Warmth rolls off Chase’s body. He’s so close. I can see a thin white scar on his bicep, another along his ribcage. Football injuries, probably. He catches me looking again, and I snap my eyes up to a water stain on the ceiling.
“So how are we supposed to?—”
But before I can finish, we hear it. The click of heels in the hallway. They’re coming closer, a quick, confident clip that I recognize immediately.
“Shit, that’s her,” Chase says. “Quick, get under the sheets.”
“What?”
“Under the covers. Make it look like you’re in the middle of blowing me.”
“Blowing—”
“You can grab me if you need to, I don’t care.”
My brain locks up. The heels are right outside. There’s no time to think.
I scramble under the comforter, positioning myself at an angle, my head near his waist. This is so far outside my comfort zone I can’t even see it anymore. I’m in a completely different universe.
My heart pounds in my throat, and I have no idea what to do with my hands. I set one on his thigh, the muscle solidas granite under my palm. The other lands on… oh god… the big bulge in his boxers. Never in my life did I think I’d have another guy’s dick in my hand, even through fabric. It feels like a warm, pulsing, cloth-wrapped python. There’s a twitch under my fingers and a sharp intake of breath from him above the covers.
“Sorry,” I whisper, starting to move my hand.
“No, keep it there,” he hisses back. “Sell it.”
Chase’s hand slides to the back of my head, and for a second, I think he’s going to push my face all the way into his crotch. Instead, he rests it there, his fingers tangling in my hair. He has to feel the frantic pulse at my temples.
I can’t see a damn thing, which is probably for the best.
But I hear everything.
Chase’s breathing.
The rattle of keys in the lock.
The soft click as the door opens.
And then… Brittany’s voice.
3
“Chasey-bear, you won’t believe the line at Starbucks! They were out of oat milk, can you even? And I ran into Stacy from Marketing, you know—” Brittany’s voice dies instantly.
Chase’s fingers tighten in my hair. “Fuck. Britt. You’re… early.”
Silence.Complete, suffocating silence. I’m holding my breath, my whole body rigid. The palm I have on Chase’s cock is slick with sweat. It’s a furnace under here.
“Chase?” Her voice is a high, thin, horrified whisper. “What is going on?”
“Brittany, I—” he says, a masterclass in fumbled innocence. “I thought you saidnine.”
“Who… who is in your bed?” The tremor is gone, replaced by something sharp and dangerous. I know that tone. It’s the one she used when the waiter at Olive Garden got her order wrong.
“Nobody,” Chase says.
“Don’t you fucking lie to me. There’s someone under there with you.”
“You’re one to talk about lying,” he says, and the shift in his tone is so sudden it makes me flinch. All the fake confusion is gone, replaced by cold fury.
