Chapter 4: Priced In

Chase lived above a bakery on Orchard Street, and the stairs smelled like yeast and cinnamon.

I climbed them behind him with my hand in his, doing math the whole way up.

Peyton had set his price.

I wanted to know what mine was.

He unlocked a door and pulled me into a small dark room that held a bed, a desk, and about four hundred books.

He kicked the door shut behind us.

"Lou," he said. "Tell me to stop."

"No," I said. "Take my jacket off."

He did.

He slid the canvas off my shoulders slowly and dropped it on the floor.

Then his hands found the hem of my shirt, and he pulled it over my head, and the cold air hit my skin.

He looked at me for a long moment.

"You're beautiful," he said, and he sounded almost angry about it.

I unbuttoned his shirt myself.

I pushed it off his shoulders and put my palms flat on his chest, and I felt his heart slamming under my hand.

He was lean and hard and warm, and I wanted every inch of him.

"Bed," I said.

"Bossy."

"I get up at four. I don't have all night."

He laughed, low in his throat, and lifted me by the thighs.

I wrapped my legs around his waist and he carried me across the room and laid me down.

He undid my jeans and dragged them off.

He knelt on the floor at the edge of the bed and pulled my hips toward him.

"Chase," I said.

"Let me."

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