She gave in and texted him. Dress code for dinner?
His reply was immediate. Naked works for me.
She rolled her eyes. At your mom’s?
Oh, he replied. Casual. Something I can rip off later.
She left her phone on the counter and went to dig through her closet, eventually settling on a long skirt. No sense in making a bad impression.
No point in making a good one.
Shut. Up. She was still a guest—one, she realized, without a proper hostess gift. But she did have brownie mix. Surely she couldn’t screw that up. Quickly she mixed the ingredients, then dumped them in a pan as a knock sounded at the door. Frowning, she looked at the clock. Too early to be Sawyer, and she hadn’t buzzed anyone in. She took a moment to set the oven timer, slid the pan in the oven, then went to the door and peered through the hole.
Sawyer.
She swung the door open. “You’re early. Second thoughts?”
He responded by capturing the back of her head with one hand and backing her against the wall. Before the plaster even hit her back, his mouth was on hers. The kiss was hard. Demanding. Erotic. She heard the door slam—he must have kicked it—then he was lifting her. In one svelte move, the skirt was bunched around her hips, and his finger was inside her, strumming her G-spot and bringing so much pleasure she thought she’d cry. She suddenly felt boneless, but between him and the wall, she was stuck in a tornado of bliss. Tremors took over her body, then his thumb hit her clit, and she actually screamed his name.
“Shh,” he murmured, the word tripped by quiet laughter. He eased away from the wall, but he didn’t set her down. It was a good thing, because she probably would have hit the floor. After stopping to lock the door, he carried her into her bedroom and tossed her playfully on the bed, then landed on top of her.
“Now that I have your attention,” he said, “I think we need to make a few things clear.”
“We do?”
“One, you’re amazing in bed. I haven’t thought of anything else since. No tips needed. Not a damn one.”
The words clung to her in the worst way. Made her want. Gave her hope. Set her up for the worst fall. She swallowed a sudden lump in her throat. “Sawyer Chase, renowned playboy, has been thinking about sex. This is news?”
“I’ve been thinking about you, sweetheart. Which brings us to point number two. I don’t want you thinking that was all part of a game.”
“You don’t play games,” she reminded him. “You have sex; you move on.”
“This time I count to seven first.”
Something silly—something like hope—bloomed. “Can I get a written affidavit?”
“You can spread your legs. Now.”
She almost laughed. Then she caught the look in his eyes. “Are you serious?”
“I’m serious that I want you. If you aren’t interested, say the word. Otherwise, yes, I’m serious.”
“But dinner…”
“Sweetheart, I’ve done nothing but think of you since I last crawled out of this bed. I promise it won’t take long.”
She rolled her eyes. “Well, when you put it like that, at least take off my skirt so I can wear it later.”
He obliged, then shed his pants. Sort of. They landed somewhere around his ankles. By then, he had already rolled on a condom and found her wet and ready for him.
The moment he entered her felt like coming home. The sweetly familiar length overtook her, and her body quickly picked up where the last orgasm still lingered. The build happened quickly, and just like that, she was clutching his back while he moved inside her, the pure electrification of orgasm teasing her as surely as he pumped, heavy and thick, between her legs.
Having him there filled a void that had nothing to do with anatomy—not even one as impressive as his. His utter possession of her body threatened to wreck her, and she knew he wouldn’t be around to pick up the pieces. But she cherished the ride anyway.
He fastened onto one of her nipples, and the sudden shock made her cry out. And drag him in closer. She was crazy. Crazy. But the way he feasted, pinching and sucking and nibbling, she’d be just as crazy to say no. Fortunately she wouldn’t have to. He’d move on to someone else in no time, and she’d be left there with her memories.
The thought stung. She pushed it away and lifted her hips, changing the angle at which he drove into her.
“Christ, Kelsie.” He grunted and slammed into her harder, then harder still. He’d elevated her whimpering G-spot orgasm from earlier into the equivalent of a tidal wave. For a moment, she felt like a casual observer, standing on the beach, realizing by the unusual pull of the water that something big was about to happen, but having no concept of its depth. Not even when the wall began to come down did it really hit her. Nope, not until she was caught in the mother of all riptides, sputtering and gasping for air, unsure of which way to claw for salvation, did she realize just how deep she was in it.
And he in her. It went beyond physical. It scared her, but she wasn’t sure which was worse…running toward him, or running away. Her sense of preservation had gotten lost in the haze of orgasm, and she wasn’t sure she wanted out.
“That was amazing,” she said. Her ears rang. Her pinkie toe twitched. He’d even rocked the polish off her right ring finger. She’d definitely never experienced a thrust that could do that.
“I noticed.” He grinned, then flipped to his back, dragging her with him. She landed on top, and he quickly pulled her down. They were still connected, yet another new angle added to their shared repertoire. But she didn’t have time to reflect on that, because he’d started a sensual exploration of her mouth that made her want to weep. He wound his tongue with hers, alternately sucking her in, then teasing her with light kisses. Without thinking, she was moving on top of him, the incredible length and girth of his erection managing to touch her everywhere at once.
“Fuck.” He hissed a breath when she increased the movement, driving her hips just enough for him to feel it without losing the sensual pace.
“You really need to expand your vocabulary,” she teased. As she spoke, she sat back and ground her hips in a circular motion, nearly losing it when the penetration deepened.
“Where did you learn to move like that?”
She didn’t answer. She didn’t have one. With him, it just felt right.
He planted his hands on her hips and rocked her, literally and figuratively. Immediately, she discovered she had nothing to hold, so she threw back her head and let him keep the pace while she ground hard against him until pleasure once again tore through her, leaving her a muddled mess. He flipped her to the side, then lazily pumped his hips against her, riding out his orgasm while looking into her eyes.
Oh. God.
He smiled gently, the look of an utterly satisfied man. Knowing that she’d done that to him sent a funny little thrill through her.
“I’ve never really made out for days with anyone,” he said softly. Her eyes must have expressed her confusion, because he elaborated. “Not during sex. It feels too close.”
“So what are you doing kissing me?”
“I don’t—what’s that noise? And that smell?”
“Uh-oh.” She scrambled away from him, threw on a T-shirt—his, she realized after the fact—and ran to the kitchen to take out the brownies. Cautiously, she sniffed the pan. They didn’t smell too bad. Buoyed, she snagged a toothpick off the shelf and poked the center of the pan. It went in, sort of, so that was a good sign. “Good.”
“What’s good?”
She jumped at Sawyer’s voice behind her, then immediately relaxed into the embrace that followed. He was naked, and his dick nudged at her butt. “Not happening,” she warned.
“What’s not happening?”
“Round three. We have somewhere to be. Your somewhere, I might add.”
“Yeah, right.” He peered over her shoulder. “Wow, I’m impressed.”
“Really?”
“Homemade dog treats? You
bet I am.”
She jabbed her elbow into his washboard abs. “Dogs can’t have chocolate, you jerk.”
“That’s chocolate?” He appeared utterly bewildered.
“Brownies,” she explained. “For your mom’s.”
“Um…”
“Smile and nod, Sawyer Chase. It’s a boxed mix. I handled it.”
He grinned and planted a kiss on her neck. “You rock my world, sweetness. You sure you don’t want to fuck?”
She rolled her eyes and headed for the bedroom, where her clothes were likely hopelessly wrinkled. “You sure you don’t want to expand your vocabulary?”
“I beg your pardon,” he said, hot on her heels. “I excel in expanding parts.”
Marmaduke looked up from the bed when they entered. He cocked his head at Sawyer and proceeded to show his teeth. His body shook with the force of his growl.
“What’s the matter there, Minidick? Got some penis envy going on?”
“No wonder he hates you.”
“Why?” His eyes danced. “Because he thinks I’m a god?”
“He is not the least bit interested in your penis.”
Sawyer snagged her by the waist and pulled her in. She quickly learned it was a ploy to relieve her of his shirt. “What about you?” he asked.
“Seriously? Are we not almost late?”
“Seriously.”
“Your penis is amazing. You’re definitely a god.” And he kind of was. Weren’t men supposed to need a recovery period between orgasms? Clearly, he’d been wired all wrong. He was sex, sex, and more sex.
Surely you’re not surprised.
No, she wasn’t, but he had to have another gear. Maybe she’d discover that this afternoon. In fact, she’d better, because if the dinner conversation was about sex, she was so outta there.
“We’re going to be late,” she said.
“Maybe we don’t have to go at all.”
“Date five,” she said. The words were supposed to be a playful warning, but instead they felt like a punch to the gut.
Apparently not only to her. “Yeah,” he said darkly, plopping naked onto the bed. “Date five.”
Inexplicably hurt, she turned away. She found her clothes and wiggled into them, feeling his eyes on her but not returning the favor. He didn’t need her attention. He had every other woman on the planet to swoon over him. That would be enough for anyone else, but not Sawyer Chase.
But that wasn’t her problem, was it?
She forced down her irritation and locked herself in the bathroom long enough to clean up. When she exited, she found him in the kitchen-living-room-dining-area—New York apartments were closets to the rest of the world—kicking a chew toy to Marmaduke. She held back, watching while the dog snatched it up, snarling, and ran to deposit it at Sawyer’s feet. He then circled around and sat until Sawyer kicked it again, and the process restarted.
What. The. Heck.
She kept silent as she went to the stove, where the pan of brownies waited, and grabbed a knife. They probably weren’t cool enough to cut but close enough. Fortunately, they were only slightly overdone. She bit back a burst of nervous laughter and sawed harder with the knife. Sorry these are a bit overcooked. I didn’t hear the timer over the loud sex.
Sawyer came up behind her and slid his arms around her waist, sending thrills through her. The man was heaven. Heaven. But it was just physical. Had to be.
While one of his hands crept lower, the other went for a brownie. She smacked his arm, but not before he’d snatched one. “Those aren’t for you.”
“Too late.” He popped the dessert in his mouth and immediately made a face.
“Did I mention they’re still hot?”
He shook his head and started rooting around the small kitchen. Calmly, she handed him a paper towel, which he snatched from her. “No, you did not,” he said a moment later.
“Lesson learned.”
“You’ve got that right.” He looked queasy. And gorgeous.
And entirely too much like heartbreak.
Chapter Twelve
In the elevator, Sawyer pushed the button for his floor. Kelsie looked at him in confusion.
“I borrowed a spoon from my mom,” he said, “and I need to return it.” Lies. What he really needed was to brush his teeth. That brownie was inexplicably worse than her buttermilk, garlic mashed potatoes, which was an accomplishment. The worst kind.
The doors slid open on his floor, and Kelsie hesitated. He grabbed her hand. “You’re not going to stand there smashing the door open button until I get back, are you? Come on.”
His last words were moot. By then he had her halfway down the corridor, those horrible brownies clutched in her free hand like she was headed to the gallows. The woman needed to relax. He’d hoped to do that with the sex, not that he needed a motive for that, but apparently he’d only reminded her of the countdown…and the end.
No wonder she looked like someone kicked her dog.
Or like anyone who had ever eaten her cooking.
He unlocked his apartment and gestured for her to enter first. She did so, but hesitantly.
“It’s not dangerous in here. I promise.” He paused to point out the damage she’d caused to his ceiling. The water stain was huge, the spot of flaking plaster considerably smaller. “Except there.”
To her credit, she looked slightly horrified. “I did that?”
“Yep, and maintenance has promised to be up here for repairs within the next six months, but if it actually caves, they’ll try to move me up a day or two.”
She averted her gaze from the ceiling to him. Aghast, she asked, “Is that even legal?”
He shrugged. “It’s classified as a water stain. They probably don’t have to fix it at all. Make yourself at home. I’ll be right back.” He headed for the bathroom and felt about ten times better after he brushed his teeth. It really was the little things. He had no idea how she’d screwed up a boxed brownie mix, but she’d done so beautifully. They tasted like bark. Hot bark.
He wiped his mouth on a towel and exited to find her standing where he’d left her. Clearly she’d decided not to get comfortable. The place might be a touch Spartan—mostly leather, hardwood, and electronics—but it was clean. Other than the spot on the ceiling. But they’d already established that was her fault. “You ready?”
She raised a skeptical brow. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
“Am I?”
“Your mother’s spoon?”
Ah, shit. “I guess having you so close to my bedroom made me forget.”
Her brow lifted. “And what percentage of the population of New York has not heard that line?”
He inwardly winced. “I thought that was my selling point. Experience, I mean.”
“You’re right.” She sighed. “I should remember that.”
Her agreement hit him straight in the gut. “What does that mean?”
“Nothing.”
He touched her arm. “No, no nothing. Something’s wrong, and it has been since date five became a thing.”
A dozen shadows passed over her face before she seemed to settle on one. “I just have a hard time telling what’s real and what the lines are.”
He took the brownies out of her hand and placed them on the counter—with any luck, she’d forget them—and took her hands. “No lines. None. I’m not going to lie to you,” he said uber-solemnly. “Not even for sex.”
Her brow quirked. “You went to the opera with me.”
“But did I pretend I wanted to be there?”
Now she laughed. “No.”
“I rest my case,” he said, grateful for the lighter mood. He didn’t trust himself to examine anything below the surface—not hers and definitely not his. “You can trust me,” he said. “Now let’s get moving.”
He took her hand and headed for the door, only to be dragged to a stop. “Your spoon?”
“Oh, yeah.”
Her eyes narrowed. “And my brownies.”
Fuck.
Fifteen minutes later, he handed the whole batch to his three brothers. And smiled, because he knew they were about to give him hell. Nothing like a preemptive strike, and this one ranked right up there with Hiroshima.
“Kelsie,” Sawyer said once they were inside, “meet Ethan, Liam, Crosby, and Estelle. Crosby will probably never see you because his eyes have yet to be surgically removed from Estelle, who is nevertheless the best thing to ever happen to him, but I thought you might want to know his name anyway. And this,” he added as his parents approached, “is my dad, Russell, and my mom, Alice.”
His mom and dad both greeted her warmly, then his mom excused herself to the kitchen. Crosby glared, but to his credit he was the next to stand and greet Kelsie. “Not to steal one of Sawyer’s lines, but I have to say I have no idea what you’re doing with my brother.”
Kelsie winced over Crosby’s use of lines. Sawyer made a mental note to punch him later. Hard. In the face. “She’s just a friend,” he said, and immediately felt like a jerk. But what was he supposed to say? She couldn’t get a date, so she settled for him?
Ethan’s gaze jerked to Sawyer in surprise, and Sawyer prayed he’d keep his mouth shut.
Unfortunately, Liam didn’t. “A platonic friend?”
“Sawyer doesn’t know the meaning of that word,” Crosby reminded the group.
“Boys!” Alice warned from the other room.
Russell cleared his throat. “Alice usually offers the apologies around here,” he said, “but since she’s indisposed with the kitchen, I’ll go ahead and say I do hope you’ll excuse these boys.” In a stage whisper he added, “They take after their mother.”
For Seven Nights Only (Chase Brothers) Page 11