It would have been right there that she would’ve given him the go-ahead. An insolent comeback, a coy giggle, an issuance of a dare; but there was nothing. Not even the feigned indignation that cleverly disguised encouragement for him to take the leap. It didn’t make any difference anyway—overruling everything else was the burning need to be inside her.
But she had stopped hearing his words long before then. Combined with the feel of him pressed against her, they had blended into one long buzz of yearning.
“If you promise not to try to kiss me again, I’ll turn you back over. I would much rather look into your beautiful face than the back of your head, but I’m serious, you have to let that lip heal.”
His voice was husky and authoritative, replacing all his prior crooning. She would’ve agreed to anything to be wrapped within his steel arms. She murmured in pledge while turning back over, and unable to wait a moment longer, he entered, then filled her, and they stilled. The tidal wave of sensation it caused left them both momentarily stunned. They stared at each other for a moment in awe, and then both blinked in mutual recognition. No words would do the feeling justice and neither of them bothered trying to say any. He began to worship at her altar slowly, but they both knew it couldn’t last. They had held back too long, teased each other beyond what either of them could tolerate. His movement within her rapidly increased and she clung to him, praying for him to release her and at the same time for it never to end. Her climax exploded into a kaleidoscope of uncontrollable tremors and her back arched in an effort to keep him securely inside her as they overtook her. As she repeatedly cried out his name, it was more than he could bear, and he began to stiffen above her. While continuing to hold her tight within his grasp, he joined her.
CHAPTER 7
CHASE HAD STARTED listening to love songs. Sappy, saccharine bona fide love songs. His iPod became one long playlist of Barry White, Drake, Bruno Mars, and the like. And of course he could never get enough of Earth, Wind & Fire. There was always a team grumble when it was his turn to choose the locker room music and he tried to slip in a few too many. But Amanda crying out his name in ecstasy was by far his favorite song. He had that one on repeat.
A picture he took of her with his own phone became his screensaver. It had been taken nearly a week after the first time they’d been together, taken at one of those tucked-away twenty-four-hour diners he sometimes found his way to in the middle of the night. Her lip had healed to his satisfaction and she immediately took advantage, leading to fiery results. She was still slightly flushed and her hair was an array of still-damp curls from hours of sweat-producing passion. Her smile was shy yet beguiling, her blue eyes containing a different kind of sparkle, and he took the credit for creating both. He looked at it a hundred times a day when he wasn’t with her, the memory of her mouth being added to their sexual equation as vivid as the day he hit his first home run. A single moment in time, captured in the same way she had captured his heart. And as soon as he saw her in person, the only thing he could think of was getting her to look that way again. The urgency of their first time was gone, replaced with a bottomless pit of exploratory lust. They wouldn’t rest until they were completely exhausted from touching and tasting and sexing.
But something was missing, and as much as he tried to ignore the thought, there was no denying it. Amanda Cole was a good girl, in every sense of the word. Her lovemaking was as wholesome as she was. Even as her mere touch set him ablaze, she was temperate. She never talked dirty. She didn’t bite or scratch him. She was warm and giving, taking as much care with him as he did with her. And when they were actually together, it really didn’t matter. But when Chase was alone and he had nothing but her picture, his mind would venture to a different place. A place where she cried out because of him, but more from pain than pleasure, although he knew they could be synonymous. He couldn’t be sure, but all indicators pointed to the fact that he had fallen for a vanilla.
She continued to send out mixed signals, and he was having trouble reading them. Shades of bratty were recalled in a hurry, as soon as he took on a dominant tone, often with an apology on her part. He had tried to introduce it once playfully, a sharp swat with an accompanying threat after she made them run late one evening, but his timing was off. He had been too concerned with the outcome and hadn’t realized how seriously she took punctuality. Her wide-eyed look of shock had stopped him cold.
It was clear that nobody had ever laid an assertive hand on Amanda Cole. She spoke little that night at the function they attended and on the way home apologized for not being on time like it was really important to him, and he ended up feeling like a heel. If she had been receptive, he would’ve blown off the event altogether and sated his lust for it. He didn’t know how to tell her without jeopardizing the illusion he had worked so hard maintaining to impress her.
The funny thing was, the longer he was with her, in her actual presence, he hardly thought about it at all. While he was going to meet her, it consumed all his thoughts. But once he was with her, Amanda wove a web of sensuality around him that made it impossible to concentrate on anything besides her, and his desire faded into the background. Making love was truly about turning her on and reaping the rewards of the end result. He was completely enchanted with everything about her. He juggled all his responsibilities effortlessly until Amanda wanted his attention and then he was willing to abandon them all. And it was something she didn’t take advantage of. She never pouted while he met his obligations, always the first to make things as easy for him as possible.
The solution in Chase’s mind was a simple one: just never be without her. He already knew he wanted to marry her. He had all the means. She would never have to work a day in her life. They could play all day, every day, and he could introduce it to her slowly. And it seemed like the natural progression, at least to his way of thinking.
The suggestion came up the first time he brought her to his penthouse apartment, figuring it gave him the home-field advantage. Her place was nice, but didn’t possess the same luxurious opulence his did. He would woo her with amenities and then present her with an offer she couldn’t refuse.
As he showed her around, all Amanda noticed was how big everything was. She fleetingly wondered if the elevator they took to get there was secretly located inside a beanstalk. From his bulky square furniture to his eighty-inch-screen television to his choice of artwork, everything appeared oversized. Even the clocks were huge. She noted she would likely need a tugboat to get her in and out of his bed.
“I want you come on the road with me,” he told her once they settled back in the living room.