Choices, choices.
Both. Everything.
“Something else,” I decided, knowing he said the most we would do in the first session would be kissing. There wasn't a huge chance of anything to fully and completely freak me out.
“Mmm,” his lips vibrated on my neck and I swear I felt it... vibrate... somewhere else. “Okay,” he said, slowly lifting his head. He sat back, the space between us seeming wider than before. “How about you turn around?” he suggested.
“Why?” I asked, straightening. His hands and lips off of me, my mind was free to race again. And I couldn't think of any good reason why he needed me to turn away.
“Because,” he said, his hand moving to my arm, rubbing absentmindedly, “I am going to give you a massage.”
“Oh,” I breathed out, glancing at the bed, grateful he hadn't suggested we move there to do that.
“Do you think you would like that?” I looked at him, feeling my shoulder shrug. “Okay,” he said, “let's find out then,” he said, moving back further, giving me space to move.
As soon as my back was to him, his hands went to my shoulders, close to my neck, pressing into the knots that had become so much a part of me. Jake had offered more than a hundred times to work them out, saying how unhealthy it was to walk around all tense and in pain, but I couldn't even begin to consider undressing and letting him touch me.
“Where are you?” he asked, his thumbs pressing up the back of my neck, “You're not with me.”
“Sorry,” I mumbled, shaking my head slightly.
“Don't be sorry. Tell me what you were thinking about.”
“My roommate,” I admitted.
“Why?”
“He's a massage therapist.”
“Ah. I see. Have you ever let him give you a massage?”
“What do you think?” I half-laughed.
He chuckled slightly, his hands moving down toward the center of my back. “Why don't you tell me more about him?”
“Why?”
“Because you are having communication issues. I figured your roommate is a safe topic to get started.” At my silence, he added, “Tell me about him.”
“He's an asshole,” I said, and he laughed.
“Why is he an asshole?”
“He teases me all the time,” I admitted, feeling a little bit of resentment rise up.
“What does he tease you about?”
“The way I dress. How I am uptight and a little OCD about things being clean. About my needing to get laid.”
“He sounds like a good guy,” Chase said dryly, making me giggle slightly.
“He's actually not a bad guy all in all. It's just like... living with a teenage boy. He's a slob and has wild parties all the time. Oh, and then there's the ear-piercing screams all night.”
“Screams?” Chase asked, his hands stilling around my hips.
I bit my lip, smiling slightly. “Yes... from... women.”
“Ah,” he said, his hands moving again. “Does that make you uncomfortable?”
“Only when I have to wake up in the morning and explain to said women that Jake is gone, he won't call, and they'll never see him again.”
“Do you think that has had any effect on how you view sex?”
“Not really. Except knowing with absolutely certainty that I don't want to do it with him.”
“Does this feel good?” he asked, running his hands back up toward my shoulders.
Back into the current moment, I felt my head lull toward the side. It did feel good. And that was really weird. “Yeah.”
“Good,” he said, one hand reaching up to brush my hair to the side, his mouth lowering toward my neck and running his lips across it again. “Why don't you turn back around?” he suggested, his teeth nipping ever so slightly into my earlobe.
“Okay,” I breathed, pulling forward and turning.
Knowing what was going to happen.
He was absolutely going to kiss me.
Jesus Christ.
I wasn't ready for that. It had been so long. The last time someone kissed me... it was one of Jake's party goers: tall, brown haired, attractive, with a tattoo of a raven on the side of his neck. He had been laying it on thick to a very reluctant me for hours and he finally made a move. And I managed to yield for a total ten seconds before I was starting to hyperventilate and shoved hard at his chest. Then I ran, humiliated, into my room, locking the door, and crying bitter, angry, self-hate filled tears.
“Come back to me,” Chase's voice said, soft and deep. He offered me a small smile when my eyes landing on his again. “What were you just thinking about?”
I let my eyes drop, making contact with his collar. “The last time someone kissed me.”
His hand moved toward me, stroking across my cheek. “Tell me about it.” No. Nope. Can't do that. “You have to put the work in, sweetheart.”
He was right. “Jake was having a party. There was a guy who... took interest in me...”
“Just one?” he asked, smiling a little.
“Yes. Just one. And he just... didn't seem deterred by my lack of enthusiasm. Then, hours later, he finally leaned in and...”
“And what happened?”
“I handled it for a few seconds, then freaked and ran.”
“Hmm,” he said, his other hand moving out toward my other cheek, cradling my face. “What did he say?”
“I never saw him again.”
His head shook slightly, his eyes raking over me, “A face like this, baby, he should have been bringing you flowers and jewelry and chocolate until you got comfortable with him and let him try again.”
A face like mine?
I felt that strange fluttering in my belly again.
He needed to stop saying sweet things. I wasn't prepared for it.
“Do you have any idea what men would do to possess beauty like this?” he asked, shaking his head. “And, here I am, holding it.”
Holy lord.
I just... couldn't take this.
“Tell me you want me to kiss you,” he urged, his words sounding almost desperate, like the suspense was too much. “Ava, tell me baby.”
I licked my lips and his eyes went to watch intently. Did I want him to kiss me? I was pretty freaking sure I did. “I want you to kiss me,” I said, barely audibly, but he heard.
“Thank god,” he groaned, leaning in, pulling my face toward his at the same time.
Then his lips met mine, firm yet gentle, sending a unexpected current through my body, a soft moan escaping me. There was a second of shocked stillness before my lips started responding, pressing into his, begging for more. His head tilted slightly, taking the kiss deeper. One of his hands stayed at the side of my face, the other slid over my shoulder, down my arm, my side, sneaking around my back, pulling me close.
And then it finally started to happen.
The expected throat-constricting panic. I felt myself stiffen, my heart slamming hard like it was trying desperately to escape my rib cage. But I tried to fight it. In our intro session, he told me it was important to not push him away unless it was too much, unless I couldn't take it anymore. I could take it for a few more minutes. I could hold on. I could...
“Ava,” his voice broke in, and I hadn't even realized he had stopped kissing me. He moved back, looking at my face. “On a scale of one to ten, how bad is the anxiety?”
“Six or seven,” I admitted, bringing a hand to my throat like I could work out the strangled feeling.
“Okay,” he said, moving slightly back, then turning and sitting with his back to the cushions. “Come here.”
“What?” I asked, trying to take deep breaths and failing.
“It hasn't exactly escaped my notice, babe, that I have been touching you and you have yet to put a finger on me. Come over here,” he said, holding an arm out wide. “Put your head head on my chest.”
Oh, god.
Shit.
No.
“At least try, Ava,” he coaxed, patient.
And that's what did it. The willingness to let me pull away, to be rejected, without being offended. It was so new and unexpected. He was right. I needed to try.
I scooted closer, bringing my legs up at an angle behind me, and slowly lowering the side of my face to his chest. I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath, taking in the slightest hint of a spicy cologne. Underneath my cheek, his shirt was warm from his skin, his chest hard. Which I found somehow comforting.
I moved closer, my torso leaning into his side, my knees pressing into his thigh. My hand came out and landed on the other side of his chest, in a fist, but still... touching. Willingly. Happily.
There was a long pause before his arm went around me, heavy, settling on my waist. “You okay?” he asked, his face sounding close to my hair.
“Yeah.”
“What's the level?”
“Four?” I guessed, not entirely sure. Definitely better than before, but still on edge.
“Be proud of the little victories, Ava,” he said, and his other hand came up, taking my hand, opening it, slipping his fingers between mine, and squeezing closed against his chest.
Holding his hand. I was holding sexy Dr. Chase Hudson's hand. I felt a strange, strangled laugh catch in the back of my throat at the idea.
His hand went from my waist, moving slowly up the center of my back. A slow, lazy exploration up my spine. I felt myself melt into the sensation. God, who knew it felt so good just to be touched?
I closed my eyes, feeling the anxiety slowly start to settle back down, taking grateful, greedy deep breaths.