Page 69

He turns to her, wide-eyed with shock while Lulu simply sips her mimosa with terrifying calm. Eli stands abruptly and mutters something about never coming to brunch again before stalking off toward the food table.

Chase finally lets me up, though he doesn’t let go. I wobble a little, flushed and not even pretending I didn’t love every second.

He grins like the smug little shit he is.

“You’re blushing, Mrs. Walton.”

“ Not my name.”

“Yet.”

I don’t say anything else, because I’m too busy trying not to smile like an idiot. Like someone who just got fake-married in a backyard and secretly wouldn’t mind doing it for real one day.

Once everyone’s plates are filled and they’re seated around the outdoor table, I make an excuse to head into the kitchen for a breather.

I have all of five minutes to process what the fuck just went down, when I hear his footsteps. Chase steps into the kitchen with a smile that tells me I’m going to let him get away with whatever he’s about to do.

I turn away quickly under the guise of grabbing a plate, but it doesn’t matter. He’s already behind me. I feel him over my shoulder with unbearable awareness as his hands bracket either side of my body.

“You good?” he murmurs, breath warm against the side of my neck.

“Fine.”

“You ran off after the kiss.”

“I wanted a mimosa.”

“You making it on a plate? Thought they usually came in glasses.”

I clench my jaw. “Maybe I wanted some damn peace.”

He hums, clearly amused. “You’re lying.”

“I’m ignoring you, actually.”

“You’re doing a shit job.”

His hand slides slowly up my spine. “You looked good out there.”

“It was fake,” I tut, instantly regretting it. “Meadow’s fantasy.”

“Mine, too,” he says. “And the second you started walking toward me, I couldn’t think of a single thing I wouldn’t give to make it real.”

My throat tightens, but I don’t turn around. I don’t move, I can’t. Not even when his fingers trail along my hip, light enough to make me twitch.

“You wore white,” he adds.

“It’s a cream floral dress.”

“You walked down an aisle.”

“It was the backyard.”

“You said vows.”

“They were sarcastic.”

He leans in, his mouth barely grazing the shell of my ear. “You let me kiss you like I was your husband. You loved it.”

My breath catches, and my fingers loosen on the plate, letting it drop into the sink.

“I tolerated it.”

“And then you moaned.”

I spin on him.

Big mistake, because suddenly I’m pressed against the counter, and he’s right there with his arms bracketing me. His eyes almost burn as that cocky little smile pulls tight.

“I did not moan.”

He tilts his head. “Babe.”

“I coughed .”

“You moaned,” he says, voice lilting with amusement. “Right into my mouth. And then you melted. Need a do-over?”

My mouth opens, but then I close it.

He smirks. “That’s what I thought.”

“You are so full of—”

“Want.”

My pulse stutters as his hand slides around to my lower back and he pulls me against him.

“Tell me you don’t want me to pick you up right now, carry you into that pantry, and eat all that pretty little attitude until you forget your own name.”

Jesus Christ .

I blink at him. “There are—there are people outside.”

“Then be quiet,” he murmurs, brushing his nose against mine. “Or don’t. I like when you’re loud.”

“Chase.”

“I’ll shut the door.”

“I will kill you.”

He laughs softly. “I love when you talk dirty.”

I shove at his chest, but I’m already gasping when he catches my wrist mid-push and presses a kiss to the inside of it.

He’s hard. I can feel it, even through jeans. And when I look up at him, I see it. Not the smirk or the chaos. The reverence.

The aching, stupid, helpless love.

“I’m gonna marry you one day,” he says simply.

It’s not a threat, at least I don’t think it is. Just truth.

“That thing out there? It’s happening, Zo Face. Real vows. Real dress. Real rings.”

I narrow my eyes. “You better not dip me.”

He grins and waits, his eyes on mine while I say nothing.

Because goddamn him, I want it too. I sigh loudly, and then in a blur of sudden motion, my hands are on his shoulders, jumping into his arms , his strong hands gripping my thighs as I wrap them around him.

I don’t hesitate as I crash my mouth against his.

He stumbles with me into the pantry, clicking the door shut behind us, and I keep kissing him because I can’t stop.

It’s dim in here. Shelves on either side packed with baking supplies and toddler snacks. Chase presses me to the wall between a tower of cereal boxes and a bag of off-brand popcorn.

His mouth never leaves mine, kissing me the way he usually talks—filthy, relentless, utterly sure of himself.

I gasp when his hand slides under my dress, but he doesn’t bother being subtle. His fingers brush my inner thigh, dragging up to where I’m already aching. When he finds the edge of my thong, he laughs against my lips.

“Should’ve known,” he murmurs. “So fucking soaked already. You get wet every time I mention marrying you, don’t you?”

“Chase—”

“Mm, Zoe Walton. Fuck, that’s hot.”

I dig my nails into his shoulders. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t,” he chuckles, pecking my lips. “Hate me harder.”

Then I’m on my feet and he’s dropping to his knees in front of me. Next my panties are shoved to the side and he pulls one of my thighs over his shoulder, wasting no fucking time.

I feel his tongue first, dragging slowly through my pussy, broad and hot and filthy.

“Oh my god ,” I gasp, head hitting the wall.

He moans against me, tongue circling my clit in lazy, devastating strokes before sucking it into his mouth.

I jolt, and my knee nearly knocks over a jar of lentils, but Chase doesn’t stop, doesn’t even slow down. With a groan, his hands grip my thighs to hold me open, tongue driving deeper.

“You always taste like fuckin’ heaven,” he mutters between strokes. “Your pussy was made for my mouth.”

I fist my hands in his hair, ride the pressure, let my hips grind against his face. My mouth opens on a silent cry as he sinks one finger into me, then another. Slow at first, but deep.

His mouth never leaves my clit as he works me in tandem—tongue and fingers and that moaning sound he makes when he feels me flutter around him.

“Fuck, you’re close,” he rasps. “Don’t hold back, sweetheart. Come on my tongue like a good little wifey.”

I barely register all his words before I shatter. Legs shaking, breath gone. My body locking down around his fingers as the orgasm rips through me. But he doesn’t stop, not until I’m gasping, twitching, begging . Only then does he slowly stand, mouth glistening, eyes dark with triumph.

Sagging against the wall, I watch him as I try to catch my breath. He grins and leans in to slowly kiss me, our tongues tangling with the taste of me between us.

“That’s one,” he murmurs.

“One what?”

“First orgasm of the marriage.”

“We’re not married.”

He grins. “You keep saying that, but your pussy says otherwise.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“You’re in love with me.”

“Shut up.”

“Nah.”

He unzips himself, then in one smooth motion he’s lifting me, pressing my back against the wall again. My legs wrap around his waist as he frees himself from his jeans, and when I feel his bare, hard cock against my clit, I shudder out a breathy moan.

“Didn’t plan on fucking you at backyard brunch,” he murmurs against my lips. “So tell me if you want me to stop.”

“Shut up and fuck me, Chase.”

He groans low. “Say that again.”

“ Fuck me .”

He slides in on one long, slow thrust that stretches me wide and deep. I gasp, head falling back against the wall again, legs tightening around him as he bottoms out.

“Jesus Christ, ” he breathes, holding still for half a second, trying not to blow already. “You feel like home.”

And then he’s moving, one hand braced on the wall beside my head, the other gripping my thigh, holding me while he drives into me again and again.

“You’re mine,” he pants. “You get that right?”

“God—Chase—”

“This pussy is mine. This mouth. This smart, sassy, infuriating brain that won’t stop running from how bad you want me.”

“Shut up—”

He fucks me harder.

“You think I didn’t see it today? My whole damn world walking toward me. Promising me forever, kissing me like it was real. And baby—” he groans against my throat, “—I’ve never wanted anything more.”

I jerk forward to bite his shoulder and he shudders then loses it. Slams into me over and over, cock thick and perfect and hitting deep until I’m moaning his name.

“God, you’re so smug right now.”

He grins against my neck. “Because I’m balls-deep in the love of my life while everyone else is outside eating waffles.”

I gasp as he shifts his angle, thrusting harder. “You’re—such a—cocky bastard.”

“Yeah?” His hand slips between us, fingers circling my clit as I whimper. “You need something in your mouth, baby,” he growls. “So you stop talking.”

“ Chase —”

“You can get on your knees next. My cock in your mouth. My cum on your tongue and my ring on your finger.”

My eyes snap open. “What?”

He doesn’t stop moving, just slows down—those devastating, deep rolls of his hips hitting every nerve I have.

“I’ve been thinking about it,” he murmurs. “What it’d look like.”

“What what’d look like?”

“Marrying you.”

I stare at him as he presses me to the wall with one arm, fucking me deep and slow.

“I want it,” he says. “The ring. The vows. You in white, saying yes for real.”

My heart slams into my ribs as I try to form words, because this motherfucker is serious .

“I’ll drop to a knee if you want. Take you to Paris or rent a fucking hot air balloon—whatever. But right now?” Another thrust, eyes locked with mine. “I’m asking you like this.”

“Chase—”

“I wanna marry you, baby,” he rasps. “You. Me. Forever.”

My knees slacken around him as is hand slips between us again, grinding tight circles over my clit while he pounds into me with enough force to shake the shelf behind us.

“Say yes,” he demands.

“You’re—you’re insane. ”

“And you love it.”

Another thrust.

“I’ll buy a ring tomorrow.”

He slams in again, then holds, eyes still on mine.

“Say yes and I’ll fill you up right now. Let it drip down your thighs while you walk back out for a croissant.”

“You’re— god , you’re not actually—”

“Say it, Zo. Please.”

I stare at him and swallow. This isn’t a joke. Not a tease or a ruse. This man is begging, and goddamnit I want it. I want everything with him.

“Yes.”

His groan is sinful as he slams into me again. “Good girl. Now come on my cock, baby. Soak me.”

I come so hard I forget my own name. He fucks me through it, cursing against my throat, and when he comes too, it’s with my name on his lips and a promise carved into every gasp.

We’re still tangled together minutes later, pressed against a pantry wall with the scent of syrup and sex in the air. We don’t speak, not for a long minute. We just breathe, ragged and wrecked, fused together in the quiet aftermath. Eventually, he pulls back and kisses the corner of my mouth.

“Still think I’m not serious?”

I sigh, adjusting my dress. “You’re not proposing after fake marrying me and defiling a pantry.”

“You say that like it’s not the hottest engagement in history.”

“You’re a menace.”

He grins. “And you’re gonna marry me.”

I sigh. This man, this life. I didn’t plan for any of it.

But I'll say yes every damn time.