. I smile. Then Chris begins to laugh.
“What’s so funny?” I peer up at him, my brows arched. “I thought that was quite serious.”
“Quite,” he teases, kissing my hair. Still his smile is wide, and his chest is heaving with laughter.
This ought to be good. I lean against my elbows. “Care to share?”
“I just realized that when people ask how we met, and they will ask, we will have to answer at a gas station. What will your folks think of that?”
“It will mortify them.” I can’t help but smirk. “Vengeance is sweet, even if it is trivial. Seriously, though, I wouldn’t trade the gas station for anything.”
My heart is in my statement. Blue raspberry Slurpee and all. Meeting Chris that day was one of those moments that one doesn’t think will be important, but will in fact be epic. It changed me. It changed my life.
He claims my mouth once more. Slow and sensual, his tongue explores the deep recesses of my mouth while his palms knead, and tease, and caress. I want more. With him, I always want more. I straddle him, pulling away to trail kisses down his chest, to his abdomen. My tongue seeks his dick. I want to give him the pleasure he gave me on our first night together. Christian’s muscles tense, and his breath hitches. He wants it just as much as I do. Maybe more.
My cell begins to blare Demi Lovato’s “Sorry Not Sorry”—the explicit version. It’s my fight song. It’s my game on song. It’s also my alarm. “Damn it.”
“The music’s okay.” Chris is willing to put up with just about anything for me.
I rise, silencing my cell. “It’s my alarm. I have an event tonight.”
Chris sighs. “What event?”
“A fashion launch. There will be press.” Shit, press. How did I forget?
Sitting upright, Chris props himself against one of my overstuffed pillows. “Are you ready for that? The press, I mean.”
My heart hammers within my chest, but it’s not from fear. It’s from excitement. I survey Chris, lying on my bed completely naked, his arms crossed behind his neck. He is mine. No one else’s. What do I care what anyone else thinks? “Yeah, I can do this.”
“Damn right you can!” He smacks my ass gently. “I wish I could see you slay them.”
A rush of adrenaline surges through me. “You can. I have a plus one. Lucas and Charlie are meeting me in an hour and a half. You have the suit. I’m guessing you came prepared with an extra shirt and tie, too. You are always prepared, right?”
Reaching for my hand, he places it over his heart. I can feel it beating fast beneath my palm. “There will be no turning back. We’ll be a couple. One the press can prop up or tear down at will.”
He’s right. It’s bound to happen sooner or later. “Why don’t we create our narrative? You want to date; let’s date.”
“On one condition.” Chris trails his thumb over my lower lip, then rises from my bed. “Shower with me first.”
“Sold.” It sounds so simple when Chris offers such a wicked caveat. He tugs me off the bed, then kisses me again. This time, his kiss is gentle, sweet, protective. “Let’s go to a fashion launch. Something I never thought I’d say. Ever.”
We’re taking our relationship to the next level. Shower, get dressed, then face the world. That’s the plan. That nagging conscience of mine persists, reminding me what happens to best laid plans…
Chapter 12
Christian
Lucas and Charlie are a blast. Charlie is exuberant and full of stories, while Lucas is quiet and reserved. They complement each other, and they clearly love Serena.
As part of my initiation, Lucas shook my hand and made me swear to be good to his sister. He recognizes how much us attending tonight together means and he understands the risks. I answered honestly and professed how much I care for Serena. Still, he scrutinized us until we were halfway to the event, when he laughed at one of my sarcastic jokes. That was his sign of approval. It was all I needed.
“This isn’t New York Fashion Week, just a small event,” Serena warns me as we round another turn. “I went to school with the designer. It’s being held at the art gallery beneath his second-floor studio.”
Our limo stops in a line, behind a few others. “Are you sure you’re ready for this? It isn’t too late—you can still back out.” She smiles at me, her voice trembling slightly.
I caress her neck. That same crook of her neck where she sprays her perfume. It’s soft, and always, without exception, my touch there causes her to giggle. “I’m ready. How about you? Any second thoughts?”
“Nope.” This time her tone is steady. Since we were running late, her hair is in a messy bun, and I like it away from her face. Her porcelain complexion, rosy cheeks, dazzling eyes, and nude lips are on full display. She looks like she’s some beach babe rocking a black, body-hugging dress with drips and slashes of color on it. It’s her artist’s creativity with color, mixed with Serena’s talent for designing. Man, he couldn’t have asked for someone better to model his artwork. Serena is a knockout.
It’s agreed that I will exit the limo first and offer Serena my hand. Just as I expected, the flashbulbs work overtime, all but blinding me. She is graceful, in what she called a mermaid fit and fluff or something. I was too mesmerized by her to follow all of the fashion lingo. She really is effervescent. Even under the harsh flashes, her smile is bright and she takes my breath away.
The photographers call to
us, to look this way and that. Whenever Serena turns to me, there’s a mischievous glint in her eye. Like we’re pulling something over on everyone. Because we did this our way.
An interviewer talks to me by myself, while another calls to Serena. Charlie is with her, so I release her hand. I answer the interviewer’s questions, while straining above the chorus to hear Serena’s conversation.
Some redhead dressed in gold asks Serena how she feels not being “Christian’s usual type.”
This spikes my temper and I excuse myself, fully prepared to defend Serena. When I turn toward her, her sass has already taken over.
“What exactly is Christian’s type?” Serena asks the female with the microphone. When she is met with silence, Serena doesn’t hold back. “Are you referring to the fact that I’m intelligent? A talented designer with an eco-friendly footprint with her business? Witty? What precisely is his type?”
By now, most of the cameras have turned to Serena as she continues her well-articulated rant in the sweetest way possible. Strong, yet likeable, she insists “a healthy size fourteen/sixteen is nothing to be ashamed of. But you make a good point, one that I want to address publicly. No one, no matter what their weight, should be body-shamed. And to anyone out there comparing themselves to women on magazine covers, please realize that those women were digitally altered to look that way. No one is perfect. Be proud of who you are. I look forward to a day when a woman is never asked about not being her boyfriend’s type because she is a healthy weight. #StopBodyShaming.”
Charlie is beside Serena and cheers as she does a fake mic drop—nothing disrespectful, just one of her genuine, funny moments. I join them, kiss Serena on her cheek for a photo, and we proceed down the red carpet with Charlie waving and Lucas smiling, clearly proud of his sister. God knows I am.
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