Page 238 of Make the Play

I shove at his chest, but I’m already gasping when he catches my wrist mid-push and presses a kiss to the inside of it.

He’s hard. I can feel it, even through jeans. And when I look up at him, I see it. Not the smirk or the chaos. The reverence.

The aching, stupid, helpless love.

“I’m gonna marry you one day,” he says simply.

It’s not a threat, at least I don’t think it is. Just truth.

“That thing out there? It’s happening, Zo Face. Real vows. Real dress. Real rings.”

I narrow my eyes. “You better not dip me.”

He grins and waits, his eyes on mine while I say nothing. Because goddamn him, I want it too. I sigh loudly, and then in a blur of sudden motion, my hands are on his shoulders, jumping into his arms , his strong hands gripping my thighs as I wrap them around him. I don’t hesitate as I crash my mouth against his.

He stumbles with me into the pantry, clicking the door shut behind us, and I keep kissing him because I can’t stop.

It’s dim in here. Shelves on either side packed with baking supplies and toddler snacks. Chase presses me to the wall between a tower of cereal boxes and a bag of off-brand popcorn.

His mouth never leaves mine, kissing me the way he usually talks—filthy, relentless, utterly sure of himself.

I gasp when his hand slides under my dress, but he doesn’t bother being subtle. His fingers brush my inner thigh, draggingup to where I’m already aching. When he finds the edge of my thong, he laughs against my lips.

“Should’ve known,” he murmurs. “So fucking soaked already. You get wet every time I mention marrying you, don’t you?”

“Chase—”

“Mm, Zoe Walton. Fuck, that’s hot.”

I dig my nails into his shoulders. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t,” he chuckles, pecking my lips. “Hate me harder.”

Then I’m on my feet and he’s dropping to his knees in front of me. Next my panties are shoved to the side and he pulls one of my thighs over his shoulder, wasting no fucking time.

I feel his tongue first, dragging slowly through my pussy, broad and hot and filthy.

“Oh mygod,” I gasp, head hitting the wall.

He moans against me, tongue circling my clit in lazy, devastating strokes before sucking it into his mouth.

I jolt, and my knee nearly knocks over a jar of lentils, but Chase doesn’t stop, doesn’t even slow down. With a groan, his hands grip my thighs to hold me open, tongue driving deeper.

“You always taste like fuckin’ heaven,” he mutters between strokes. “Your pussy was made for my mouth.”

I fist my hands in his hair, ride the pressure, let my hips grind against his face. My mouth opens on a silent cry as he sinks one finger into me, then another. Slow at first, but deep.

His mouth never leaves my clit as he works me in tandem—tongue and fingers and that moaning sound he makes when he feels me flutter around him.

“Fuck, you’re close,” he rasps. “Don’t hold back, sweetheart. Come on my tongue like a good little wifey.”

I barely register all his words before I shatter. Legs shaking, breath gone. My body locking down around his fingers as the orgasm rips through me. But he doesn’t stop, not until I’mgasping, twitching,begging. Only then does he slowly stand, mouth glistening, eyes dark with triumph.

Sagging against the wall, I watch him as I try to catch my breath. He grins and leans in to slowly kiss me, our tongues tangling with the taste of me between us.

“That’s one,” he murmurs.

“One what?”

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