Free Chasing Allie (Breaking Away Series #2) by Meli Raine Page B

before. Men have given me hungry looks. They’ve undressed me with their eyes. They’ve glared at me for denying them. I’ve even had men give me kissy faces, as if that’s going to make me suddenly want to sleep with them.
    All those eyes on me at Jeff’s bar. On the street in my hometown. At the grocery store, the library, even high school. Not a single pair of eyes held what Chase has in his.
    Love. But something more than love.
    Pure need .
    He can’t live without me. He can’t stand to spend one more second not touching me. His eyes tell me so.
    And his hands are about to explain all the details.
    I am afraid. Not scared. Not terrified. Not anxious— afraid . Afraid to fall a little too deeply for him. Afraid to like what we’re about to do a little too much. Afraid to believe that any of this is real. 
    Afraid to hand him the key to my heart and have him run off with it.
    The problem with being afraid is that you never get to live. The fear traps you and keeps you caged. Your own mind is your warden.
    I thought Jeff was my warden. All these years. I thought he was the reason I couldn’t live my real life.
    Turns out it was me.
    Chase’s hand is so hot it burns against my elbow as he strokes my arm. I could spend the next eighty years memorizing the lines of his face. How the skin around his cheeks folds like it understands. The way his lips go soft with yearning as his eyes trace my jaw line.
    The scent of our want hovers between us in this strange little room. He moves, closing the gap, our hips pressed together, the fold of his t-shirt embedded against my navel. As he bends down to kiss me I smell the road, the past, the future and then I taste it. His lips are sweet and hard, telling me everything I need to know.
    He captures my lower lip between both of his and licks lightly. It hurts a little from my cut, but he’s so gentle. Then Chase opens his mouth, tongue finding mine. My hands know what to do now, and I tug at the hem of his shirt, pulling it out from the waistband of his jeans. Oh, the skin is taut and fine, hot and ready. His lower back tucks in, curving away from my seeking palm.
    Pushing harder into my core.
    His erection is enormous, straining against the fly of his jeans. A car horn honks in the distance, loud and insistent, and as his fingers play with my earlobe I hear voices shouting at each other. Not the most romantic environment, but I don’t care. 
    He pulls back, breathless. The hush of each breath is strong, insistent, demanding. He turns away and searches the room, determined. His arm reaches for a small radio and within seconds he finds a jazz station, the slow, eerie tones like passion and mystery being poured in liquid form into the room.
    Some part of me turns warm and wet, all flow and perfection. I feel like my blood has taken on the job of pulsing through me to spread pleasure. Chase’s touch is the trigger, and now those gentle, searching hands are more commanding. His palms cup my ass and pull me up, telling me to wrap my legs around him. I follow instinct and do it, his hard shaft pressing against the part of me that aches for him most.
    He can’t be gentle. Can’t be tender. His hands fly across my back, the hooks of my bra undone and my shirt pushed up as he balances, dropping to one knee and then pushing me down on the bed. The music fades and we’re fire and ice. Hot and cold. His mouth is on my nipple and I arch up, begging, calling his name in a hurried gasp.
    “More,” I whisper as he looks at me, dark and serious. I pull off my shirt and bra and reach for his shirt, yanking it up, pulling him to me. I need all of our skin to touch. Every inch. Every pore. Every stroke. 
    Every single breath needs to be shared. My breasts push up against his pecs, tickled by the chest hair, and everything is so immediate. He’s kissing my neck, my shoulder, my nipples, my ribs, and his hands are everywhere. I’ve become nothing but sensation. 
    “I could lose myself in