Claiming Chase: (A Second Chance Stepbrother Romance)

by Eve, Charlotte

  “Choose your favorite horse,” says Chase.

  Eventually it comes to a stop, the riders dismount, and we wait our turn to climb on. I choose a beautiful horse, delicately painted with blue, yellow, and pink flowers. It’s so pretty. And I can’t help but laugh as I see Chase climb aboard his horse, too, just in front of me. I’ve only even seen him ride his motorbike, and this seems so unlike him — silly and childish and frivolous, and yes, romantic, all at once.

  The horses begin to whirl and the music strikes up and Chase looks back at me, a huge grin plastered across his face. And I smile back at him. It’s exhilarating and intoxicating, spinning around like this. I feel like I could ride on it forever, but soon the horses begin to slow again and we come once more to a halt. Before we’ve even stopped, Chase has jumped from his horse with all the practiced grace of someone used to riding.

  He walks over to me and extends a hand to help me down.

  “M’lady,” he says, “let me help you from your steed.”

  “Why, thank you, kind gentleman,” I reply, letting him help me off the horse.

  “And now for dinner,” he says, still enjoying playing the chivalrous knight-in-shining armor.

  “Lead on, kind sir,” I say.

  This playful side of Chase is new. He was always so brooding, so serious. But tonight, he’s let that slip. Maybe he finally feels comfortable enough to show me a new side of him. And I hope so. Because don’t get me wrong, brooding Chase is hot — like seriously hot — but fun, playful, romantic Chase? He feels like someone I could spend the rest of my life with.

  §

  Dinner isn’t far away. He’s obviously put some serious thought into tonight. In fact, it’s still within the boundary of the park — in the fairytale-pretty rooftop terrace of the Bryant Park Grill.

  When the waiter leads us to our table, there’s already a bottle of champagne chilling in a silver bucket next to it. We take our seats and the waiter pops the cork and pours us each a glass. We look at each other and raise the flutes of golden dancing liquid.

  “A toast?” I say.

  “And what should we toast to?” he replies.

  I start to speak and then so does he.

  “To us,” we say, in unison, as we clink our glasses.

  And as we take our first sips, our eyes locked, I feel the most perfect sense of calm, as if finally the stars have aligned and Chase and I are together — just the way we should be.

  We enjoy a beautiful dinner. Tuna sashimi, rack of lamb, finished off with one slice of salted caramel cheesecake and two spoons.

  “That was delicious, Chase,” I smile. “And the champagne was lovely, but I think it’s gone to my head a little. I don’t think I can stay out and drink any more. So what do you say? Your place or mine?”

  “I have a better idea,” he says as he reaches over the table and intertwines his fingers with mine.

  §

  We leave the restaurant, and still Chase refuses to tell me where we’re going.

  “Come on,” I tease, as we stroll hand in hand down Madison Avenue. “Just tell me! All these surprises — they’re driving me mad!”

  “Be patient,” he laughs. “You’ll see in a minute. In fact, here we are …”

  And at this he stops, outside number 299. It’s a beautiful, simple gold door.

  “Where are we?” I say.

  “Just look,” he replies.

  And then I read the elegant script writing above the door. The Library Hotel.

  “A hotel, Chase?” I say. “But your apartment is like half an hour’s walk away!”

  “It is,” he says. “But I wanted to show you this place. I think you’re gonna love it.”

  He holds the door open for me, and gestures me inside.

  We walk through to the lobby, and he greets the girl behind the desk with all the sophisticated charm I’ve come to expect from him.

  “I have a booking,” he says. “Mr Parker?”

  “Of course, Mr Parker,” the girl smiles, handing him a heavy gold key. “The elevator is to your right.”

  Once in the elevator, I watch him press the button for the eleventh floor.

  “I still don’t understand what we’re doing here,” I say.

  But as the doors slide closed, he slips his hands around my waist and pulls me close, his lips suddenly against mine.

  “You’ll see, soon enough,” he whispers between kisses. “And anyway, there doesn’t always have to be a reason for everything. Some things just are …”

  He looks at me and he doesn’t need to say anything more.

  Just then, the elevator pings open, and he takes my hand, leading me along the plush empty corridor.

  “Notice anything about the room numbers?” he says with a smile.

  I look to my left. We’re standing outside a door titled ‘Philosophy’, the number below it reading 1100.003.

  “They don’t look like normal room numbers,” I say, puzzled.

  “And why do you think that might be?” he asks.

  “I’ve got it!” I exclaim, looking to my right at room 1100.004; Psychology. “It’s the library hotel. Every library in the whole world uses the Dewey Decimal classification system. And they’re using the same numbers for their rooms. That’s amazing!”

  “I must confess,” he smiles, “I’d never heard of it before I booked this place. But I thought you’d get a kick out of it.”

  “I’m such a geek,” I laugh. “But you’re right. This is great. Thank you.”

  “And this must be our room,” he says, leading me to the very end of the corridor, where we stop in front of room 1100.006; Love.

  He unlocks the door to our room, and it’s perfect. There are rose petals strewn across the bed and books everywhere.

  There’s even a private terrace, with a view of the public library and the twinkling lights of Madison Avenue at night. I walk out onto it, resting against the railing, watching the slow crawl of the traffic below us, feeling the slight breeze on my skin.

  “Do you like it?” he says, stepping up behind me and brushing my hair from my neck before planting a gentle kiss there.

  “Like it?” I exclaim. “I love it. It’s perfect.”

  And I mean it. He’s obviously put so much thought into this, and not just the hotel room — but into the perfect meeting place, the flowers, dinner, everything …

  “I wanted you to have one perfect night,” he says, his hands slipping once more to my waist, the warmth of his breath dancing against my neck. “I owe you so much. I thought I was succeeding in this city, Charity, but really I was drowning. Drowning in my own loneliness without you. If you hadn’t come for me, I’d still be that same empty version of myself. I hope you can forgive me for pushing you away again like that. I never doubted that I loved you. I only doubted that I could make you happy. So if it wasn’t for your strength, your tenacity, for you believing in me …”

  He pauses to kiss my neck again and I shiver beneath the gentle touch of his lips.

  “Then I’d still be lost,” he continues. “Thank you for finding me. Thank you for saving me. I love you, Charity.”

  At the mention of that word, I turn to face him, my eyes searching out his, and I can see that he’s serious.

  “I mean it,” he says. “I love you. I always have.”

  “Oh, Chase,” I say, trembling. “I love you, too.”

  When we kiss, it’s like a shot of electricity runs right through me. And Chase must feel the same way, because in moments we’re all over each other, our bodies pushing together, our tongues flickering, our hands exploring each other.

  He pushes me back against the railing, his hardness so prominent through the cloth of his tailored pants and I spread my legs for him, shivering from excitement as we grind together, stood here above Madison Avenue, my whole body flashing with pleasure.

  “Come on,” he grins between kisses, “let’s take this inside. Unless you want to give everyone a show, that is?”


  I laugh and shake my head, and a moment later he picks me up easily in his arms. I throw my arms tight around his neck as he lifts me right up off the floor, carrying me through to the bedroom, then laying me down so gently on the bed.

  I start to push myself up onto my elbows, but he stops me.

  “Stay right where you are,” he says with a smile.

  So I lie back again, as he moves confidently between my legs, pulling my dress slowly up towards my waist, placing soft kisses on the insides of my thighs as he goes, the brush of his stubble against the soft sensitive skin of my legs causing little prickles of electricity, as he gets nearer and nearer to …

  I gasp as he kisses me there, through the fabric of my panties, nuzzling me, his tongue pressing harder against me.

  I arch my back, grinding myself against him, savoring each fresh shiver of pleasure that shoots through my body, feeling him hook his thumbs under the waistband of my panties then slide them easily down my legs. I cry out as his tongue finally laps at my hot wetness, I can’t help it. It just feels so good.

  “You taste amazing,” he murmurs, encircling my clit with the tip of his tongue, then moving his attention downwards, kissing and flicking at the soft swollen folds of my pussy, cupping my buttocks with his hands, lifting me gently off the bed as he works his tongue even deeper inside me, eliciting another soft moan from my lips.

  And before I know it, I’m coming hard — my head flashing with pleasure, my whole body bucking from both the suddenness and the sheer intensity of my orgasm.

  I clamp my thighs tight around his head, and he flickers his tongue deliciously against my clit once more as I shiver and shake, lost in my fever.

  “Wow,” I smile, once I’ve come back down to earth a little bit. “That was intense.”

  It so was. I’m still shaking and trembling.

  And now, I want to bring him the exact same pleasure.

  “Come on, then,” I say with a grin, nodding towards the bed. “On you get. Now it’s my turn …”

  I take my time undressing him, enjoying myself, my own pleasure still buzzing around my body as I slowly unbutton his shirt then his pants. I pull off my own clothes too, wanting us both to be naked now, wanting to feel his hot skin against my own.

  And as I uncover his body, I trace my fingers once more over the many tattoos that cover his flesh — each telling a story, a little piece of him, an experience he had without me.

  I trace my kisses over his chest, then work my way further downwards, over his taught abs, until I’m right there in his lap, breathing in his heat and musk, my own body shivering as I run my tongue first along the length his shaft, his cock so perfect — as if it was made just for me.

  He groans softly as I take him in my mouth, circling my tongue around the swelling head of his cock, stroking him with my fingers, enjoying the feeling of him writing in pleasure beneath me, his hands moving into my hair as I suck him, faster and faster, bringing him right to the edge, just as he did to me, his hips softly bucking as he swells even more in my mouth. And while a kinky little part of me wants to just keep on going until he explodes, another part of me wants to make this last as long as possible.

  I pull him from my mouth with a final naughty smile, crawling up and over him, offering my breasts to him now. He responds eagerly, taking a hard nipple in his mouth, causing me to gasp as he clasps it firmly between his teeth for a moment, before encircling the tender bud of flesh with the tip of his tongue, sending sensations of pleasure dancing right through my body.

  Then, all of a sudden, he grabs me by the waist and turns me over, so that he’s on top of me.

  “I need you so bad, Charity,” he murmurs, kissing my neck, the heat of his cock brushing the inside of my thigh. “I need you right now.”

  He’s about to guide himself inside me, but I stop him.

  “No,” I say, fighting back my shyness. “Like this …”

  I turn beneath him, until I’m arching my back and bringing myself up on all-fours, offering myself to him that way.

  I shiver as the his body covers me from behind, the burning heat of his bare skin against my own, and of course his hot thick hardness, pressing now against my tender folds.

  There’s a delicious pause and then he slips inside me, once again stretching me so fucking wide, each fresh inch of him causing another moan to escape from my mouth.

  He holds my hips as he begins to thrust, gently at first then harder, and I push my head down into the pillow, to stifle my cries which are getting louder and louder as he drives himself so hard and deep inside me, his mouth kissing my neck from behind, my legs spread wide beneath him, my ass pressing against the chiseled tautness of his stomach.

  “Oh Chase,” I murmur, feeling the electricity building inside me. “Don’t stop. Please. I’m so close.”

  But he does stop. I turn around in confusion, just as he pulls us both around, so that he’s on his back now, and he’s urging me up on top of him.

  “Like this,” he says, smiling as I comply, easing myself back down onto him again, gently beginning to ride him, our eyes locked now, his hands moving to my breasts. “I want to watch you as you come …”

  As I ride him, I marvel again at how perfectly we seem to fit — as if our bodies were made for each other.

  We’re moving in total unison, our hips bucking, Chase hitting a sweet spot deep inside me I didn’t even know I had.

  And soon I’m close again, placing my hands on his shoulders as I begin to feel the trembles, the electricity flashing and radiation out around my body once more.

  “That’s it,” I gasp, as we move in unison, “that’s it …”

  And like that, we both come together, Chase wrapping his arms around me and pulling me close to him, both of us shivering and gasping.

  Afterwards, exhausted, flushed, happy and sweaty, we wrap the soft sheets around ourselves. And it seems like we just can’t stop kissing.

  Even after he’s brought me right to the edge of delight and back, I just can’t get enough of his touch, his kiss.

  “This is perfect,” I say to him between kisses. “This is everything I want.”

  “Good,” he smiles back. “Because I want you to have everything you desire, Charity. Everything you want.”

  “Well, actually?” I say with a cheeky smile. “Now that you mention it, there is one more thing …”

  “I meant it, Charity,” he says, urgently and seriously. “Anything.”

  “Because,” I say, my smile growing larger, “after all that exercise, I could really do with some … ice-cream?”

  He laughs, then pulls me on top of him.

  “For you, m’lady? Anything.”

  Three Years Later ...

  As always, I kill the engine a little way from the house, then wheel my bike slowly up the dusty path. But as I get nearer, I stop to watch her.

  She’s lounging on the porch, book in hand, a content smile on her face, lost in her own world.

  She still has that same spark she had when we were both teenagers, but at thirty? She’s so much more beautiful.

  I don’t know how long I stand there watching her — it feels like I could stay here all day — but pretty soon she looks up from her book, her eye catching mine, her smile growing bigger, and I smile back, then walk up the rest of the path towards her.

  I stand my bike just by the steps to the porch, then walk up them before leaning down to kiss her.

  “Good ride?” she asks.

  I kiss her again before I answer.

  “Good read?” I say back.

  It’s corny, but it’s one of our jokes.

  “Dinner’s on the stove,” she says, before one long last kiss.

  “I’ll set the table,” I say, turning to walk into the summer house.

  It’s not the same place from all those years ago. It’s a beautiful old cottage-style property in Wainscott Village in the Hamptons. We bought it a couple of years ago, and Charity’s done a wonderful job of doing i
t up.

  I walk into the kitchen and begin to set the table for two. Glasses. Napkins. Cutlery. And not for the first time, I think back to all those years of running: frightened of commitment, frightened of settling down. I never dreamed I could be this happy, setting the table in our beautiful home, for my beautiful wife.

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you so much for reading my latest novel. I do hope you enjoyed it and I’d love to hear your thoughts, especially if you were kind enough to take the time out to write a quick review on Amazon or Goodreads. Not only would mean so much to me, but those things really do make all the difference for a new author like myself!

  And finally, if you would like to be the very first to know whenever I publish a new book, simply sign up to my mailing list at:

  http://tinyletter.com/charlotteeve

  Thank you so much for all your support,

  Charlotte

  xx

  http://charlotteeveromance.tumblr.com/

  "I'll give you a thousand dollars for your panties."

  Wait ... what?

  Tell me he didn’t just say that?

  I nervously scan the bar, crowded as usual on a Friday night. It’s not often that someone manages to catch me off guard, but right now this tray of drinks is gonna fall from my hand and come crashing to the floor around my feet if I don’t keep my shit together.

  I take a deep breath, steady myself on my heels, smile sweetly, then say, “I’m sorry sir, I didn’t quite catch that.”

  Pretend like it never happened. There’s no way he’ll say it again.

  But he looks up at me so confidently from his seat in the booth, his dark eyes glinting, a smile playing on his full lips, his thick black hair so glossy and shining in the dim light of the bar. And then he does say it again, even slower this time, never breaking eye contact, so fucking calm and confident:

  “I’ll give you a thousand dollars for your panties.”

  He’s not even alone. There are three other guys in the booth with him, all dressed just as expensively in their slick tailored suits. At first I think that he must be saying it for their amusement – making me the pawn in some sick little game of his own creation, just to get a cheap laugh. But I quickly realize that the other guys are busy laughing and joking amongst themselves, not even paying attention to what he’s saying.