More Than I Could (72)

Chase bites gently on my swollen nub, and I lose it.

My legs shake—my body trembles. A gush of desire rolls down my slit and pools on the bed beneath me.

The sound of Chase’s tongue licking, caressing—delivering the pleasure coursing through me—only prolongs the delicious torture.

I grit my teeth and ride out wave after wave of intensity.

Finally, when I’m spent, I release the pillow and toss it to the side. It’s just in time to catch Chase pulling away from me. My orgasm coats his face.

“That’s one hell of a way to wake up,” I whisper.

He grins, picking up the pillow I just had. He slips it out of the pillowcase and uses the fabric to wipe himself off.

“Come here and let me repay the favor,” I say, scooting up.

“Can’t.” He tosses the pillowcase at me, grinning. “I’ve gotta go to work.”

“What?” I glance at the clock. “It’s three thirty in the morning.”

“And I’ve gotta go.”

I hold out my hands like, what the fuck?

He gets off the bed and walks around to the side. He sits and pulls me toward him. I nestle against his chest, breathing in his cologne and memorizing it for the next two days.

“I couldn’t leave without something to remember you by,” he says, kissing my head.

“Pretty sure I’m the one with the memory.” I pull back and look into his eyes. “Be safe, okay?”

He nods. “If you need anything, call me.”

“I will.”

He searches my face like he’s about to say something else but doesn’t. Instead, he half smiles and kisses me. “I’ve gotta go.”

“Are you sure I can’t reciprocate?”

“I wish.” He kisses me again. “Two days. When I get back, you’re in my bed.”

My stomach wobbles. “We’ll see.”

He grins wickedly. “Damn right, we will.” He gets off the bed and heads for the door. “Go back to sleep. I’ll call you later this morning.”

“Okay.”

He cracks open the door, gives me a final smile that lights me up from the inside out, and then leaves.

I fall back against the bed and giggle. How is this even real?

Sighing, I contemplate whether to go to the bathroom or go back to sleep. But the energy pulsing through me has me turning to my phone instead. Feelings I’ve never felt before roar through me, and I don’t know how to keep them inside. They need to be let out.

I unlock the screen and find Calista’s name.



Me: I think I just fell in love.





Chapter Twenty-Seven





Megan




“Well, that sucks.” Kennedy turns the corner from the stairs and moves into the living room. “I just wanted to take a shower.”

I turn down the volume on the television. “And why can’t you get in the shower?”

“Because it’s storming.”

As if on cue, a rattle of thunder shakes the house.

“And why can’t you shower when it’s storming?” I ask, not following her.

She shrugs and slumps into a chair by the fireplace. “I don’t know. Pap always says not to shower or be on the phone in a storm. Doesn’t make any sense to me, but he also texts me his name after every message, so there’s that.”

I snort. “He does?”

“Yeah. Love, P. Or Call me back, P. Or Did you want some fried potatoes for supper? P.” She shrugs again. “Like, yeah, Pap. I can see the number and your face when you text me. It’s on top of the screen. There’s no need to identify yourself.”

Something about that is ridiculously adorable, and I can’t help but giggle. Kennedy, although not as amused as I am, laughs too.

She snuggles down into the chair. “What are you watching?”

“This woman went missing for fifteen years, and the only clue about where she went was a yellow bandanna next to her cell phone on the side of a road. Long story and I’m not sure if it’s relevant yet or a red herring. I’m ninety-nine percent sure her husband did it, but the investigators seem to think it was the neighbor. So who knows.”

She hums.

“What do you like to watch?” I ask.

“Nothing, really. I YouTube nineties music videos. Sometimes I’ll watch something if everyone talks about it, but I usually don’t like it enough to become obsessed.”

“Nineties videos, huh?”

“Yeah,” she says.

“Did you know your uncle Gavin hasn’t seen the ‘Opposites Attract’ video by Paula Abdul?”

“What? That’s a classic.”

“I know.”

“I’m a big Paula fan. She doesn’t get enough clout from my generation.”

“Agreed,” I say, impressed with her stance on this important fact.

We sit in silence for a few minutes before my stomach growls. Kennedy looks at me as I press my hand to my tummy.

“Hungry?” I ask her.

“I’m always hungry.”

A kid after my heart. “Let’s go make a snack.”

“Who did your nails?” she asks as we walk to the kitchen. “That color is the bomb.”