Page 33

Chapter twenty-two

I kiss you once, and suddenly you need real estate

Chase

Z oe is everywhere.

My hand skates lower, barely brushing the hem of her skirt, and she shudders, her knees buckling just slightly.

I feel it—the tiny, desperate shift forward. The way she’s half pressed against me, half pressed into my hands, the way her nails dig in, like she’s ready to beg for it.

Christ. I need to get her somewhere else.

I pull back just enough to breathe, and the second her mouth leaves mine, the world snaps back into focus.

Music. Lights. The pulse of bass shaking the air. And phones fucking everywhere. A whole semi-circle of people holding up their cameras like they’ve just watched the headliner take the stage. Which, to be fair, they kinda have.

Zoe blinks up at me, breathless and flushed, lips kiss-bitten and perfect. And then, because she’s Zoe, she clocks the phones and exhales hard through her nose. “Walton. We need a tent.”

I blink, still half-dazed. “What?”

She tilts her head toward the phones, completely unbothered, and I see the switch flip in her head.

“You’re a star hockey player making out with his girlfriend at a festival,” she says flatly, pulling away from my arms and smoothing her skirt down. “You need to get us a tent.”

I stare at her. “Do you think I just have one in my back pocket?”

She gestures vaguely toward the far field and outer edges of the VIP zone, where a few high-end glamping setups sit like an oasis away from the chaos.

“Like, a real one. With walls and zippers. And no phones.”

My brows lift. “You mean, for privacy?”

She rolls her eyes, grabs my shirt, and yanks me forward by the collar. “I mean somewhere I can ride your face without ending up on TikTok.”

I make a strangled sound and nearly black out, but I catch her hand before she can fully step away, letting my fingers tangle with hers.

“Jesus, I kiss you once, and suddenly you need real estate.”

Zoe doesn’t even blink. “You literally moaned into my mouth. I think I’ve earned it.”

There’s no arguing with that. Not when her fingers are already flexing in mine like she’s itching to drag me across the damn field.

Not when I’m so hard it hurts. Not when every breath I take tastes like her lip gloss and that desperate exhale she made when she finally admitted she needed me to kiss her.

We start moving, kind of. More like stumbling through the crowd in the direction of the VIP tents while I try to keep my hands to myself and fail spectacularly.

I can’t stop touching her. Can’t stop pulling her into me like I need her heat just to stay functional.

A hand on her waist, then her back, then her hips.

She leans into every brush like she needs it too, like we’re both seconds from combusting.

Every time the crowd presses too close, I tug her back against me. Every time she glances over her shoulder, I wink. Every time we pause, I kiss her again. I can’t help it. She’s right fucking there, and I’m barely holding it together.

But the crowd is thick, movements jerky. Somewhere between a dude in a fishnet bodysuit and a girl with LED butterfly wings, we get separated. I feel her hand slip from mine, just for a second.

A flash of neon, a surge of bodies, a shoulder shoving into mine. Then another. I lose sight of her. My heart stutters as I whip around, scanning frantically, faces blurring, lights strobing, bodies pressing in from all sides. It’s a crush of limbs and bass and sweat, and I can’t see her.

I can’t fucking see her.

Panic claws up my throat because she was just right here. And I know she’s probably fine, maybe a few feet ahead of me, but I want her with me. I want to know she’s okay.

A breathless second drags into two, three—

There she is.

A few feet ahead, frozen in place in a little patch of clearing, turning in a slow circle.

Her eyes are wide, her breath picking up.

It’s dark, it’s loud, and we’re surrounded by people drunk on music and God knows what else.

I can’t hear it, but she’s mouthing my name, scanning for me.

Someone brushes past and she jerks back, startled.

I shove forward, eyes locked on her, instincts kicking in like muscle memory. I don’t stop moving until my arms are around her again, hauling her back into me, anchoring us both.

“I got you, sweetheart,” I murmur into her ear, loving the way her body melts into mine.

She tips her head back against my shoulder, and I press a kiss to the side of her head without thinking, because I found her. Because I’ll always find her.

I can still feel her lips on mine, her taste lingering on my tongue. My body’s screaming for more, but something deeper’s clawing at my chest, and it’s not lust. It’s her. It’s always her.

Her hand fists in my shirt, and she turns, surging up to kiss me again. Desperate, messy, out of breath. Then she breaks the kiss, wild-eyed and pupils blown. “Tent,” she pants, voice hoarse. “Now.”

We don’t stop until we’re at the glamping zone, ours now, courtesy of me slipping the staff a couple hundred bucks and a signed beanie.

The zipper’s barely up before I’ve got her against the firm tent wall.

My mouth on hers, tongue pushing past her lips. My hands find her ass, fingers digging in, dragging her flush against my body so she can feel exactly what she’s done to me. Her moan rips out of her throat like it’s been trapped there all night.

“Off,” she pants, tugging at my shirt. “Take this off.”

I do. In record time.

Her stupid excuse for a top is next, the damn mesh bralette that’s been taunting me all night. I don’t even remember pulling it over her head, I’m too busy devouring the line of her throat, the tops of her breasts and nipple piercing, the curve of her waist beneath my hands.

She tries to touch me, her hands darting for the button of my jeans, but I grab her wrists and slam them into the canvas wall above her head.

“Not tonight.”

Her head snaps up. “Why the hell not?”

I don’t let go. Just press our foreheads together, my voice like gravel as my lips brush her cheek. “Because if I fuck you right now, I won’t be able to pretend it doesn’t mean something. And I don’t think you’re ready to admit it does.”

She makes a broken, angry noise. “You’re an asshole.”

I grin. “You say that, but your thighs are shaking.”

Her breath hitches as I drop to my knees.

“Chase—”

God. Her voice on my name… I nearly lose it right then and there.

“Fuck,” I groan, palming her thighs as I stare up at her. “You don’t say my name like that unless you want me to do something filthy, Zo.”

She glares down at me. “Maybe I do.”

Oh, sweetheart.

I hook my fingers into the waistband of her panties, sliding them down slowly, letting the air hit her inch by inch.

Then I press a kiss to the inside of her knee before dragging my tongue up the soft skin of her thigh.

Burying my face between her thighs, I make one long stroke of my tongue, and she arches, a strangled sound ripping from her throat as she grabs at the wall.

My tongue flicks over her clit, slow and teasing at first, then I suck her into my mouth, and she jerks.

“F-fuck!”

“Gonna make you forget every goddamn rule you made,” I murmur against her. “Gonna make you beg, Zoe.”

“You’re the one on his knees,” she gasps.

“And you’re dripping…” I drag my fingers through her before thrusting two inside, and her knees nearly give out.

“You think you’re in control,” I say, licking along her inner thigh, “but I’m on my knees because I’m about to fucking ruin you.”

I suck her clit into my mouth again and her whole body seizes. She cries out as I finger her slowly, curling my knuckles on every drag. She moans so loud I spring up and clamp a hand over her mouth.

“Shhh,” I whisper. “You want the whole fucking field to hear you?”

She makes a muffled noise against my hand as she parts her lips—somewhere between a moan and a threat—and bites the pad of my finger.

I chuckle and drag my hand down to her throat, resting it there and squeezing before I move lower again, letting my hand coast down and roll a nipple between my finger and thumb. She gasps again as I latch back onto her clit. First orgasm’s coming fast.

“That’s it,” I growl. “Trying so hard to stay in control. You gonna beg, Zo?”

She grabs at my hair, grinding against my face, and I let her. I encourage it, digging my fingers into her thighs and pinning her open as I work her like I’ve got all night. And I do. I’d stay down here forever if she let me. I slowly slide two fingers back into her, and she clenches around me.

I curl them just right, flicking my tongue over her clit again and again until she’s writhing, whispering my name like a prayer.

“Please—” she pants, voice breaking. “God—please, don’t stop.”

That’s it. That’s the crack I’ve been waiting for.

“I got you, baby,” I murmur. “Let go for me, all over my fucking face.”

And she does.

She comes with a full-body quake, thighs shaking, hands gripping my hair to hold me right where she needs me. I don’t move, don’t stop, not daring to let up until she’s sobbing my name and trying to push me away.

I press a kiss to her hip, then grab her thighs and lift her like she weighs nothing.

“You’re not done,” I tell her, already carrying her to the bed as she clutches my shoulders.

I drop her onto the mattress, shove a pillow under her hips, and spread her open again. That damn silver chain skirt’s still hiked up around her hips, and I have no intention of taking it off her. She props herself on her elbows, lips kiss-swollen, tits flushed and bouncing with every pant.

“You’re serious?”

I don’t answer with words. I grip the backs of her thighs and drag her to the edge of the bed, hook them over my shoulders, and bury my face in her again.

“Maybe I’ll give you a gold star,” she pants, voice wobbly but smug.

I grin against her, lips slick, tongue dragging deep and slow.

“Yeah?” I murmur. “Want me to earn it?”