(Tilly Ann)
"I'm… sorry," he whispered. If I didn't know any better I would have sworn he was genuine.
I watched him, this confusing, infuriating son of a bitch. One moment he was a force of nature, all devilish heat and reckless hands, and the next, he was this exhausted man in a chair, barely keeping his own head up.
"This marriage is going to happen whether we want it or not, isn't it?" I asked him.
"Yes. Sorry."
"Don't be sorry. Just focus on convincing my father that your manhood can give us children, so we can get married and I can be done with all these nonsense"
I couldn't keep the annoyance out of my words and he couldn't keep his out of his face.
"How do you suppose I do that, Matilda?"
"Don't know, Chase" I yelled at him. "Show him your impressive Cock. Wave it if you have to. It shouldn't be a problem for a mad man like you...." I was out of breathe and flustered, the heat wasn't helping matters.
"You need to sit down," he said, his voice cutting gently through my spiral.
"I don't need to do anything. Keep away from me till—"
But he was right. My legs felt like water. I was seconds away from passing out.
The only thing resembling a chair was his wheelchair, and he was sitting in it.
Without a second thought, I simply turned and sat down sideways on his lap.
He went utterly still. "Matilda… what are you doing?"
"I'm sitting. You said to sit." I let my head fall against his chest, my ear pressed over his heart. "My heart's beating too fast. Am I going to pass out?"
He smelled good. So different from the memory of sweat and wild heat I remember.
"You are just having a panic attack. It will pass. Deep breath, love"
"Fuck you. I'm Winchester. I'm not having a..." But it was getting harder to breath.
"Maltida?"
"Help. I can't breathe"
I braced for a crass remark, for him to shove me off. Instead, there was silence.
Then, slowly, as if I were made of glass, his arms came around me. One strong arm across my back, pulling me securely against himself.
His other hand came up, his fingers hesitating for a moment before they sank gently into my hair, cradling my head.
"Breathe, Love" he murmured, his lips brushing my hair. His embrace was firm, safe. "Just for me, breathe okay?. It's going to be alright, Tilly. I'll fix it."
The promise was my undoing. A tension I hadn't even named released in my chest.
I melted into him, mimicking his breathing, the rise and fall of his chest. One breath, then another. The panic receded.
My instinct took over. I tilted my head up, my lips finding the skin of his throat. I pressed a kiss there.
He groaned. It sounded different. More intimate. like he hadn't meant to. Like something he couldn't stop himself from feeling.
I wanted to connect with him.
I shifted, taking his mouth in a kiss.
For one heartbeat, he met me. His lips were softer than I remembered, hesitant. It wasn't the consuming fire of before. He was kissing me differently—sweetly, almost passionately. Like he was savoring it.
My other hand, still trembling, drifted down from his chest, over his trousers, seeking proof. I knew exactly what I was going to touch. His rock hard bulge. Proof that I drove him to the brink of insanity just like he did me.
But the moment my palm brushed there, he froze.
He tore his mouth away from mine so fast it left me dizzy.
A full-body shudder went through him, and when I tried to touch him again, his hands flew to my wrists.
He shoved me away.
"Don't—!" The word practically flew out of him.
I didn't recognize the man in front of me.
"Chase?" I whispered, utterly confused.
"Get off of me" He demanded. "Now, Matilda!"
I scrambled back, stumbling off his lap like it was on fire.
Humiliation and confusion covered my face. I only touched him. The Chase I knew would have smirked and pressed into my hand.
This Chase looked… humiliated.
Humiliated? If anyone was to feel embarrassed, it should be me!
He wouldn't meet my eyes. His gaze was fixed on his own lap, his fists clenched so tightly on the arms of his chair that his knuckles were white bone.
"Wh—what is your problem?!" I finally yelled, the hurt bursting out of me.
He flinched like I struck him.
"I have to go," he choked out. "I'm sorry. I can't… I can't do this with you."
The whiplash was dizzying. "Now, you can't?!" I hissed, closing the distance, my voice dropping to a furious whisper. "You spent the better part of last night fucking me with your tongue! And now, when I actually need you... you can't?! Why because it's in public?"
"Sorry. Sorry" He said over and over, eyes down.
He turned his wheelchair with a jerking motion and rolled away.
"I hate you" I yelled after his retreating form. "I mean that!"
He didn't stop. He just kept going.