He blinked at her words and calm tone after her hand nearly crushed the bones in his then he studied her face in parking lot lights.
After he did this awhile, he told her, “You cannot keep shit buried. We got a long row to hoe with this. You give him strength, you unload on me the shit that causes in you so you can give it to him. Starting now. Deal?”
She leaned into him, got up on her toes and whispered, “Chace. I’m fine.”
“Baby –”
“Except I need a burrito. Stat.”
Chace stared at her.
She lifted her hand and curled it around the side of his neck.
“Two days ago,” she said softly, “not knowing where he was and the state of him, I was not fine. Now, he’s messed up but he’s safe and I know where he is so, I promise, honey, I’m… fine.”
She held his gaze as he tried to read hers.
Then she stopped giving him time and stated, “Feed me. If you don’t, all the way to Rosalinda’s, I’m explaining the entirety of the history of Angel, the vampire with a soul given to him by gypsies as punishment for him killing one of their own. This history will range from Buffy, The Vampire Slayer through to Angel, his own TV show. I’ll also add my opinions on why they should never have cancelled Angel. I’ll tell you now, this is multi-part and doesn’t all have to do with the fact that David Boreanaz is hot. And, if you delay, I might even have time to get into why I think Joss Whedon should be recommended for sainthood.”
She had her moment.
Now she was fine.
So Chace dug into his jeans, pulled out his keys and beeped the locks.
Faye grinned.
Chace bent his head and touched his mouth to hers.
They heard a short honk of a car horn and they both turned their heads to see Sondra and Silas in the Wrangler driving past, Sondra giving them a wave.
Faye waved back as Chace reached around her to open her door.
He closed it after she climbed in.
Then he rounded the hood, folded in and took his woman to have a meal with her family.
*
She was finding it even though Chace was going slow, gentle, loving the feel of her, the smell of her, the sounds she was making.
But he knew by the noises, the way her body was shifting under his, the way she was tilting her hips with each stroke to get more of him and the fact that she wrapped one leg around his ass and pressed the inside of her other thigh against his hip that it was building.
He slid his lips from her neck over her jaw to take her mouth in a deep, slow kiss as his hand found her arm, slid down and wrapped around her wrist to pull it from around him. He twisted his hand, linked fingers with hers then pressed their hands into the bed, also moving so his forearm would take his weight.
He kept kissing her, thrusting deep but sweet and slow as he moved his other hand to find her arm and pull it from around her. Sliding his hand down to hers, he shifted it to her side, pressing her hand flat against her skin, gliding it up, in, up then, his hand over hers, he cupped her breast with it.
His thumb moving hers, he rubbed it tight over her hard nipple
And he got it. Her hips jerked, she gasped against his tongue, her leg tightened around his ass and she came.
Fuck, he loved that about her. Fast and hard or slow and sweet, she found it with just his tongue, her nipple and his cock.
Sometimes just his tongue and cock.
He moved faster, kept kissing her, thrusting harder and she took him, tipping up for him, giving him all of her as she kissed him back until he thrust deep, stayed planted and poured himself inside her as he groaned down her throat.
Fucking magnificent.
When he came down he found she was running the tip of her tongue along his lower lip, something he liked, something he liked to do to her, something he taught her.
Then again, he’d taught her everything.
She was his in every way she could be, his in a way most men never got a shot at.
His.
Yes.
Fucking magnificent.
His tongue gently pushed hers back into her mouth so he could kiss her deep, slow and long before he let her mouth go and trailed his lips back to her neck.
She’d wrapped her arm around him again and she moved her foot that was in the bed in order to wrap her leg around the back of his thigh.
Their hands were still linked in the bed beside her.
He’d fucked a lot. He’d also made love. It couldn’t be said there weren’t women he’d cared about that he’d shared quiet moments like this with, as close as they could get.
But none of them felt like Faye. None of them smelled like her. None of them tasted like her. None of them curled their fingers between his quite as tight. None of them felt nearly as sweet wrapped around him, their soft bodies pressed under his, taking his weight. None of them, after taking her, made him feel clean and like everything was right in the world as long as her body was in his bed.
Not one.
Not even close.
“So, debriefing way late, dinner with your family went good…” he paused, “both times.”