Brock maneuvered over her and lifted the blindfold from her eyes. Sarah blinked. His smoky eyes and chiseled face hung above her as she focused. He stared, deep and meaningful, touching her soul, until she could semi-regulate her breath. Still tied but able to see, she picked her head up, her lips meeting his, and she kissed him until his arms wrapped under her, hugging her to him.

His erection pushed into her, slowly, inching in. “I love you, angel.”

His lips swept over hers. His tongue stroked hers. His arms remained around her, hugging while he stroked her from the inside out, owning her. Driving her mad with love and comfort and devotion.

She could come again just from the sound of his voice, from knowing the profound commitment Brock had made to her, to their family and future. He still hugged her, still stroked her, but it was faster and deeper. His breath raced with hers. They were sticky, sweaty, and in sync. Her climax rolled through, and his followed. Brock moaned and bit onto her shoulder, groaning and spearing her deep.

“I love you too.” Her superhero. Her husband. Their new life together. She loved it all. In a few hours from that moment, they’d be showered and dressed, standing before their family and friends to recommit to their promise of love. But in his arms, knowing that he’d given her more than she’d initially known she wanted, Sarah vowed to always take the risk, to be his Gamble. Brock and Sarah Gamble. Together forever, always searching for their more.

THE END

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CHASED

CHASED

CHAPTER ONE

Asher McIntyre left the keys in the front door of his Georgetown row house and stared at the note taped to the mirror right inside the door. His heart thudded, more angry than apprehensive. He didn’t need to read the printed paper to know who it was from.

He turned to his alarm system panel. It blinked disengaged and ready to arm. He had turned the pricey piece of garbage on that morning. His note-leaving friend had officially upgraded himself from creepy to criminal.

Asher couldn’t stand in his doorway all night and growl at a piece of paper. It was safer to turn around, walk to a coffee shop, and call for investigators to sweep his townhouse, just like they’d done with his car and office days ago. But his head pounded after hours of congressional hearings, constituent meetings, and lobbyist meet-and-greets. He wasn’t in the mood to smile pleasantly if he accidently bumped into a reporter or blogger. His soured attitude would be speculated about and end up as political fodder. Every misstep would be analyzed for the next six weeks, until Election Day.

Asher cracked his neck, snagged his keys, and took a step inside. His shoe echoed on the hardwood floor, and he swiped the note off the mirror.