Then his hand leaves me and he pushes his boxers down, giving me free rein.

Moved by instinct, I duck my head and trace his hardness with my tongue, curling over the top.

He moans, his hips thrusting up toward my mouth. As it seems like I'm doing something very right, I keep going, licking down the length of him. Then when I reach the top again, I close my mouth over him carefully.

His hand fumbles, shaking, between my legs, and then he presses his fingers inside me.

I suck in a breath over his skin and he groans, pushing himself deeper into my mouth.

Now we're moving together, my mouth on him, his hand in me.

I'm sideways to him, my breasts brushing over his stomach and his hip, but that doesn't seem to matter. Rocking myself against the friction of his hand, I can feel the return of that spreading warmth in my lower half.

And I know what it means, but I want more. I want all of him.

With one last suck against his skin, I release him from my mouth and straighten up.

His hand falls away from me when I tap gently at his wrist. Then I swing my leg over to his hips to straddle him, my heart racing with anticipation.

The heat of his body rises up in a wave, and I lower myself carefully against him, not pressing down, not yet, but making contact.

It's a strange feeling. I'm in control, his hands rest lightly on my legs, nothing more, but it's the feeling of being exposed, of opening myself up, that sends a faint tremor of uncertainty through me for the first time.

Chase lifts up, propping himself on his elbows, which brings his stomach against me, and I feel the muscles contract with the motion. "Kiss me," he says.

I lean forward and press my mouth to his. His kiss is lazy, unhurried, as he bites my lower lip gently and then slides his tongue over it to soothe.

The tension in me eases, and I can feel the slow, easy languor returning. My position over him doesn't seem quite as overwhelming or the tiny bit frightening that it did only moments ago.

He presses his mouth against the tops of my breasts, his tongue caressing every inch of skin he can reach. His chin, rough with the beginning of stubble, scrapes over my nipples.

A whimper escapes me, and acting on instinct, I lift myself up, bringing my breast to his mouth.

His tongue flicks out against my nipple before his mouth captures it, sucking it in deep.

I buck my hips against him, but the angle is all wrong. I'm too high.

His hands move to my thighs. "Open your legs just a little more," he whispers, sliding his palm between the side of his body and the inside of my leg. "You're safe; I promise."

I relent, following his gentle pressure to ease my knees away from his body, and to relax my weight onto him.

This brings the sensitive wet part of me in direct contact with the heat and solidity of him, still damp from my mouth. It feels shockingly good.

His head falls back, exposing his throat.

It feels natural and easy then to slide up him to press a kiss against his Adam's apple and then down again.

The angle presses him against the sensitive nub at the heart of me, and suddenly we're moving smoothly together in slick rhythm that feels effortless.

He grips my hips, dragging me over him with more pressure.

The tip of him presses into me barely, and I wiggle in frustration, trying to find a way to take him in deeper.

"You okay?" he asks tightly.

"Yes, don't stop!" I push against his shoulder.

But he gives a shaky laugh and lowers himself against the pillows. "Too close to the edge."

Dazed with lust, I reflexively look to the side of the bed in confusion. We're miles away from it.

"Not that edge," he says breathlessly. Then he reaches for the condoms on the nightstand.

"Lift up for me?" he asks, tearing one open.

Pushing up to my knees again, I watch, partly curious, partly uncertain as he grips himself and rolls the condom in place.

He looks away to discard the wrapper on the nightstand, but he must see something in my expression when he returns his attention to me.

"Come here," he says, and I lean up, bracing my hand on either side of his head to kiss him. I'm still holding myself above him, and he patiently returns to petting me softly, rubbing his knuckle against me until I'm pushing hard to take his finger inside me.

"Easy, just go slow. Give yourself time," he says in my ear. "We can always stop."

But I don't want to. This is my night, the one I asked for. And damnit, I'm not letting anyone, including me, take it away.

I slowly sink down against him again.

As I rub against him, the smooth glide returns, albeit with a little more friction.

I tip my hips toward him and then he is pressing into me, stretching me in a not-unpleasant way as he enters.

Chase swallows hard. "There you go-that's it." He arches up toward me, pushing in deeper, and it feels so good I instinctively press down against him.

When I lift up again, the moisture from my body has coated him and makes the slide down on him that much easier.

He groans.

"Am I hurting you?" I ask, hesitant about how much pressure is too much, and all my weight is pressing on him.

"Not even a little," he says with flash of a smile. He pushes himself up on his elbows then, changing the angle and making me gasp at the feel of him inside me.

Experimentally, I push down and feel the thickness of him slide deep into me. Instead of feeling violated or invaded, it just makes me feel ... full.

"Look," he says hoarsely, lying flat on his back.

I push myself up to sit directly on him and glance down to see where he ends and I begin. He's buried inside me; we are as close as two human beings can be. And I'm not hurting, feeling scared, dirty, or used.

"Oh." I clamp a hand over my mouth. "It's amazing." Tears of gratitude, relief, and love flood my eyes.

Chase laughs and reaches up to touch my cheek, where one of the tears has rolled free. "Yeah, you are," he says softly, and I'm crying for real this time and smiling, too.

His hands settle on my hips as he thrusts up in me, helping me push down against him in counterpoint.

Then he moves his hand to press his thumb against me so that every move gives that extra brush of friction.

He moans. "Yes, that's it. You're letting me in so deep. Just a little faster."

Hearing him talk to me, guide me, flips a switch in me that I didn't know existed and I move against him harder, straining once again for that very top shelf.

And before I realize it, I'm falling, that cascading dizzy sensation spiraling through me.

"Amanda..."

But I can't speak; I fumble for his hand and squeeze it.

Chase moves harder against me, then, seeking his release, and I try to keep up with him but my limbs are slow and loose with pleasure.

He shudders beneath me, his body racked with spasms, and I love it.

I love him. And I'm not letting go.

30.

Chase The bright sunlight slicing into the room wakes me up with a jolt.

Late. I'm late.

I lurch up in a panic. But Amanda, curled against me, raises a hand, patting vaguely in my direction until she finds my shoulder.

"Thursday. Night shoot tonight," she mumbles against her pillow.

And I relax, sagging into the mattress. That's right. She's right.

But then what is the lingering unformed sense of dread hovering over me? Then I remember. Sera. The chain. Amanda refusing to go home. Everything I haven't told her.

Glancing over at Amanda again, I find that sometime in the night she got up and put my shirt on again. Her dark red hair is all over my pillow again, and I love the sight of it.

I should let her go. I should wake her up, tell her everything, even if it means pushing her away. Especially if it means pushing her away. She'll be safer at home, away from me.

But the thought of that makes my chest ache. I don't want it to end; I don't want us to end. Not yet. I'll do what's best for her, but I just want a few more minutes, a couple more hours.

Looping my arm around Amanda's waist, I pull her tighter against me, kissing the back of her neck.

She grumbles vaguely but wiggles against me, pressing her back to my chest, and her ass against my very awake cock.

"Sorry," I say into her soft skin, which still smells of soap. "Definitely a morning person."

I expect her to pull away or make a complaining noise. We didn't get much sleep last night, and it's early still.

Instead she pushes back against me with a soft moan.

I slide my hand down her leg, remembering yesterday morning and how quickly she came. She might not be a morning person, but parts of her seem to like it well enough.

At my gentle nudge against the back of her knee, she slides her leg forward eagerly to let me touch between her thighs.

"Are you sore?" I ask, gently nipping at her ear as I run my fingers lightly over her lips.

"A little, maybe," she says between gasps. "But different. More swollen feeling than hurt, if that makes sense."

Yes, yes, it does.

"Tell me if it's too much," I say as I slide a finger into her. But she's wet and slick for me already. Definitely a morning person.

"Chase, yes. Chase," she says, riding my hand with a fervor and desperation I haven't heard before.

I love hearing her say my name. "Touch yourself like you did before, okay?"

I watch as her hand drifts beneath the covers and her fingers brush mine as they settle over her clit.

The change in her is instantaneous and electric. She is bucking against my hand and hers, and I can feel her opening wide for more than my fingers.

I have to pull away from her, over her protests, to grab for the last condom. The second was gone last night not long after the first.

She starts to roll over toward me.

"No, wait," I say. I open the condom and roll it on quickly, chucking the wrapper away from us.

When I return my fingers to her, she squirms eagerly against them.

I press my lower body tighter against her. "Put your leg up on mine," I whisper, sliding my hand down her thigh to her knee and helping guide her up and over.

Then I inch closer, rubbing my covered hard-on against her, letting her get used to the slightly different sensation, what will be a sharper angle of penetration.

She moans and slides herself against me, her foot working behind my calf, trying to draw me in closer. But we're not quite lined up right.

"I want to push in from behind," I say, my voice hoarse with need. "Just like I did with my fingers. Okay?"

"Yes," she says, drawing out the word.

Thank you, God. "Bend forward for me a little."

She shifts a few inches, bringing us into alignment.