The Chase Ch. 04

I blink a few times and release a breath I didn't know I was holding. "We, uh, should probably head down." She nods and starts to steer me out of the dressing room, but then I suddenly remember my original question. "Wait," I say quietly, "why did Cameron punch Howard?"

She sighs. "You were gone, and Cameron was a mess. We kind of invited ourselves over for dinner one night, mostly to make sure he was okay, and he and Howard drank too much, and then Howard said the stupidest fucking thing."

"What?" I whisper.

She lowers her voice, too. "He said that if you didn't come back soon, he'd take Cameron to another high school graduation." She shakes her head. "I knew it was going to be bad the second the words came out of his mouth, and it was."

I picture Cameron hitting Howard. I imagine him clenching his fist and grunting as he throws it hard across Howard's face. I'm sure Howard cursed a blue streak but, even in his drunken haze, he must have known better than to retaliate against a younger, fitter man.

"Thank you for telling me," I half-whisper as Alyssa and I walk back downstairs. We enter the living room, and to my profound relief, everyone is behaving quite normally. The women have gathered around Benjamin and Scott, who are telling a story about some reality show star who demanded a lawyer for her dog. Mariah takes a sip from her umpteenth cocktail and winks at me. I try not to grimace as I wonder how well she relayed the cover story about the jewelry.

Cameron is, of course, watching me as Emerson Duncan talks to him about money. I smile at my husband as if I haven't just discovered that he started stalking me the day I got my goddamned high school diploma. He doesn't smile back.

"Hey, lady!" Benjamin exclaims, startling me. He waves me over with a dazzling smile. "If I'd known you were going to do a jewelry show-and-tell, I'd have been there in a heartbeat." His eyes widen as he takes another look at the diamonds around my neck. "Oh my God, is this one of the honeymoon pieces?"

I feel another small rush of relief. Maybe Mariah didn't blow my cover after all. "No, Cameron gave me this the night I...came back home."

Benjamin and Scott coo in unison, and I silently resolve to invite them to any and all future dinner parties. They're so much fun that they almost make me forget how much I hate playing hostess. I start to ask them to tell us more stories about insane reality show stars, but Mrs. Lindblom taps me on the shoulder. "Dinner's ready, my dear," she whispers.

"Gosh, that was quick," I reply, but then I remember that I was absent for most of cocktail hour. Jesus, I'm a terrible hostess. "Let me help you serve." I look at Cameron and cock my head toward the dining room; he announces dinner, and we usher everyone to the table. Despite my earlier bout with morning sickness and my horrifying conversation with Alyssa, I actually feel rather hungry. I guess this is what all those "eating for two" jokes are about.

Dinner seems to last for centuries, but everyone except Cameron appears to enjoy it. He sits at the head of the table and rarely speaks. As usual, I'm seated to his right instead of at the opposite end. Each time I get up to help Mrs. Lindblom with the food, I have to discreetly remove his hand from my knee.

Cameron leans over to whisper in my ear. "I want to spank you so fucking hard for wearing that dress." He sits upright and continues eating as if he has just remarked on the weather. I clear my throat and hope that no one sees how deeply I'm blushing. Luckily, everyone but me has been sampling Cameron's prized Cabernet Sauvignon; they're a bit too tipsy to notice or care that my husband is basically eye-fucking me. Even more luckily, no one notices that I'm choosing my food and drink strategically. Cameron already knows that Cabernet Sauvignon is way too dry for my taste. I'm also assiduously avoiding all seafood dishes until I can find out what's safe to eat, but if anyone finds that odd, they're not letting on.

In any case, I'm not the only one intent on keeping a poker face at this table. Alyssa is diligently avoiding prolonged eye contact with the Duncans. Meanwhile, Mariah and Emerson Duncan are flirting like a couple of newlyweds; she leans her head on his shoulder and occasionally whispers something that makes him smile and glance at Alyssa. I don't know what kind of arrangement those three have got going on, but I'm not going to worry about it right now. Judging by the way Howard Bainbridge is plowing through his côte de bœuf, he's not worried about it, either.

I'm about to head to the kitchen to help Mrs. Lindblom bring out dessert when Cameron's hand settles on my leg, pressing me back into my seat. "Would you all join me in a toast?" he says as he rises from the table.

"You bet!" Mariah bellows as she raises her glass and spills a bit of wine.

"Babe, I'm pretty sure that was a rhetorical question," Emerson says quietly as he reaches up to steady her glass. The other guests laugh good-naturedly.

"I'm so glad," Cameron continues, "that you're all here to help us celebrate my beautiful wife's return." He takes my chin between his thumb and forefinger and leans down to kiss me. I hear Scott and Benjamin hoot their approval. Their enthusiasm is contagious; by the time Cameron breaks off the kiss, everyone is tapping their wineglasses with their silverware. He puts his hand out to quiet them down, but he's smiling. "We're all happy that Tessa's mother is recovering and that Tessa is back where she belongs." He looks at me as he speaks. I don't know how many people believe the story about my sick mother, but I hope Cameron's toast is the end of that particular charade. I just keep a smile plastered on my face as I look around the table. "So let's toast to the resilience of friendship," he says, looking pointedly at Howard, who cracks a smile, "and to my reunion with this extraordinary woman. Cheers."

Before anyone can wonder why I'm toasting with a glass of ice water, I stand and announce that we're serving Mrs. Lindblom's famous crème brûlée, as well as chocolate mousse. "The chocolate mousse is in honor of my first date with Cameron," I say shyly, and our more effusive guests react with the sort of oohing and aahing that you'd expect.

The rest of the dinner is blissfully uneventful. The Duncans are the first to leave, and I try not to think about what they're probably going to do when they get home. Mariah tipsily hugs me goodbye and leans in to whisper something, but I only catch the last few words: "...while he's fucking me." I know better than to ask her to repeat herself; I simply smile and say the usual pleasantries. Emerson Duncan chances one last look at Alyssa before distractedly bidding everyone goodnight.

The other guests soon follow suit, and I navigate the flurry of hugs, handshakes, compliments, and thankyous with surprising aplomb. As I promise the Van Leeuwens to let Mrs. Lindblom know how much they loved the food, I mentally congratulate myself on not letting a secret pregnancy and an adulterous encounter turn the evening into total gossip fodder.

Alyssa and Howard are the last to leave. Alyssa pulls me in for a hug and whispers in my ear. "We can talk more later if you want," she says before giving me a questioning look. I answer her with a nod and a tight-lipped smile that I hope she interprets as an earnest thank you. Cameron and Howard clasp hands and then do the one-armed hug with a double back-slap that men do. Alyssa and I roll our eyes and smile, relieved that no punches were thrown this evening.

As I close the door behind the Bainbridges, I feel Cameron's hands settle on my waist. Before I can ask what he's doing, he spins me to face him and cages me in with his arms. I flatten my back against the door and look up at him.

I clear my throat. "Mrs. Lindblom--"

"Is gone for the evening."

"But the dishes and stuff--"

"Will wait until tomorrow." He looks at my mouth as he speaks. "I can't wait, however. I've done enough waiting."

I search his face for signs that he knows about my pregnancy, about my conversation with Alyssa--about anything--but he's unreadable. I keep my own expression as impassive as possible. I can't tell whether he's referring to the years he waited after the first day he saw me or to the hours he waited for the dinner party to be over.

I decide he's referring to our long evening. "The dinner party was your idea," I note with a smirk.

"Yes," he says, leaning closer, "and now I have another idea." He presses his forehead to mine. "I'll give you a 10-second head start."

"What?"

"I'm going to chase you," he says silkily as he peers down at my cleavage. "But I'm giving you a head start because I doubt you can move in that tight fucking dress." He begins kissing my neck and groans as I tilt my head up to give him better access.

"Cameron?"

"Hm?"

"Are you sure you want to be seen chasing me down the street?"

He chuckles, and I savor his hot breath on my neck. "Not outside, baby. This is an indoor game." He straightens, drops his arms, and steps away. "And your ten seconds start now."

"You're seriously going to chase me?" I ask, but I'm already stepping out of my shoes. "Then what?"

"I'll catch you and fuck you. Seven seconds."

As I bend forward to hike up my dress so that it won't restrict my steps, one of my straps slips off my shoulder. "Five seconds," he says, clenching his jaw.

I feel a rush of adrenaline as I run up the stairs. God, I don't even have a fucking plan. I reach the top and look behind me. Cameron is taking the stairs two at a time. I run in the opposite direction of our bedroom. I know that's where he wants to end up, but I'm sure as hell not going to start there. I see the utility closet to my left and dart inside. Cameron probably assumes I'm crawling under a guest bed to hide, and the truth is that I did consider it.

The utility closet is dark and smells faintly of bleach and furniture polish. As Cameron's steps get closer, I cover my mouth to quiet my breathing. I listen so intently that I can feel my own pulse pounding. The hallway is silent, and I imagine he's standing on the other side of the door, seconds away from throwing it open.

I almost jump out of my skin when I hear the floor creak. He has walked past the closet. He must be in the guest bedroom at the end of the hall. I exhale deeply but quietly. If he's checking under the bed and looking behind furniture, I've probably got time to make it back to the stairs. I start thinking about where to hide downstairs, but I freeze when I hear Cameron's footsteps again. I lay one hand on my chest and prepare to scream when he finds me amid the brooms and cleaning supplies. When I played hide-and-seek as a kid, the moment of discovery was always the worst: I'd scream my head off whether I was the hider or the seeker. It was like waiting for the clown to jump out of the jack-in-the-box. I imagine startling Cameron with a blood-curdling scream, and the thought almost makes me laugh, but then I hear the floor creak once more. He seems to be heading to our bedroom at the other end of the hallway.

I bite my lip as I weigh my options. Cameron must assume that I already snuck out of my hiding place. If he's in the master suite, he'll have a lot of hiding spots to check. I open the utility closet door with agonizing slowness and peer up and down the hallway.

It's empty.

As I gingerly step out into the hallway, I wonder how long I can keep Cameron going from room to room. The guest bedroom, which he seems to have ruled out for the moment, is probably the next place to go. I turn and begin tiptoeing quickly but quietly.

That's when his arms lock around my waist.

To my amazement, I don't scream. I immediately begin trying to pry my way out of his grasp, but his arms may as well be iron bars. "Where the fuck were you?" I hiss. I try to push his arms down as if I have the slightest chance in hell of getting away.

"I was just waiting for you to come out," he says with a laugh.

As I feel his hard-on press against my ass, I devise a plan. I reach back and slide my hand between our bodies. He inhales through his teeth as my palm strokes him up and down through his trousers; his grip on me loosens, and I smile. "Well, I was just waiting for you to catch me," I reply, short of breath. I arch my back and grind my ass against his hardness.

He takes the bait immediately. He relaxes his grip; one hand drifts up to my breasts and the other hikes my dress up to my waist, exposing my panties. I let my head fall back on his chest. "You want me to make you feel good, don't you, baby?" he asks, his voice smooth and warm. He lightly massages my clit through my panties with two fingers; his other hand squeezes one breast and then the other. I moan in spite of myself; he practically growls in response. "This is what you get," he says as he reaches into the bodice of my dress to feel my nipples grow hard against his palm, "when you tease me with these tits all night."

I'm getting wet. Before he turns me into a writhing, horny mess, I need to make my move. "Do you know what you get?" I purr as I turn to face him. His eyes are glued to my chest, and I smirk. He's so distracted that I find it blissfully easy to slap him hard across the face. "That's what you get," I spit out, though I leave the sentence unfinished. I silently fill in the rest as I watch Cameron's expression change from shock to raw desire: That's what you get for chasing me like a psychopath. That's what you get for making me like it. That's what you get for making me as lovesick as you are.

When he grabs my arm and drags me toward the bedroom, I'm not surprised. When his grip tightens as I smack his hand and try to pry his fingers loose, I'm not surprised. I'm not even surprised when he flings me on the bed and catches me by the ankle as I try to escape.

"Where do you think you're going, huh?" he says mockingly as he captures my wrists and pins them to the bed. He kisses me before I can make a smartass retort. His tongue plunges so aggressively into my mouth that it's almost difficult to breathe. I whimper against his tongue as he begins dry-humping me. He finally breaks off the kiss and swears under his breath as I begin moving in rhythm with him.

I arch my back off the bed, eager to get my breasts closer to his mouth. He smiles and releases one of my wrists so that he can yank down the bodice of my dress. I seize the chance to slap him again--more lightly this time--and he presses my forearms firmly into the mattress before latching onto a nipple and sucking hard. The pleasure shoots right to my core. Every swirl of his tongue seems to wring a moan from my throat.

He pauses to stare shamelessly at my tits. "I swear to God," he mutters, but before I can ask him what he means, he starts feasting on the other nipple. By the time he's finished, I'm so wet that I can feel my panties sticking to my skin. I'm tempted to just get myself off by grinding my pussy against him.

Cameron shifts his weight and captures both my wrists in one hand, and I shiver as he traces my jawline with his free hand. He suddenly pushes two fingers into my mouth; his eyes flash as I close my lips around them and suck. "Good little slut," he says hoarsely. "I should shove my cock into your greedy little mouth, but I want your pussy too goddamned bad." He rolls to one side so that he can whip my panties off and unfasten his trousers with one hand. "And I'd ask you to give me your tight little pussy," he says as he gets back on top of me and pins both my arms down once more, "but I know you want me to fucking take it."

His words make my pussy clench, and he groans as he enters me. I wrap my legs around his waist, and he starts pounding me in earnest. My orgasm overtakes me before I can even tell him that I'm close. It's as if my clit is an instant orgasm button that Cameron has just pressed. I know I'm aroused, but never has the pleasure detonated so quickly. I'm still gasping for air as I look for Cameron's reaction to my record-setting orgasm. "Such a slut," he says thickly, never slackening his pace. He turns his attention to my breasts, which jiggle with every thrust. "For fuck's sake," he whispers to himself before swooping down to taste my tits and feel them bounce in his face.

The sensation of his tongue on my nipples makes my pussy contract, and my eyes go wide as another orgasm stiffens my legs and arches my back, pushing my tits hard against Cameron's mouth. I'm so surprised that I half-scream, "What the fuck?!" as I come. He keeps kissing and licking my tits as much as my full-body spasms and shudders allow him to. My moans grow more incoherent as I wait for the pleasure to diminish, but this climax is at least twice as long as the first. My hands, still pinned to the bed, alternately ball into fists and claw the air as I drown in wave after wave. By the time I'm finally done coming, I feel dazed and high.

Jesus. Has my pregnancy turned me into an orgasm machine? Am I just super turned on by Cameron's hide-and-seek game? When did my body become so trigger-happy? I look blearily up at Cameron, who has finally slowed his rhythm for a moment, but he only tells me to keep coming like a good girl.

"No, I want to watch you come now." My voice sounds like I'm drunk on orgasms, and I guess I am. Cameron's jaw twitches; he clearly likes what he's reduced me to. "Don't you want to come in this pussy?"

"Fuck, yes," he groans. "But not before you come." He thrusts harder into me, and I notice a fine sheen of sweat on his chest. "So goddamned tight," he says between gritted teeth.

"I've already come twice," I whine, not sure whether I can handle another orgasm.

"Third time's the charm." His voice goes all smoky as he leans down and brushes his lips against mine. "Give it to me, baby." He kisses me again, and this time his tongue invades my mouth. We kiss sloppily as he slams his cock into me. As I taste his tongue, I recall the way he chased me around the townhouse--the way he captured me in the upstairs hallway--and my pussy starts to tighten around his cock. He groans his approval and continues kissing me deeply. He wants me to cry out into his mouth--just as I did when he made me come on his fingers at the end of our first date. I hold my breath and then let myself drown in the pleasure of his tongue and his cock and the rest of his ridiculously beautiful body. Cameron swallows my hoarse moans and doesn't break off the kiss until my pussy finally stops convulsing.

"I love you," he murmurs as he prepares for his own orgasm. I can feel his legs quivering.

"I love you," I reply quietly. "Now come inside me. I want it."

He curses and empties his balls with a long groan that turns into more cursing. I smile as I watch the moment seize and then radiate through him. He kisses me haphazardly as he catches his breath--my lips, throat, shoulders, breasts. After another flurry of kisses, he rolls on his back and pulls me against his sweaty chest.

"Every time I think I can't love you more," he says as he strokes my messy hair, "I do."

I listen to his heartbeat, which is almost back to normal, and run my fingers back and forth across his abs. They clench in response, and I feel his shaky laugh rumble through his chest. I don't know why he got so attached to me the day I asked him to take a picture at my high school graduation. I don't know why he watched me from afar for more than four years. I was 18 when he first saw me, wasn't I? Maybe he thought an 18-year-old dating a 30-year-old would be too scandalous. Maybe he thought he'd get over me in time.

I doubt Alyssa or Bertie knows why Cameron essentially stalked me all through college, but I want to question them anyway. Then again, perhaps there's no point in digging for more information. The child I'm carrying binds me inextricably to Cameron, regardless of how we've wound up together.