“No more fucking holding back.”
Chase let out a sound that was half growl, half plea, his forehead dropping to hers, his body so tense, so desperate, so wrecked for her he looked seconds from coming undone.
“Savannah—”
She reached between them, gripping him, positioning him, teasing him, but not letting him inside just yet.
Her lips brushed against his, her breath hot, heavy, relentless.
“Give it to me, Chase.”
And then?
He shoves it in.
Savannah's head rolls back against the tile wall. Her back sliding up and down the coarse grout lines. With each thrust, her moans get louder. Each thrust, she gets closer.
She wraps her arms around him, "Fuck, I'm coming." She shouts.
Her words sending chills across Chase's body. Exciting him more, making him thrust harder, faster.
"Release, Give it to me." She whispers as she wraps her legs around him tighter.
A low growl escapes his throat, as if he about to.
And Then—
30
BlueBalls
Thedoorbellrang.
Then again.
Followed by three loud, obnoxious knocks.
“Chase! I know you’re home, you sexy man-bitch. Open up!”
Chase stood there, towel hanging low on his hips, completely bothered, completely hard, and still throbbing from being interrupted.
He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his wet hair, trying to reel in the absolute rage simmering beneath his skin.
Savannah was still upstairs, probably laughing her ass off, because this? This was all her fault.
The knocking grew louder.
Chase rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck like he was about to walk into a bar fight.
Then, he swung the door open.
And there stood Mallory, oversized sunglasses perched on her head, coffee in hand, grinning like she had just won the damn lottery.
She took one look at him—towel, wet hair, shirtless, still looking like sin itself—
And her smirk deepened.
“Damn, Montgomery.” She whistled, tilting her head, giving him a slow once-over, her eyes not even trying to be subtle.
