Never Doubt Me: Judge Me Not #2

by S. R. Grey

  “Watch me, baby, “Chase says. “Watch everything I do to you.”

  His uninjured hand disappears up under the hem of my dress.

  My breath catches. I slump against his chest. Seeing what’s he’s doing to me in the reflection of the mirror, while I feel every sensation, makes me squirm in his lap, seeking friction, seeking release.

  But Chase stills my body when I move too much. His eyes meet mine in the mirror, burning hot. “Slow,” he commands..

  Watching my reaction intently, he starts to peel my panties down my legs. When the tiny swath of fabric falls to the floor, my eyes flutter, threatening to close.

  “No, no, sweet girl,” Chase says firmly.

  He lifts my dress higher and higher, until my sex is fully exposed.

  “No closing your eyes,” he chastises when I throw back my head.

  I like this game, so my eyes return to the mirror. And I watch as Chase’s fingers dip into my glistening folds. When a moan escapes me, lazy and low, he bounces his knee once to make sure I’m not closing my eyes.

  “Tell me you’re not missing any of this,” he says.

  “I’m not missing any of this,” I assure him, my breaths ragged.

  And, hell, I am not missing a thing. This might be one of the hottest things Chase has ever done to me.

  “Spread your legs for me—wide—so I can see all of you.”

  I slide down a few more inches and arch my hips. I spread my legs as far as I can.

  “There you go,” Chase says huskily, his breaths as ragged as mine. “Like that.”

  All of me is on display, and with anyone else, I’d feel embarrassed. But Chase makes me feel beautiful, sexy.

  He groans, emboldening me to lift my hips another inch so he can see even more.

  Chase likes what he sees, I assume, since he groans huskily. I know for sure that he likes what he sees when he shifts me in his lap. I feel how incredibly rock-hard he is. The rigid outline of his cock presses into my ass, and I silently curse that he’s still wearing his jeans.

  “You like this, don’t you?” Chase asks.

  My eyes meet his in the mirror. “I do.”

  I make a move to touch myself, but Chase grabs my wrist. Kissing down my neck, he whispers against my skin, “No, not yet.”

  With my sex fully on display—and aching to be touched—Chase slowly pops open all the little buttons trailing down the front of my dress. He rests his chin on my shoulder as he works, and I lean my head back against him and watch.

  When my dress gapes open, exposing my simple white bra, I quickly say, “Oh, sorry, I should have worn something sexier.”

  His fingers brush over the swell of my breasts. “You don’t need shit like that.” He unclasps the front closure of my bra. “I prefer you with nothing on, anyway.”

  He tugs at the bra until it falls away and my breasts are exposed. He cups one breast and begins to massage the sensitive flesh, all while his other hand moves down to where I am desperate to be touched.

  But he does more than touch. He ravages my pussy with his fingers.

  Watching while he slams his fingers in and out of me, hard, I plead, “Oh, God, make me come.”

  His pace increases and my body responds almost immediately. I come apart for Chase, again and again.

  Unable to speak, I collapse against him. He wraps his arms around me, shifts his body to the side, and lays me down on the bed. Slowly, he slides the material of the dress, which now barely covers me, off completely. Chase then stands and undresses. When he settles his body on top of mine, his cock teasing at my entrance, I expect him to take me. But he doesn’t, not yet.

  “Remember why I wanted to come over here?” he asks.

  I glance up from beneath him, his body dwarfing mine. His face is dark, his blues intense.

  “So I can get loud?” I venture.

  “And,” he prompts, “what else?”

  “So you can be rough with me”

  “You want more of that, baby girl? More than what I gave you just before?”

  I nod, and without warning, Chase slams into me, so hard and rough that I cry out. His cock is so much more than his fingers, and it hurts for a second. But then, like always, it feels amazing.

  Chase’s fingers thread through my hair, and he tightens his grasp. He tugs hard, harder, while pounding into me fast, faster.

  “Is this too much?” he asks when I become breathless.

  Is he kidding? I shake my head.

  “Good”—he chuckles—“’cause I don’t plan on stopping anytime soon.”

  And he doesn’t stop, not that I want him to. The things he does to me don’t allow me time to think. And I like not thinking, because, when I think, I’m forced to remember that there are now two secrets Chase is keeping from me: where he was the other day when I couldn’t get a hold of him and how he ended up with a bloody hand tonight.

  Chapter Eleven

  Chase

  The day after I fail to get Kyle his money, I fully expect to hear from him. But he doesn’t contact me. Thank God for small favors.

  At breakfast, Will eyes my hand suspiciously. “Dude, what the hell happened? You fuck someone up?”

  Kay is at the stove, her back turned to me. Her shoulders tense. She’s still waiting for an answer, too.

  I try to blow Will’s question off by saying, “I hurt my hand at work.”

  Kay knows that’s not true, and I see her shoulders slump when she realizes I’m not going to divulge a thing.

  “How?” Will asks, skeptical.

  “I did something really stupid. And I really don’t want to talk about it.”

  Hey, both things are true.

  Will’s no dummy, though. He shakes his head and says, “Yeah, sure, dude.”

  Despite my hot night with Kay—and, shit, it was fucking scorching—things are subdued throughout the rest of the day. A weird tension permeates the air. Kay still sleeps in my bed Saturday night, but there’s no sex. By Sunday, I just want things to return to fucking normal.

  When Kay wakes, I smile over at her. She smiles back, snuggles into my grasp. That’s better.

  We just lie quietly in bed for a while, until I ask her if she wants to do anything today. “It’s Sunday, you know, and we’re both off.”

  She glances up at me from in my arms. “What did you have in mind?”

  “There’s a fair over in the next county,” I say. “Want to check it out?”

  “Yeah, sure,” she replies, and then adds, “Why don’t you ask Will if he wants to come with us?”

  “Good idea, babe.”

  Five minutes later, I am walking into my brother’s bedroom, unannounced.

  Will is just waking up, stretching and yawning. But when he catches sight of me, he sits up quickly.

  “Dude, what the hell?” he yells. “Haven’t you ever heard of knocking? Or do you just make it a habit to walk into rooms like you own the goddamn place?”

  I arch an eyebrow.

  “Oh, right,” he says. “Guess you do kind of own the place.”

  “No ‘kind of’ about it,” I snort.

  Despite our five seconds of banter, Will’s behavior is a tad sketchy. It’s not like him to get all worked up about me coming into his room.

  So I ask, “Why are you so concerned with me knocking first? You got something you’re trying to hide?”

  I don’t think he’s been using these past several days, but you never know.

  “I’m not hiding any drugs, if that’s what you’re asking,” he replies.

  I nod once and decide to take him at his word—for now. “Okay,” I quietly say.

  A moment of tense silence descends, enveloping the two of us, until Will laughs and says, “All I was trying to say, bro, was what if I’d been jacking off or something?”

  I roll my eyes. “Good point. Next time, I’ll knock.”

  “So, what’s up?” Will asks, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He starts to tug a pair of low-
hanging jeans he finds crumpled at the base of his bed up over his boxers.

  “There’s a big fair over in the next county. Kay and I are going to check it out.” I toss what appears to be a clean T-shirt in Will’s direction when I see him scanning the floor for clothes. “What do you say, little bro? You up for spending the day riding some amusement park rides and eating a shitload of greasy fair food?”

  Will tries to play it cool, as usual, but the smile he tries to hide lets me know he likes the idea.

  “Yeah, sure,” he says. He pulls the T-shirt I threw him over his head. “And maybe I can learn how to milk a cow, something I’m sure might someday be useful.” He rolls his eyes.

  “Hey, smart-ass, you never know when shit like that could come in handy,” I deadpan.

  Will laughs, and then he pretends to be milking a cow. Like the hormonal kid that he is, he quickly turns it into something sexual.

  “Hey, Cass might appreciate a skill like this,” he says as he tilts his head and pretends to be sucking on a make-believe udder.

  “You, my friend,”—I point at him, try to keep from laughing—“are one sick pup,”

  Wills cracks up, but then his expression grows serious.

  He rubs a hand down his face. “If I go with you and Kay, would it be okay if Jared tagged along?”

  Will knows I am currently not the biggest Jared fan around. But since Will has kept his promise—he hasn’t done any drugs for days—I decide to cut him some slack. After all, I did promise him I’d think about letting up on the no-Jared rule.

  Shrugging, I say, “Sure, give him a call.”

  Will’s brows shoot up. “Really?”

  “Yeah, really. He can come with us.” I turn and start toward the door. “But we’re leaving in an hour,” I call back over my shoulder, “so make sure Jared’s here by then. Tell him we’ll leave without him.”

  “You will not,” Will says.

  I swing open the door. “Maybe we’ll leave without you, too,” I retort, completely in jest. And before Will can respond, I continue teasing. “That’d be a shame, too, since then you’d never learn that milking technique. Poor Cassie.”

  Will throws some article of clothing my way and yells, “And I’m the sick one, bro?”

  I duck out the door, laughing, before his cotton projectile makes contact.

  A couple of hours later, the four of us are making our way down the crowded midway at an expansive fairground in the next county. Kay and I are in the lead, walking slowly, with Will and Jared lagging a few feet behind.

  “Guess they’re too cool to be seen with us,” Kay whispers, leaning into me.

  I drape an arm around her shoulder. “Yeah, probably,” I reply.

  But then I reconsider. Kay is wearing really short denim shorts and a red shirt that she informed me earlier is something called a “baby-doll tee.” The whole outfit is hot as fuck, and I have a feeling that’s why my brother and his friend are hanging back.

  So, I amend, “Hate to break it to you, but I think the boys might be checking out your ass.”

  “Chase!” Kay elbows me.

  I chuckle. But just in case I’m right and those two hormonal teenage motherfuckers are indeed ogling my woman, I turn my head and shoot a warning glare over my shoulder.

  They don’t even notice me. Will is too busy saying to Jared, “Dude, quit staring. That shit’s just wrong. You do realize Kay is probably going to be my sister-in-law someday, right?”

  I smile. Will’s got it right, except for one thing. There is no “probably” about it. I will be definitely be making the beautiful woman at my side my wife. Of that, I have no doubt.

  I glance over at Kay. She’s blushing, surely because she heard Will’s statement.

  I lean down and place my lips near her ear. “He’s right, you know?” I pause. “That is, if you’ll have me.”

  Kay, keeping things light since we’re in the middle of a crowded fairground, replies in an exaggerated Scarlett O’Hara voice. “Why, I do declare, Chase Gartner. Is that a proposal I hear?”

  Chuckling, I assure her, “You will definitely know when I’m proposing. And it sure as hell won’t be somewhere between”—I glance around—“the shooting gallery and the Tilt-A-Whirl.” In a very bad Rhett Butler impression, I add, “Because, frankly, my dear, I do give a damn.”

  Kay laughs and shakes her head. “Oh my God, Chase. That was so terrible. Are you sure you’ve seen Gone with the Wind?”

  “Sadly, Kay, thanks to ‘movie nights’ at Gram’s, the answer is yes, I’ve seen that movie more times than I care to admit.”

  It’s true, too. On the rare occasions Gram decided to watch a movie with me and my dad—or my mom, dad, and me—we let her choose. And she always chose the same movie: Gone with the Wind. Rare or not, Gram’s participation in “movie night” resulted in multiple viewings of that film.

  The rest of the night at the fair is great. We play games, ride a few rides, and eat greasy fair food. We even come across a demonstration on how to milk a cow. Will and I just look at each other and bust out laughing. Kay and Jared want to know what’s up, but my brother and I reply in unison, “Nothing.”

  Things are good—really fucking good—that Sunday. And they remain so right into the work week.But somewhere around midweek, things start to go awry.

  Trouble begins Wednesday morning. Kay leaves extra early for work, since the big rummage sale is starting. That’s how I find myself in the kitchen, attempting to make breakfast for Will.

  I am trying to get the food right. I mean, shit, I want Will to eat a decent breakfast before I shove off for work. Problem is, I suck at cooking.

  “What the fuck?” I grind out as I scrape away stuck-on egg from the sides of a frying pan. “So much for scrambled eggs. I thought this was supposed to be, like, a nonstick skillet or some shit?”

  No one is around to hear me or respond; I’m just griping to myself.

  Eventually. I conclude the skillet is most definitely not nonstick. Resigned that it is what it is, I dump half the eggs onto a plate. The other half remains stuck in the pan.

  I needn’t worry, though, about the salvageable amount, or the quality, of my eggs.

  Will rambles in, sits down without saying a word, and mindlessly begins to shovel my sad excuse for scrambled eggs into his mouth.

  “Good morning to you, too,” I grumble as I cross my arms and watch my brother stuff his face.

  He barely glances up, so I adopt a more serious tone. “Hey, is everything all right?”

  Will finally makes eye contact. “Not really,” he says listlessly.

  Something is going on. It’s not drugs—his eyes are clear. But I know my brother, and this is how he acts when he’s upset.

  I sit down at the table. “What’s going on, Will?”

  He sets down his fork. “Cassie called a little while ago.”

  “She’s up early,” I remark. It’s eight o’clock in Harmony Creek, which means it’s only five a.m. in Vegas.

  “She never went to sleep last night,” Will offers as explanation.

  I know immediately that something has happened. Worse yet, I have a strong suspicion that whatever has gone down, it has to do with that perverted stepdad of hers.

  Sure enough, Will says, “Paul followed Cassie to her friend’s house last night.”

  “I thought he was leaving her alone, abiding by the restraining order?”

  “Nope.” Will takes a deep breath. “He must have just been laying low or something. Dickhead re-emerged last night, like the fucking vermin he is. And this time he ran Cassie off the road out in the fucking desert. No one was around, dude.” Will shakes his head.

  “Shit.”

  “Yeah, shit is right. The prick yanked her right out of the fucking car. He grabbed her ass, Chase, grinded up against her.” Will sucks in a breath. “And then he made her kiss him.”

  “Fuck…Will.”

  Will pushes away his eggs, puts his head in his hands. “He l
et her go,” he says quietly. “But only after he groped her some more. Fucking dick. And he would have gone further, he had his hand halfway down Cassie’s shorts, but, thank fuck, someone drove by.”

  I don’t even know what to say to make Will feel better. I conclude there are no words, so I just listen as he continues.

  “Chase, that prick had the balls to tell Cassie that, next time, he’s finishing what he started.”

  Will pushes his plate farther away and eggs spill over the side. “Cassie’s beyond upset,” he says, his voice catching on emotion. “This prick is serious. Paul’s not going to give up. I swear I’m going to kill that motherfucker before he makes another move.”

  “Will—”

  He puts his hand up. “I don’t want to hear it, bro. I have to go back to Vegas. I can’t hang around here for another week and a half. Cassie has no one watching her back. Her mom’s back to work and gone all the time. Cassie needs me to take care of this shit.”

  I don’t even want to know what “take care of this shit” entails according to Will.

  Dragging my hand down my face, I say, “Listen, Will, you have to remember there’s a restraining order out on that dick. The police can pick him up now that he’s violated the order. They can take him in now.”

  “Yeah, that’d be nice,” Will replies, “if the police could find him.”

  “What are you saying?” I ask as a sick feeling builds in my gut.

  “Paul’s gone. No one can find the asshole, least of all the cops.”

  As I’m shaking my head, at a loss for words, Will reiterates, “I have to go home. Like, today. I know people in Vegas who can help me find Paul.”

  People in Vegas? I don’t like the sound of this.

  “What kind of people, Will?”

  “Just…people.”

  From the guilty look on my brother’s face, I already know the kind of people who’d be willing to help a fifteen-year-old kid search for an adult man, a potentially dangerous man. Unsavory people, people involved in illegal activities, like drug dealers and users, that’s who would be willing to “help” Will—for a price, of course.