Chapter 143 Proving It's Real
Chase‘s POV
"Is this real?"
Wynter’s voice was a whisper, fragile as glass, her hand trembling against my cheek. The alcohol had softened the sharp edges of her fear, but the insecurity beneath it—the terrified belief that happiness was just a hallucination waiting to shatter—cut me to the bone.
"It's real," I murmured, turning my face to press a kiss into her palm. "I'm real. You're real. We're here."
She blinked slowly, her blue eyes hazy and searching in the dim light of my room. "Prove it," she breathed.
I didn't answer with words. I answered with worship.
I sat up on the edge of the bed, pulling her gently between my spread knees. She stood there, unsteady and beautiful in my oversized shirt, looking at me with a trust that humbled me. My hands moved to the hem of the fabric, lifting it slowly.
"Arms up, baby," I whispered.
She obeyed, letting me strip the shirt away. The moment the fabric cleared her head, I tossed it aside and leaned forward, pressing my lips to the hollow of her throat. She shivered, a soft sound escaping her lips.
"Real," I murmured against her skin.
My hands skimmed down her sides, fingers trailing fire, until I reached the waistband of her panties. I peeled them down slowly, inch by inch, and with every inch of skin I revealed, I placed a kiss.
I kissed the curve of her hip bone. Real.
I kissed the soft, pale skin of her stomach, feeling the muscles flutter beneath my mouth. Real.
I kissed the scar on her thigh from the marsh wraith, lingering there to soothe the memory of pain. Real.
Wynter’s breathing hitched, her hands finding my shoulders to steady herself. "Chase..."
"I've got you," I promised, my voice rough with the need to ground her, to tether her to this moment so securely she could never doubt it again.
When she was finally naked, standing before me like a goddess bathed in moonlight, I didn't rush. I looked at her—really looked at her—letting the heat in my gaze warm her skin. Then I hooked my hands behind her knees and gently urged her closer until her thighs pressed against the sides of my face.
I inhaled deeply, the scent of her arousal—musk and wine and feminine heat—flooding my senses, making my wolf growl with possessive hunger.
"Chase," she gasped, her fingers tightening in my hair as I pressed a kiss to the inside of her thigh.
"Let me taste you," I groaned. "Let me show you how real this is."
I didn't wait for an answer. I leaned forward and pressed my mouth against her intimate heat.
Wynter jolted as if she’d been struck by lightning. A sharp, broken cry tore from her throat as my tongue swept out, tasting her sweetness. She was slick, ready for me, her body reacting even through the haze of wine.
I licked a long, slow stripe from her entrance up to her clitoris, teasing the swollen nub with the flat of my tongue. Her knees buckled, and she would have fallen if I hadn't been holding her so firmly.
"Oh god," she whimpered, her head falling back.
I buried my face in her, feasting. I swirled my tongue, learning her rhythm, feeling her tremors vibrate against my lips. When I sucked gently on her clit, she gasped, a violent shudder wracking her frame.
Then, instinctively, she moved. She lifted one leg, then the other, hooking her ankles over my shoulders, trapping me against her. The leverage pulled me deeper, pressing her center hard against my mouth.
It was an invitation. A demand.
I groaned into her, my hands gripping her ass to hold her in place as I increased the pressure. I ate her with a hunger I’d been suppressing for weeks—through the war, through the politics, through the fear of losing her. Now, there was only this. Her taste on my tongue. Her thighs squeezing my ears. The way she pulled me closer, needing more friction, more heat.
"Chase... please..." she sobbed, her hips bucking against my face.
She was close. I could feel the tension coiling in her muscles, taste the change in her scent. But I wanted more. I wanted to feel her mouth on me, wanted to drown in her while she drowned in me.
I pulled back, breathless, my face wet with her. "Wynter," I rasped, looking up at her flushed, dazed face. "I need to taste you while you taste me."
I guided her down onto the bed, maneuvering us until I hovered over her in reverse, my knees bracketing her head while my face settled between her thighs again.
It laid us both bare.
"Taste me, baby," I encouraged, positioning my hardening length near her lips. "Take me in."
Wynter didn't hesitate. Her hands came up to cup my balls, her fingers gentle, and then her hot, wet mouth closed over the head of my cock.
The sensation nearly broke me.
"Fuck," I groaned, the word vibrating against her vulva.
I dove back into her, my tongue working with renewed vigor. It was a chaotic, beautiful loop of sensation. I felt her tongue swirling around my sensitive ridge, the suction of her throat as she bobbed her head, and it fed directly into the pleasure I was giving her. Through the Bond, the feedback was blinding—her pleasure becoming mine, mine becoming hers, a circuit of pure ecstasy.
She moaned around me, her hips lifting off the mattress to meet my mouth. I matched her rhythm, sucking harder on her clit while I fucked into her mouth, my hips snapping forward instinctively.
"That's it," I growled against her wet skin. "Suck me. Just like that."