Page 54 of Moonshot

“In some ways she was.” His smile lost its strength. “In other ways…” He tilted back his beer, watching me.

“I wasn’t the only one who made dumb decisions back then, Chase,” I said quietly. “You left. And you never came back, you never called.” Thoughts I had said so many times in my head, a mantra that I had used, time and time again, to try and stop loving him.

“I was mad. And then, when I calmed down, your number was disconnected. And then … not even a month later, you were with him.” His voice had hardened, raw emotion, anger, still there and I pushed back, just as upset. “You didn’t even give me time to sort out anything. To wrap my head around everything. I didn’t know how to handle how I felt for you. And I didn’t know how to handle it when I was traded. What was I supposed to do?”

“You could have flown here. Called my dad. It wasn’t like you didn’t have the resources—and I didn’t have that. I didn’t even have my own money to come and visit you—” My words broke off and I stared at the sandwich, numbly wrapping the paper around it, my appetite gone, four years of emotions welling to the surface. “You could have come.” I whispered. Rescued me.

“You were engaged. Then married. So fast.” He reached over, pulling at my hand, his thumb running over the place where my diamond normally sat. “Why?” he asked.

I swallowed, feeling the familiar push of tears, the thickening of my throat that occurred whenever I thought of the baby. “I was pregnant,” I said simply, lifting my eyes to his, steeled for the reaction.

He froze, the only movement in his face the twitch of his eyes. They searched mine, reading everything in the moment before tears blurred my vision. I didn’t move, I couldn’t speak, couldn’t give him any more information. His arm moved, his beer set down, and then he was brushing my hair carefully back, his warm hands cupping my face. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“It’s okay.” I blinked, and a tear escaped, his eyes following it down my cheek. I watched him swallow, the part of his lips, a breath of hesitation before he spoke.

“Ty.”

It was only one word, but a gruff plea that said everything. I lifted my gaze from his lips to his eyes and saw the hurt in them, the miss, the need. Need that I couldn’t step away from. Need that I felt in every part of my body. “Take me somewhere, Chase.”

He pulled me to my feet and nodded at the hotel, one block down, the sign glowing in the night. “There.”

83

I expected him to move fast.

I expected our touches to be frantic.

I thought it would be a fuck, hard and dirty, like an affair was supposed to be.

It was none of those things, yet it was everything.

“Ty.” He breathed my name like it was life, shutting the hotel room door and flipping the switch; everything suddenly bathed in warm light. A small room. Wooden desk. Vintage chair. White bedspread. Big pillows. Glass wall. City lights. Chase had bribed the desk clerk to allow Titan’s presence and I put him in the bathroom, firmly shutting the door. Chase stepped forward, and I stepped back, my shoulders hitting the door, my eyes closing when his head lowered to mine, the first kiss soft and hesitant, the second deeper, stronger. His fingertips brushed along my side, underneath my layers, and I lifted my hands, our kiss breaking as he rolled my shirt and pullover off. They hit the floor, our mouths met again, and there was the first brush of his bare hands on my skin.

Sweeping over my stomach, upward.

Soft in his cup of my breasts, his gentle lift, squeeze.

He pulled back from my mouth, his eyes falling to his hands, the skim of fingers across delicate skin, around and across my nipples. They stood at attention, and I gasped at the feather-soft contact.

His eyes darted to me at the sound, his fingers repeating the motion, whisper-light over them. “Harder?” he asked.

“No. Just like that.”

“Close your eyes. Relax.”

I did, leaning against the door, his fingers continuing their tease across my skin. “I’ve thought about these breasts for four years,” he said gruffly. “What they looked like. Felt like.” There was the drag of his cheek across the top of them, his hands cupping them against his face, and I gasped, my hands finding the top of his head and gripping his hair. The hot dart of a tongue, flicking across my nipple, a moment of suction, then a kiss, my body leaving the door as I twisted against him. “They are perfect, Ty. Even more perfect than they were before.” His hands squeezed, almost too hard, and I inhaled sharply, my eyes opening, the room blurry, then focusing.

His head lifted, my hands fell from his hair, and he pulled me to the bed. “On your back,” he choked out, yanking at his clothes, his long-sleeved shirt pulled over his head, his workout pants jerked down, underwear following suit, and I slid to the edge of the bed, my hands reaching for his waist, my eyes on his cock.

I reached out, but he stepped away, frowning, his hand going to it, wrapping around it. “No, Ty.”

“I want it,” I begged. “I want to touch it.”

“Not to be un-gentlemanlike, but I haven’t gone to bed in four years without jacking off to the thought of you. And it wasn’t you on your knees. I have to touch you, baby. I have to fucking drink you in. And there isn’t a thing that you can say to change that fact.”

I pulled my eyes from his hand, from his cock, and looked into his face. Saw pain there, his voice almost shaking on his last words, the need in his eyes so strong it screamed.

“On your back,” he repeated. “Pants off.”