Chad's Chase (Loving All Wrong Book 2) (14 page)

Once I got the gist of what he wanted me to do, I held onto his shoulders and began rocking my hips in a faster rhythm against him. Allowing me my independence, he let go of my hips and reached up to cup my breasts, kneading and licking them, while I rocked, pleasuring both myself and him. The best goddamn feeling on earth.

Hands leaving my breasts, they rested on my hips again to pause my movements. When I stopped and looked at him in question, he urged my hips up, and then down. Up, and then down again.

Okay, he was officially teaching me how to fuck a cock.

For a chick with so much talk, I should be embarrassed, but I wasn’t.

Fortunately, I was a quick learner, and in no time, he was releasing me as I took over. Adding my own flair, I mixed it up with rocking and riding alternatively, but not predictably patterned.

Chad’s eyes fluttered down and his head fell back as a deep moan rolled in his throat, his hands gripping my thighs.

It wasn’t long before the distinct, ne plus ultra-intense orgasm began building up inside me, making me raw and frenzied. As a result, I began riding him harder, faster, crazed. Chasing that new feeling, that new kind of orgasm. I rode and rode, harder and harder, reeling it in. Until the fishing line ended, and the orgasm burst over me in streaming waves. Robbing me free of every bit of sanity and energy I had.

I couldn’t ride anymore. I could only stiffen and revel in the pleasure I’d selfishly stolen from this man, not caring for his needs.

But no worries, he was
taking
it. While I was still in spastic mode, he rocked forward so I was on my back and he was on his knees between my thighs, cock still inside me.

Shoving his jeans further down his legs, he pressed one palm flat against my stomach, eased his hips back, his cock sliding almost completely out before he rammed right back into me. I started to cry out, but his other hand clamped over my mouth, locking my cries in. Keeping his hand over my mouth, he began the punitive pumps. Hard, fast, and unrelenting. His breathing came in ragged hitches, punctuated with sharp expletives, as he pounded me into the ground.

Like I never knew possible, I came again. Convulsively hard. With a whiny groan stifled by Chad’s hand. My fingernails sinking into his shoulders.

Just as soon, Chad chased me over the cliff. His firm, taut body in a spasmodic seize. His muscles contracting. His pleasure-filled eyes locked on mine. A strangled sound trapped in his throat.

After a couple minutes ticked by, Chad removed his hand from my mouth and I grinned, breathing butchered.

We’d fucked vulgarly loud, hard and carelessly in the goddamn complex garden.

A shudder washed over him when I trailed the tips of my fingers up the side of his neck glossed with a thin sheet of sweat. Then, and only then, did I break the spell to ask a question I should have asked him the second he’d pushed me off the swing.

“How the
fuck
did you get in here?”

C
had laughed.

Hard.

I could, however, tell his laugh had nothing to do with my question. I knew that urge one got after mind-blowing sex—the urge to laugh without reason; the after-feeling was something to smile about. A dawdling bout of feel-good-ness. All the stress and tension held at bay while euphoria swirled and twirled.

Warm and infectious, his laugh was everything I remembered it to be. Albeit a bit deeper now, his voice was virtually the same with its smooth, unhitched flow. And he still had that one premature dimple which popped in on his left cheek when he laughed. The mirthful, boyish laugh kicked open the gates for memories from the past—the happy past—to come flooding in.

My smile died painfully on my lips at the abrupt memories. Memories I didn’t want.

Chad stopped laughing. “You okay?”

“No.” I pushed at his chest. “The grass is scratching my ass. Let me up.”

With skepticism in his eyes, he stood up, then held out his hand to help me up.

We got dressed in silence.

Didn’t matter how dark and shaded this garden was, with all the sex noises we’d made, someone
had
to have peeped out their window and seen us. Probably watched the whole thing.

Two sick menaces fucking under the maple tree, right next to ‘Margaret & Ford’s’ posthumous swing-bench. Their ‘Souls Enshrined, Engrafted, and Entwined’ was now defiled.

Fuck their boring love.

My bad-man Chad and I just wrote over their lame history with our own profligate story: ‘
Chad & Jhay—Souls at War, in Life, in Death (whilst they hath really good sex)
’.

“You’re gonna answer my question?” I pushed, once I was dressed and less vulnerable.

Chad straightened his ever-present cross pendant silver chain, snagging my focus from his face to his addictive body. His customary semi-formal attire of blazer and jeans was ditched tonight for casual black jeans, black T-shirt and black boots. His after-sex hair had me wrestling the urge to tackle him to the ground and do this male-to-female sex all over again.

Several minutes passed before he attempted to respond, and I wrote off his imminent answer as too late to be true.

Turning in the opposite direction, away from me, he started out of the garden, leaving me to follow. “I came to deliver something to someone. Saw you walking when I drove in.”

I caught up to him, matching his wide strides. “And you had absolutely no idea this is where I live?”

His head turned slightly, and his eyes peered down into mine. “No.”

“Not even from your spy, Nadia?”

“You’re fucking her?”

Although he staged it as a question, it sounded more like he was telling me he knew.

“Indians. They get wet so easily. And when they come, it’s in ongoing gushes of creamy—”

“A simple yes would’ve sufficed,” he sliced.

We turned onto the path of the tree arcade. “I’m not a fan of monosyllabic conversations.”

“You’re not allowed to sleep with her anymore.”

A derisive snort escaped me. “I’m not
allowed
?”

Instead of answering, he just looked down at me while still walking, his arched expression conveying, ‘that’s exactly what I said.’

“Listen, you might be able to give me orders when I’m working in your club, but you can’t—”

“This has nothing to do with me being your ‘boss’.”

Then it hit me. Nadia hadn’t been lying. They were fucking.

“So Nadia wasn’t lying, huh? You
are
screwing her.” I couldn’t help the pang of jealousy seething under my skin. Picturing Chad touching and kissing someone else was making me feel things I didn’t care to feel.

Chad stopped walking. “Excuse me?”

“I’m sorry, but I’m not gonna stop seeing Nadia just because you have property issues and can’t stand me rubbing my pussy in her face from time to time. Not stealing her from you, Alpha Boy. Just borrowing. My girl left me on short notice.”

With an abrupt movement, he gripped my shoulders and jerked me into him, our bodies smashing together. Even in the darkness, his eyes burned, like torches in a bat-filled cave. I felt them, like hot pins pricking my eyeballs.

No idea what this look from him meant.

“How can you talk to me like this?” he growled in a low, deep crawl, like a crocodile sneaking through the still, quiet river at night-time. “Do you feel nothing at all when we kiss? When we fuck?”

Of course I do, you piece of shit! And I hate myself for it.

I felt things I couldn’t even understand yet. I felt things I
did
understand but didn’t want to acknowledge. I felt things that were wrong, but so very right. I felt things. Chad made me
feel
things.

“I feel fleeting pleasure.”

Grip tightening on my shoulders, he gritted out, “That’s all?”

“That’s all,” I prevaricated. “Sorry, I’m a dike. I ‘feel’ for
women
.”

“Then why do you have sex with me?”

“Because you’re a little uptight…”—I shrugged my shoulders in his grip to prove my point— “…and it seems Nadia’s not playing her part well. So…I thought I’d help.”

Instantly, his hands fell from my shoulders and settled at his sides. This defeated expression on his face, as if he’d just lost a challenge or something. “In that case, what just happened won’t be happening again. I’m not typical. I’m not an archetype. I’m
Chad
. I don’t just fuck because I can. I’m carefully selective in who I introduce my dick to. See, fucking, the whole act, the art of it, it has to
mean
something to me.”

What???

I kept a straight face, struggling to hide my shock, finding it astoundingly difficult to believe that someone like Chad—wealthy, irresistibly good-looking, tempting, fuckable, sex incarnation—would
not
indulge in meaningless sex.

“So what does sex with Nadia mean to you?” The jealousy still lingered, it never left.

Shaking his head and turning away from me, he resumed walking. “Sex with Nadia never happened.”

“You’re saying she was lying?” I tried to keep up with his strides which were getting longer, swifter.

No answer, only feet crunching against gravel.

Grabbing his arm, I stopped him, and he slowly turned his head to me. Nerves suddenly descended on me as I shuffled on my feet. “And what do you…feel…when you kiss…me?”

Pulling my fingers from around his strong bicep, he dropped my hand like it was contaminated, stepped into my space, dipped his chin so his gaze lowered to mine, and leaned in until our lips were a whisper apart. My breath, I held it, excited. I fucking loved his mouth on mine. But he didn’t kiss me. Instead, he said in his smooth, quiet voice, “Forget about me, Blood. Go back to sucking pussies.”

Next he was walking away.

Addled, it took me a moment to wake up from the face slap. What was happening? Between Chad and me, that is. Everything was moving so confusingly fast I couldn’t comprehend what he was about.

I’d assumed he only wanted to screw me, because, well, that’s what men did. They see a woman they think they need to have, they go after her, get what they want and…that’s it. Sometimes, if the meet-ups for sex were prolonged, it may or may not evolve into something more. But for the most part, when men and women carelessly fucked like Chad and I did—on a sofa banquette in the VIP room of a strip club and on spiky, itchy grass in an open garden—it usually evolved into nothing, it was so debauched.

Wasn’t this what heterosexuals called a fling?

The last thing I expected was for Chad to imply that fucking wasn’t just fucking to him. But actually meant something. Meant what?

Unless he’d said that to mess with my goddamn head.

Gathering my wits, I snapped out of it. Because it didn’t matter. Whatever any of this meant didn’t matter. This thing between us could go absolutely nowhere. I was here to kill him, not…feel, fuck or talk.

Even though all three of those rules had long since been broken.

Chad was gone from the tree arcade by the time I resumed my jaunt. With renewed purpose, I hurried out of the gardens and back into the apartment building.

The elevator doors were swishing to a close, and had I not been acutely perceptive, I would’ve missed the ridiculously hot, tall man standing inside. He was positioned sideward, leaning back against the side wall, hands stuffed in his front pockets, head down, so one wouldn’t really notice him if looking straight ahead in the elevator; they would think it was empty.

But I noticed him, and I had no doubt he’d dodged the cameras coming in. Skillful sonuvabitch was hiding in plain sight.

Breaking into a jog, I hurried across the lobby and stuck my foot in between the doors to stop them from closing, then stepped inside.

Chad glanced up at the sound of my jostling. He said nothing, but kept his eyes on me.

Stuffing my hands in my sweats pockets, I mirrored him and leaned back on the opposite wall of the elevator. And just as he was sagely doing with me, I kept my eyes on his. No words.

The elevator doors closed and jolted into an ascent.

The smart, trained, wary me would’ve known better than to seal myself into a metal box with Chadrick Niiveux. But I guess I did it to prove something: that Chad made me feel safe.

This was the most peculiar of things, but…somehow, I was just convinced he’d never hurt me. Growing up, no one had ever made me feel as safe as Chad did. Ever.

He’d made me feel protected from the world as a whole. Maybe it was because he was older and
wasn’t
my brother. Maybe it was because once when I’d gone home with a black and blue pinch on my arm—inflicted by pig-nose Raul Ivan because I’d refused to go to the back of the gym with him to show him my vagina—and Chad had gotten so angry, he lay-waited Raul outside my school the next day and beat the shit out of him. Maybe it was because he used to assure me that if anyone at all messed with me, he would kill them. Painfully.

Which was why when I saw him enter our house that night, I’d thought for sure he was coming to save us—save
me
.

Silly of me to still believe in him even after he murdered my family, huh?