Page 24

24

HONOR

I sink into the chair near the fireplace as Chase crouches to light the logs. The crackle of the kindling fills the silence. The cottage feels safe. Warm in a way that wraps around me, tempting me to lower my guard. And that terrifies me.

“You okay?” Chase asks, settling into the chair beside mine. His arm almost moves to reach for me, but he stops short.

Am I okay? Fear coils in my chest, but it’s not the kind I’m used to. This isn’t the fear of Damon or the Circle or even of ghosts in the shadows.

Since when fear paralyzes me? Because of a man no less?

I swallow hard and meet his gaze, and in an instant, I see it—layers I never wanted to acknowledge. Chase isn’t just a convenient ally or a piece in my plan. He’s not just an object in my series of boxes. He’s more than that. And the realization floors me.

He had his reasons for joining the Circle, reasons I don’t condone. But with everything he’s done for me—for Laramie—can I hold on to my grudge?

Can I forgive him?

“I’m okay,” I mumble as I look away.

The silence between us stretches, and I feel him watching me, waiting for something I’m not sure I can give.

“I’ll…leave you to it,” Chase finally says. He stands, glancing toward the small desk in the corner. “If you need anything, that phone there connects straight to the house. Either my mother or I will handle it.”

Wait. He’s not staying?

“Okay,” I respond, lacking any real conviction.

Why am I disappointed? The way I’m looking at him now feels achingly familiar—like the way I once stared at Junior, crouched beside my mother’s body, silently pleading for something I couldn’t name. A miracle, maybe. Or just hope. My intuition whispered then, as it does now: That man will help you.

Chase pauses mid-step, turning back. “Hey, what’s wrong?” He strides toward me, kneeling to meet my eyes.

“Nothing.”

“That didn’t look like nothing,” he says.

“It’s nothing, Chase,” I insist.

What do eleven-year-old girls know about men? But my gut was right back then, and it’s right now. Not that Chase would make everything okay, but that he wouldn’t let me hurt—not if he could help it. That part of him hasn’t changed, and, if I’m being honest, neither has my intuition.

“I’ll… call if I need anything.” The sentence comes out awkwardly, stumbling over itself like a clumsy goodbye.

“Okay.” He rises, lingering for a second. “I’ll, uh, knock when dinner’s ready.”

He turns toward the door, and something inside me snaps. My guard—my carefully built walls—they crumble under the weight of everything he’s done. Since the moment he barged into that motel room, found me in labor, and refused to leave my side, Chase has been here. Protecting me in ways I didn’t even know I needed.

“Chase,” I call, my voice breaking slightly.

He stops, startled, and turns back just as I reach out and grab his hand. My fingers curl around his, holding tight. His warmth steadies me as I lift my gaze to meet his.

It’s more than a stormy sky—there are fronts colliding beneath. Struggle rippling through, and the undertow of unspoken hope pressing down.

“Honor?” he says, sending my way a tenderness I’ve never known in any man.

And just like that, my emotions rise, unrelenting. Gratitude. Connection. A desperate need to let someone in, even if it scares me. Even if it breaks me.

Gradually, I lean up, my lips touching his in a featherlight kiss. He presses back, firmer, though it still feels like the touch of dawn.

I don’t know how I restrain myself from tearing him apart, but right now, I just want him to feel it. To know I see him.

He freezes for a second, his breath catching. Then he exhales, his lips moving against mine with a reverence that makes my heart ache. I follow his lead, matching the slow build.

When I finally pull back, his eyes cast on me, baring it all.

“Wow,” he pushes out a breath, his voice trembling. “I must’ve done something right.”

“Stay here with me,” I whisper.

“There’s nothing else I’d rather do.” His hand comes up to cradle my cheek.

My God, how can a man be so soothing?

“Why are you so good to me?” My voice dips even lower.

His thumb brushes against my cheek, and his honesty cuts through me like a blade. “Because I want to take care of you. Keep you safe. That’s what a man does.”

“But you don’t even know me,” I protest, my voice wavering.

His gaze holds. “Exactly. Because I don’t know you. And I want to. I want to be the man you let in. Sometimes, you don’t need reasons—you just trust your gut. And my gut tells me it’s you, Honor.”

I can’t look away. His words, his conviction, climb over what’s left of my resistance.

“So, you want to be my gentle giant?” I tease, my fingers brushing over his arm, strong and hard beneath my touch.

“Is that what you want me to be?” he asks, a faint smile brushes his expression.

“What else is on offer?” I challenge, and that’s all it takes.

His lips crash against mine, the kiss fierce and visceral. I’m not a woman in love, but I sure am on fire. He holds me as though he’s afraid I’ll slip away, and in that moment, I feel both consumed and grounded.

I haven’t forgotten what he is. But the who he is starts to take over me. The man he is—the one who protects, who stays, who sees me—that man is taking over everything I thought I knew.

My lips still fused to his, I unbutton my shirt. I press myself forward, hungry for contact. My breasts spill out of my bra, compressing against his steel-hard pecs.

He pulls back, his breath uneven. “What do you want from me, Honor?”

“For you to want me.”

“I’ve wanted you from the moment I laid eyes on you,” he murmurs, plumping my breasts until both nipples protrude out of the cups. “It kills me to think that I’ll never have you.”

“This is your moment—take it. All of me, just for tonight,” I moan.

He squeezes my breasts, thumbs circling my nipples. The energy flows downward in a prickly rush. It’s just the start, but I’m already speeding toward a high.

As if irritated by the restless fabric of my open shirt, he yanks it free, all urgency and no finesse—impatience winning out over elegance. Then he tugs his sweater over his head, the material straining as if it might rip apart any second.

“I don’t hold back, Honor.”

“Did I ask you to?” I counter.

The metallic click of his loose buckle is almost as thrilling as the stripping. Then his bare legs hold my attention. I still can’t get over the sheer size of his thighs, imagining the power behind them when they pump. Not iron— me .

He grips the waistband of my jeans and pulls me against him. His arms circle me, reaching my back to unclasp my bra.

My breasts burst out. Their weight and the tightness deliver a clear message: ready . Inside, they tingle with needs, spurred by the taste of his earlier touch.

“Honor…you’re going to kill me,” he groans.

“So, whether you have me or you don’t, you die anyway?” I tease.

“Something like that.”

Apparently, even in the afterlife, his appetite is indestructible. He feasts on me, his lips nibbling my nipple one by one, his hands digging into the flesh. My breasts react, like clay hardening in a kiln. He hisses, handling them more roughly as if sensing it too.

“You’re too easily turned on,” he comments. “Let’s hope that works in our favor.”

With a shove, he sends me sprawling back onto the bed, as if eager to uncover the answer—and me, as he scoops up my ass and pulls my jeans off. His hand slips under the string of my panties, driving them down my legs in an unbroken motion.

I stop him from doing the same to his own underwear. He flashes me a look of disapproval but ultimately concedes when my foot drop onto his groin, toes dancing around his swollen testicles, then climbing to massage his shaft.

I curl my toes, hooking the elastic band. It stretches, revealing his pubic hair. I pull it down, inch by inch, until the base of his shaft comes into view.

Holy Montana…

Finishing the stripping is proven beyond the capability of my foot, thanks to his out-of-control bulge. So my hand comes into the party, and I’m there. His well sculpted cock springs out—long, hard, solid, painfully stretched. I kiss it, suck it, lick it like I’ve never known a man before.

No, I haven’t. Chase is a real man, no matter who I compare him to.

“Fuck, Honor! Are you trying to make me cum?”

I ignore his warning, testing him. My heating core is begging for a taste as my mouth delights in the phenomenal flavor of his precum.

“Honor, you need to stop,” he exclaims, pulling free. Not in the mood to give me the satisfaction, he immediately takes control, holding his weight over me.

Oh heavens… all those swelling muscles.

His mouth ravages whatever of me within its reach. His cock hangs between us. Brazen, poised to mate.

Feeling the state of him, I could have excused him for ejaculating. But he chooses to exercise remarkable restraint. He takes his time to kiss my thighs, lingering at the top until his tongue arrives at my entrance.

I exhale loudly as he repeats his oral marvel—only harder. Beyond the hardest he tried when I asked him to help me sleep.

“Chase…”

Heat builds up in me, but I don’t want to come just yet.

“You okay?” Chase pauses.

Amazing. He reads me like a map, he senses me like a pulse.

“Yeah,” I reply while in my head, I’m not so sure if delay is wise. Time might not be on our side. Laramie could wake up any moment now. And for reasons I can’t explain, I’m afraid Chase might change his mind.

I flip over, ass up.

“You like it like this?” he groans. His palm meets my skin in a firm, deliberate slap—not harsh, but enough to make me squirm. Heat blooms where his hand lingers, molding and kneading possessively—the best thing that has ever happened to my ass cheeks.

He then rotates his hips, letting me feel his erection against my backside. With deliberate intent, he moves behind me, making it clear he’s slipping on a condom.

Then he drapes me, his hands scooping my boobs before he rests on his elbows. The tip of his cock brushes my opening, staying there for a while as if testing my wetness. A few flicks, and he enters me.

I moan as he rocks me like he owns me.

If it’s this good to be owned by him, would I let him beyond tonight?

He ravages me deep, squeezing my walls hard, yet, he never stops calling my name. Even in his ecstasy, he makes sure I know that it’s me he’s thinking of.

“Come for me,” he begs as he keeps pumping. “Come on, Honor, give it to me.”

His size makes it painful, but the size of his heart leaves me undone, weeping in bittersweet wonder. My body molds to him, the pain dissolving into a cascade of exquisite aches.

I let go. A climax I’ve never experienced before. Thunderous, deep, and reaching far and wide.

“Chase…” I peek up. He’s still solid as a mountain rock.

He whispers in my ear, “Fancy another one?”

“Wwhat?”

My reaction draws an amused chuckle from him. Why? Really, back-to-back orgasms are a myth. They so are!

Chase doesn’t wait. After all, he’s still owning me, he’s allowed to do whatever he pleases. Including forcing my ass down, planing it against the mattress with the force of his hips. My entrance is squeezed flat, but he finds a way in, only by exploiting a narrow gap between my legs. A feat only possible if your member is at a certain length.

And he pushes in further.

A scream rises in my throat. His size sears me I almost crawl away from him. But his move carries more than just the burn.

I tense up, surprised by the imminent second orgasm, tempting me like a ripe fruit. No way. There’s no way I’m going to crawl away from this.

Chase’s move becomes increasingly urgent, his hardness becomes almost impossible to bear. My sex clenches, a reflex to dull the pain and at the same time, heighten my awareness of his hardness.

“You drive me crazy, Honor.” He amps up his rocking, sending us soaring and crashing against the mattress.

I savor this hurt—because it’s fucking glorious. I know one day my decision will bring a different kind of pain. But in this moment, Chase Samson is a lover I can’t get enough of. A box of instant addiction.

“And I want you—so damn crazy much,” I murmur, probably the most coherent thing I’ve said since he was inside me.

Alas, addiction is a paradox—the more forbidden it is, the sweeter its pull becomes. What do I do with the other box of his? One that I’ve vowed to destroy?

The answer can wait. Because right now, I’ll drink this jar of heavenly sweetness until the last drop.

Chase rocks his hips, and with one push, he devastates me. The flood of orgasm rages through me, washing me with sensations that are almost too perfect to believe. Like soaring with cherubs, gliding on a celestial swan, or standing in a petal shower spun by fairies. He calls my name again as he releases, pretty tame for a big guy like him. Just a few breathy groans, before he gives me a long, tender kiss.

A surprising conclusion. One that imprints itself in my mind as the perfect ending. Granting me a kiss is clearly more important to him than catching his breath. And as if that’s not enough, he runs his fingers along my cheek, fishing a contented sigh from me.

So this is Chase Samson on completion. Not a hint of post-sex machismo that I grew accustomed to with Damon, or the previous men for that matter. No repulsive grunts declaring ‘I’m the greatest,’ or a dismissive puff of a cigarette as if saying, ‘Nice fuck, thanks.’

Chase doesn’t hold back his power, yet he doesn’t hold back on his tenderness either.

A tear trails down the corner of my eye as he pulls free.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” he whispers, his voice soft with concern. “Did I do something?”

It’s downright criminal how good I feel, even as his words twist something raw inside me. He thinks he’s at fault? Seriously? Men like this—selfless, so damn aware—almost feel like a myth. But then again, I’ve just had a double orgasm, so perhaps some myths are made to be broken.

I manage a shaky, “No.”

He lies beside me, cautious at first. But as I exhale and shift to make space, his hand finds my back, tracing slow, soothing patterns, as if coaxing me toward sleep. I want to, but I’m relishing the last drop of his sweetness, not knowing when I’ll taste it again.