Page 21 of Check & Chase (Breakaway #1)

“Chase,” I gasp, the sound lost in the thumping bass.

His eyes find mine, questioning, giving me the chance to pull away.

I don’t.

Instead, I rock against him, just slightly, but enough to make his pupils dilate.

“That’s dangerous, Emma,” he warns, his voice a rumble I feel more than hear.

“We’re just dancing,” I reply, but we both know it’s a lie.

“Is that what we’re calling it?”

His hand slides lower, skimming the curve of my ass. The touch sends electricity up my spine, a shiver of want that I can’t suppress.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispers, his voice rough. “Tell me this isn’t what you want.”

But I can’t. Because despite every rational thought screaming that this is a terrible idea, my body has its own agenda.

“I want it. I want you .”

Something flashes in his eyes before he spins us, using his body to maneuver us deeper into the crowd, away from prying eyes.

We end up in a dark corner, partially concealed by a large potted plant.

My back is to the wall, his hands are on my hips, and he’s grinding me against him in a rhythm that has nothing to do with the music.

“Anyone looking?” he asks, his lips against my ear.

I glance around, but in the dim, smoky room, it’s impossible to tell. “I don’t think so.”

“Good.” One hand slides to the nape of my neck, tilting my face up to his. “Because I’ve been wanting to do this since I saw you tonight.”

His mouth claims mine, hot and demanding. His tongue traces the seam of my lips and I open for him, my hands fisting in the soft fabric of his shirt as heat explodes through me .

He tastes like mint and the faint sweetness of whatever he’s been drinking. His stubble scrapes deliciously against my skin as he angles his head, deepening the kiss until I’m breathless, dizzy with need.

When we finally break apart, I’m panting, my lips tender and swollen. He doesn’t look much better, his eyes heavy-lidded, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” I say, though I make no move to step away.

“Probably not,” he agrees, his hands still on my hips, keeping me pressed against him. “Want to stop?”

The rational part of my brain is screaming yes. The part of me that’s been awakened by his touch disagrees.

“No,” I admit.

“Good. Because I’m just getting started.”

His hand slides down my side, then around to the front of my thigh, his touch light but purposeful. My breath catches as his fingers trace patterns on my bare skin, inching ever higher beneath my dress.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he murmurs, his eyes locked on mine.

I should. God, I should. We’re in public, surrounded by his teammates. This is beyond unprofessional, beyond reckless.

But the memory of his fingers inside me a year ago overwhelms all rational thought.

“Don’t stop,” I whisper.

He groans. “You’re going to be the death of me, Blondie.”

His hand continues its torturously slow ascent, fingers tracing the edge of my lacy thong. My head falls forward against his shoulder, eyes closing as I focus on the sensation.

“Look at me,” he commands, his voice low but firm.

I obey, lifting my gaze to his. The intensity I find there steals my breath .

“I want to see your face,” he explains, his fingers finally slipping beneath the lace to find me hot and embarrassingly wet. “When you come for me. Again.”

The first touch of his fingers against my clit sends a jolt through me so intense I have to bite my lip to keep from crying out. It’s been too long, and I’m too sensitive, too keyed up.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his eyes darkening as he feels how ready I am. “You’re soaked, Emma. Is this all for me?”

I should be embarrassed by how eager my body is. But the look on his face banishes any shame.

“Yes,” I admit.

Surprise flashes in his eyes before he captures my mouth in another searing kiss. At the same time, his fingers begin to move, circling my clit.

I gasp into his mouth, my hips jerking at the sensation. He swallows the sound, his free hand tangling in my hair as he kisses me deeply, his tongue matching the rhythm of his fingers between my legs.

Around us, the party continues—music pulsing, bodies moving, nobody paying attention to the couple in the corner. The risk should terrify me. Instead, it only heightens the intensity.

He breaks the kiss, his breath ragged against my ear. “That’s it, Blondie. Ride my hand. Let me make you feel good.”

I comply, unable to resist the commanding tone. My hips rock in small, subtle movements, chasing the friction as he slips one finger inside me, then another.

“Chase,” I gasp, the pressure building rapidly. “I’m close.”

“I know,” he murmurs, his thumb finding my clit as his fingers curl inside me, hitting that perfect spot that makes stars explode behind my eyelids. “Let go, Emma. Come for me.”

And I do, shattering against him, my face buried in his neck to muffle the sounds I can’t contain.

Wave after wave of pleasure crashes through me, my inner walls clenching around his fingers as he works me through it, drawing out the orgasm until I’m trembling and oversensitive, clinging to him for support .

“That’s it,” he soothes. “So fucking beautiful.”

Eventually, the intensity recedes, leaving me boneless and dazed in his arms. He withdraws his hand slowly, and the sight of him discreetly wiping his fingers on a cocktail napkin should not be as erotic as it is.

Reality begins to seep back in as my breathing returns to normal. We’re at a party. Surrounded by people. I just let Chase finger me on a dance floor where anyone could have seen.

Panic starts to rise, but he seems to sense it, his hand coming up to cup my face gently.

“Hey,” he murmurs, his eyes searching mine. “You okay?”

I nod, not quite trusting my voice yet.

“No regrets?” he presses, a hint of vulnerability in his expression.

I should have regrets. Should be mortified. But the truth is, I don’t regret a single second.

“No regrets,” I confirm.

The smile that spreads across his face is worth any potential fallout. “Good.”

A new song starts, something slower, and he pulls me against his chest, his arms wrapping around me in a way that feels protective, possessive. We sway together, my head resting on his shoulder, his lips occasionally brushing my temple.

It feels intimate in a way that has nothing to do with what just happened between us.

“What about you?” I ask, suddenly aware that while I found release, he’s still hard against me.

He chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest. “I’ll survive. Tonight was about you.”

“But—”

“Emma,” he cuts me off gently, his eyes sweeping the room. “Not here. Come with me.”

Before I can respond, he’s leading me off the dance floor, retrieving his crutch and navigating through the crowded house. We end up in a darkened hallway that leads toward the back of the house, away from the main party.

He opens a door, revealing a small bathroom—marble countertops, dim lighting, and mercifully, a lock on the door. As soon as we’re inside, he turns the lock and leans his crutch against the wall.

“Better,” he says, pulling me to him for a kiss that makes my already weak knees threaten to give out entirely.

When we part, I’m breathless again. “We shouldn’t be doing this,” I whisper, though my body is already responding to his proximity.

“We’ve established that,” he agrees, his hands sliding down to my hips. “But I’m not done with you yet, Blondie.”

He guides me until the backs of my thighs hit the countertop, then lifts me effortlessly to sit on its edge. The position puts me at perfect height for him, and he steps between my legs, his hands sliding up my thighs.

“I don’t think I can go again,” I admit, though my body is already betraying that statement.

“Let’s test that theory.”

Before I can respond, he’s dropping to his knees in front of me, pushing my dress up around my waist.

“Chase,” I gasp, realizing his intent. “Your knee—”

“Worth it,” he murmurs, pressing kisses along my inner thigh. “I’ve been thinking about tasting you again for a whole year.”

He hooks his fingers in the sides of my thong, looking up at me for permission. I nod, lifting my hips slightly as he slides the lace down my legs, tucking it into his pocket with a wink.

“Souvenir,” he explains.

“You’re impossible,” I tell him.

“And you’re beautiful,” he counters, his gaze dropping to where I’m exposed to him. “So fucking beautiful.”

Then his mouth is on me, hot and insistent. He knows exactly what he’s doing, alternating between broad strokes of his tongue and focused attention on my clit .

“Oh god,” I gasp, one hand tangling in his hair, mindless of the wolf ears now knocked askew. “Chase.”

He hums against me, the vibration adding a new dimension to the pleasure. I bite my lip to keep from crying out, aware that despite the locked door, we’re still in someone else’s house.

His pace increases, his tongue circling my clit before sucking gently, and somehow, I feel another orgasm building.

So much for not being able to go again.

“I’m close,” I warn.

He looks up at me, his eyes dark with desire, and the sight of him between my legs is almost enough to push me over the edge.

“Come for me, Emma,” he commands, his breath hot against my sensitive flesh. “Let me taste you.”

His mouth returns to me, more insistent now, and when he slides two fingers inside me, curling them just right, I shatter again. This time, I have to slap a hand over my mouth to muffle the cry that tears from my throat, my body convulsing with pleasure so intense it borders on pain.

He works me through it, gentling his touch as I become oversensitive, until I’m pushing at his shoulders, unable to take any more. He presses one last kiss to my inner thigh before rising, grimacing slightly as his bad knee straightens.

“Still worth it?” I ask, nodding toward his knee.

His smile is blinding. “Absolutely.”

He helps me down from the countertop, steadying me when my legs prove unsteady. I adjust my dress, suddenly aware of the absence of my underwear.

“I should probably get that back,” I mention, nodding toward his pocket.

“Finder’s keepers, Blondie.” His grin is unrepentant. “Consider it motivation for next time.”

“Next time?” I echo, reality starting to creep back in.

His expression turns more serious, his hand coming up to cup my cheek. “Unless you’re saying this was a one-time thing. ”

I should say yes. Should reinstate the boundaries we just shattered. Should remember all the reasons this is complicated—his injury, my job, our agreement that this relationship is just for show.

But the thought of never feeling his touch again is suddenly unbearable.

“Not a one-time thing,” I admit.

His smile is slow, satisfied. “Good to know, Blondie.”

We step out of the bathroom, smoothing our clothes and trying to look like he didn’t just make me come. The party hasn’t missed a beat—music still thumps through the house, people still laugh too loudly, and no one seems to notice our brief disappearance.

He gives my hand a gentle squeeze before heading toward the nearest couch to rest his knee, promising he’ll join me again once it stops throbbing.

I make my way back to the dance floor, my cheeks still flushed, heart still racing. Maya finds me almost immediately, grabbing my hand with a grin and pulling me into a twirl.

We dance together, laughter bubbling from my chest. I try not to think about what this means for our arrangement, for the walls I’ve built around my heart.

I try not to acknowledge that what started as a fake relationship has just veered into very real territory.

Instead, I focus on the solid thrum of music in my chest, Maya’s carefree energy, and the sight of Chase watching me from the corner, his expression so open it makes my breath catch.

Whatever complications tomorrow brings, right now, in this moment, I’m exactly where I want to be.