Chapter 9

I was trembling, shaking in each of my extremities when Chuck pulled away from me, leaving me sitting alone on the cold surface of the counter, my fuzzy mind trying to reconcile his words. He couldn't possibly mean…

Could he?

The mixture of alcohol and lust was still clouding my mind, and I was having trouble making sense of it all.

"If you were mine, I'd never stop touching you."

"If you were mine, you'd crave this."

Was he just teasing me? He very well already knew how much I craved his touch because my embarrassing display in the pool did little to conceal my attraction to him.

"When I finally take you, you'll know we're no longer pretending."

He'd said 'when' not 'if.'

Oh, wow.

My breathing finally returned to a normal rhythm, and I searched out Chuck. He was in the far corner of the room, laying out his makeshift bedding from the night before. Something twisted in my stomach, and I couldn't leave it at this. He was being open and honest with me, and maybe it was the alcohol that we'd both consumed, but I couldn't pass up the opportunity to get some real answers from him before we both erected protective walls around ourselves again.

"Chuck," I gasped out, eyes wild. He stopped, pillow in hand and glanced back at me. "What -" I cleared my throat nervously. "What did you mean about when…about...just now...what did you mean?" I couldn't form coherent thoughts. My words came out in a jumbled mess, and I could only hope that he understood what I was asking.

His eyes studied me carefully, as if he was considering whether or not to answer the question truthfully. "As we've established, I'm…" he looked away. "Well-experienced with women, but I've never had meaningful sex with someone I…care about. When that happens, she will know what it means to me."

Even through the haze of alcohol, his insinuations were pretty clear, but could he really be talking about me like that? He'd spent the better part of the time that we've known each other bedding a host of women and antagonizing me. Before we'd gone shopping together a few weeks ago, he'd never even so much as afforded me a word of kindness. He turned down my initial proposal to accompany me to Serena's wedding with a terse 'no'.

It didn't make sense; he didn't make sense.

"You.." I fiddled with the hem of my shirt, but the memory of his hand wrapped around the fabric just a few minutes earlier invaded my mind, causing me to quickly drop the material from my hand. "You care about me?" The question came out in a breathless desperate whisper before I could stop it.

He exhaled slowly, his eyes searing into my very soul. Heat flooded my body, but I couldn't look away from him. "Why else would I be here, Blair?"

"You refused at first…" I responded weakly. My heart thudded against my breast, and I thought I'd fall off the countertop from the shock of his confession. "You've always been so mean…you hate me."

"I've never hated you, Blair," he shook his head, dropping the pillow and settling onto the edge of the bed. "I declined your first offer to come because it felt like it would be torture to be near you, to pretend that we were something more than you'd ever let us be."

"Why -" I choked out between ragged breaths. "Why did you change your mind?"

"You looked like you were going to throw up when you were talking to Kati about the wedding, and something inside of me broke. It was a moment of weakness, but I don't regret it."

"But…you -" I couldn't believe him. He was playing with my emotions. He had to be. I couldn't reconcile any of it in my head.

"It's late," he said gently, his eyes softening to my confusion. "Let's get some sleep, and we can talk tomorrow."

He went back to his task of arranging his pillows on the floor. "Stop," I instructed. "You can sleep in the bed."

His eyes shot back to me, one eyebrow arched in question. "I don't know if that's such a good idea tonight."

"Sure it is," I smiled weakly, pretending yet again that things weren't changing between us minute by minute. "I'm going to take a quick shower and change into my pajamas."

As I stripped off my clothes, I recalled the feeling of his lips on mine, the way his hands had kneaded my flesh. I didn't know that a kiss could feel like that, that another person could be so attuned to my body. The way he'd melded against me and held me to him…God, I couldn't help but wonder what else the man was capable of. I knew he wanted to have sex with me; his physical attraction to me had been obvious for a while, but what I couldn't quite understand was what he meant about caring for me. I couldn't imagine Chuck Bass wanting a girlfriend; there's no way he was looking for a relationship with me.

I opted for a more conservative chemise than what I'd worn the night before and wrapped a robe tightly around my body. Chuck had seen enough of my bare skin for the day, and exposing myself any more than necessary could prove to be too much temptation for either one of us to handle.

When I returned to the bedroom, he was already settled beneath the covers, and new anxiety sank heavy in my chest. I felt more nervous this time than I had our first night together. Now it felt more dangerous to be in bed with him. Part of me wanted to explore this attraction that I felt for him; it'd been so long, and casual sex with Chuck would most certainly sooth the urges growing inside of me. But that was the problem wasn't it? It wouldn't just be casual sex. I didn't know exactly what it would mean, but sleeping with Chuck would change something between us forever.

"Don't worry; I promise to behave," I smiled nervously, remembering just how well I behaved in the pool that afternoon. I pulled the comforter back, and dropped my robe as quickly as possible before covering myself with the blanket.

"I'm not sure I want you to," he husked, his voice thick and gravelly, his eyes hooded as they fell to my exposed neckline. "Blair -"

"Chuck," I panted, feeling as though I was seconds away from losing my grasp on reality.

"You feel it, don't you, Blair?" He rolled over to his side so that he could look at me. He reached out a hand and stroked my cheek softly. "You're scared to admit it, but you feel it. I can see it in your eyes when you look at me," he whispered, leaning closer until he was nearly hovering over me. I could feel the heat from his whole body, causing mine to tremble in a mixture of anticipation and anxiety. "I could feel it when I kissed you."

"Chuck." It seemed to be the only word I could manage, so I repeated his name, begging him for something I wasn't quite sure I actually wanted.

"I once told you that if I was interested in a woman, she would know." He continued caressing my cheek so tenderly that I almost melted beneath him. My heart stopped beating and I held my breath, unable to do anything more than stare at him as his words settled in the air around us. "This is me letting you know that I'm interested, Blair, that I've been interested for a long damn time."

A long time? How long?

He lowered his mouth to mine in a slow, tentative kiss, as if he was giving me the chance to resist his advances. But I couldn't; there was no way I could push him away now. I wanted this, and I was tired of fighting it. I dared not think of what this would mean in the morning, but, for now, I allowed myself to exist in the moment – to just feel everything I was aching to feel.

I deepened the kiss, wrapping my arms around his neck to pull him closer, and Oh, God, I don't think I could ever put into words how talented this man is with his mouth. His hands trailed down my body, squeezing my breast roughly over top of my slinky nightgown. I arched into him, my nipple puckering beneath the thin fabric. He pinched the hardening bud, causing me to moan in pleasure. My reaction sent a hoarse groan rumbling from deep within his chest, the sound stoking the embers of desire in my core. He ground his hips against me as if he no longer had control of his own body. I grasped at any part of him I could get a hold of, eventually settling my hands on his lower back, yanking desperately to free him of his pajama top. When I made contact with his skin, inching my fingers into the waistband of his pants, he hissed and reluctantly pulled back, burying his face into my neck. "Slow down, baby," he rasped breathlessly, applying a sweet kiss to the pulse point in my throat. "We don't need to rush this."

If I was turned on when he kissed me, hearing him call me 'baby' – without it being merely for the benefit of eavesdroppers – amplified my desire to an almost excruciating degree. "I beg to differ," I whined, trying to pull him back to my mouth.

"I meant it when I said not tonight, Blair." I would've been angry with him for initiating such an erotic kiss only to put a halt to it after getting me worked up, if it hadn't been for the regret I saw written all over his face. He was trying to be noble, and sharing a bed certainly didn't help his resolve. The last thing he needed was me pressuring him to give into temptation. "I want to do this right," he explained. "I want you; God, how I want you, but I don't want to screw up the only chance I might get."

My lip jutted into a pathetic pout, and all I could focus on was the desire churning inside of me. It felt like balls of tension were tightly wound throughout my body, and I might actually explode if I didn't get some form of relief. "But, I need -"

"Listen," he smoothed his thumb across my lower lip, causing my eyes to flutter shut. "We've both had a decent amount to drink, and I don't want it to become an excuse in the morning. When you get scared of what this all might mean, I don't want you to have any way to explain it away besides the fact that you wanted it just as much as I did. You have to admit it to yourself first." He kissed me sweetly, caressing my neck and shoulders before adding the words that I would cling to for the rest of the night. "Tomorrow's a new day; let me hold you tonight, and, if you're still as eager in the morning, I'm not sure I'll be able to resist you."

Disappointment flooded my electrified body, but I knew deep down he was right. I had used alcohol as an excuse for my behavior on the boat, so what would stop me from using it as a shield against him in the morning?

"You still owe me a lot of answers, Bass," I yawned as he pulled me flush against him. I could feel him try to angle his hips so that his arousal wasn't quite so obvious, but it was no use. His erection showed me exactly how difficult waiting was for him, too. I took a small bit of pleasure in that fact, and nestled back against him, teasing him unfairly with my movements.

He draped an arm across my chest and murmured against my temple, "You said you would behave."

"You misbehaved first," I reminded him.

"True," he sighed. "But you need to stop that before all of my honorable intentions were for naught."

I stilled myself, scooching a half an inch away from him. "Chuck Bass, a gentleman. That's one word I never thought I would associate with you."

"Careful," he breathed against my ear, "I make no guarantees of maintaining such virtuous behavior for long."

XOXO

His gentlemanly behavior lasted for exactly four hours and twenty-six minutes.

My eyes fluttered open for a brief moment to read 5:48 on the bedside clock. It was still dark, and only the glow of the neon numbers illuminated the room. I felt his touch, feather light, skimming my upper thigh, flirting higher and higher beneath my silk chemise before inching back down to more neutral territory. He seemed to be exploring, cautiously teasing me to test my reaction. I didn't move or speak, terrified that even the slightest movement would scare him off.

My breath hitched in my throat when his thumb grazed the front of my underwear before easing back to toy with the thin band covering my hips. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing him to dip beneath the fabric, to touch me in the very place I'd craved his attention for the past two days. He finally slipped his fingers under the band, anchoring his fingers to the bend of my hips and pulling me back against him. He brazenly ground himself against my behind, letting a low moan slip out from the delicious friction our bodies created. I arched into him, silently confirming my consent.

His finger dislodged from my hip and danced a slow path up and down the center of my underwear, just enough to elicit a desperate whimper from me. He was teasing me, and it was as equally cruel as it was sensual.

"Are you still drunk, Blair?" He husked against my ear.

I shook my head vigorously, unable to form actual words.

"Good." He slipped the tip of his finger inside my underwear, almost - but not quite - there. "Because I've been dying to do this."

Without any further hesitation, he relented, running his fingers up and down my center. I gasped, and he hissed out a string of expletives when he first became acquainted with the extent of my arousal. He pumped his middle finger in and out of me, panting a plethora of naughty words against my ear, and I was no longer in control of myself. I bucked and mewled against him, pulling on his forearm, seeking more contact, more friction, more of him. It wasn't long before my senses were overwhelmed with the pure, unadulterated pleasure that coursed through my body like a surge of electricity. I screamed out, muffling my face in the pillow underneath my head as an incredible yet unfamiliar feeling overtook me.

Never, not once in my twenty-three years of life, had I experienced anything like that. I had always thought I'd had orgasms before - some self-induced, others at the hands of my few far less talented partners - but Chuck had me questioning that fact. Perhaps there had been sparks of gratification, maybe a dull feeling of contentment or satisfaction, but no other man had ever made my body quake like that.

And he still hasn't even been properly inside of me yet.

Sweat dotted my forehead, and I waited for my heartbeat to recalibrate to a normal rhythm before rolling over with the most sheepish look on my face. "What -" I panted between ragged breaths, "was that?"

His eyes were hooded, reflecting raw, carnal lust. "I couldn't sleep after our conversation last night. I kept thinking about what you would sound like in the throes of ecstasy." He leaned in and slowly kissed me, running his hands up my bare arms and sending a new set of shivers through my body. "And it was truly better than anything my imagination has ever dreamed up."

His imagination? Did that mean -

I felt myself heating up all over again, the flames of a liquid fire lapping at my belly. I cleared my throat and clenched my legs together beneath the blanket. I could feel myself blushing, and I was thankful that we were still engulfed in darkness. "What -" I swallowed hard, suddenly feeling incredibly shy, "What about you?"

I reached my hand out in search of his tented pajamas, but before I made contact, he laced our hands together, placing a tender kiss to my palm. "No, this was just for you. There'll be plenty of time for that later."

I nodded, feeling a little stunned. So much had changed in the matter of twelve hours that my head was reeling, and, although I was still riding the high of my orgasm, I was also utterly confused.

Chuck sat up in bed, throwing his legs over the side, and I tried to keep my eyes from falling to his lap. "I'm not trying to send you mixed signals, Blair," he rasped out. "I don't want you to think this is just about sex for me. I can't seem to keep my hands off of you, but that's only one part of it."

"What do you mean?" I had a pretty good idea of what he was trying to say, but I needed to hear it again straight from him.

"Come on," he said, standing to his feet. "Let's get some breakfast, and we can talk with clear heads and full stomachs."

XOXO

By the time room service arrived, we were both showered and dressed, but an awkward silence had filled the space between us for the past hour. I fiddled anxiously with my napkin as the waiter poured a glass of orange juice in my awaiting flute. Chuck offered the teenager a discreet hundred dollar bill before biting into his omelet. The only sound in the room was the scraping of silverware against the fine china and the occasional clanking of our glasses against our teeth. I looked everywhere except at Chuck; I memorized the patterns on the plates, grimaced at the dent in the bathroom door, and counted the tiny bulbs making up the chandelier above us. Despite my refusal to meet his eyes, I could feel Chuck's unwavering gaze studying my face, probably wondering if I was already having regrets about the unbridled physicality of our morning.

"Blair," he finally spoke up when our plates were nearly empty. "Do you remember much of our conversation last night? I didn't think you were that drunk, but I couldn't quite gauge your exact level of inebriation."

"I remember…" I looked at him for the first time in half an hour, and my heart soared at the softness I found in his almond eyes. "I remember everything."

He took a sip from his coffee. "Then you remember that I pretty much laid it all out for you. I want you, Blair. I want all of the things that I never thought I'd actually want."

"You mean," I quirked an eyebrow in challenge, realizing how ridiculous it sounded when the words actually left my mouth. "You, Chuck Bass, want a relationship…with me?"

"That might be a little premature," he shrugged. "I know that you don't trust me -"

"That's not -" I interjected quickly.

"Okay, I know that you don't trust me completely, and that's understandable. But I've never had feelings like this before, and I would like to, at least, explore what that means."

"But," I shook my head, "You've always been such an asshole to me, Chuck."

"It was a defense mechanism," he sighed. "A really immature one, I admit, but I didn't like feeling that way about you when you so clearly hated me. If I acted like I hated you, too, then at least I could keep a little bit of my dignity. These feelings were so strange to me; when you moved into the Palace, I thought about you all of the time. I couldn't get you out of my head; you had a hold on me that no other woman has ever had."

"You couldn't just tell me?" I narrowed my eyes in aggravation. "You antagonized me and made my life hell instead of just asking me on a date? We're not in kindergarten, Chuck."

"Come on, Blair," he scoffed. "I'm Chuck Bass. You really think I was going to ask you on a date. I dropped plenty of hints, but you never seemed to catch on."

My mind flashed back to some of our earlier encounters, considering what he might mean by 'hints':

I don't want to be your friend, Blair. He had emphasized the word 'friend', but I had focused on the hurtful growl rather than the insinuation behind his words.

I pay attention. He had Audrey Hepburn movies, peonies, and macarons waiting for me on the plane, and that didn't even give me pause for longer than a minute.

Because I fell in love with you the first time that I saw you, but it took you a little longer to realize that there was something real between us. God, could I have been any more oblivious to that obvious confession. He practically revealed his feelings on the plane, but I was too stubborn to hear it. He couldn't be in love with me though; that was impossible, but the sentiment in the end was the same.

"Right, 'Chuck Bass doesn't do girlfriends,'" I rolled my eyes, repeating the mantra I had heard echoed throughout New York whenever his name came into conversation.

"I've never had a girlfriend," he stood from the table, and beckoned me to join him. His hands rested on either side of my face. "I might fuck this up horribly, but I want to figure out what all of this means because I'm tired of fighting it. I would've never brought it up, but I've seen something different in you, in the way you react to me and talk to me over the past few weeks. So, the question is: do you feel something between us, too?"

"I -" I stuttered because it felt like an ambush. I should've known the question was coming, but I honestly didn't have a clue how I felt about Chuck. I liked him, certainly, but what did that mean? "I don't know."

I flinched when I saw the hurt cross his features, but he recovered quickly, dropping his hands from my face and nodding. He drew a deep breath, turning away from me. Panic creeped into my chest, and I reached out quickly to stop him from walking away, "But I wouldn't be opposed to exploring it. See where it goes. Like you said last night, take it slow. Do it right. See if there is something here besides just physical attraction." I laced our hands together because I couldn't stand the defeat that had been written in his eyes moments earlier due to my indecision. I pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth and said, "I do like you, Chuck. I just need a little time to figure out exactly what that means."

"That's fair." A small smile played on his lips. "So, what's on the agenda for today?"

"Um," I glanced at the itinerary that Serena sent out through text message. "Nothing. It says that we have a free day to explore LA since the bachelor/bachelorette parties are tonight and the rehearsal will take up most of the day tomorrow."

"Well in that case," he smirked, "Will you go out with me, Waldorf?"

"Why, Chuck Bass," I batted my eyelashes dramatically, "Are you asking me on a date?"

"That I am," Uncharacteristic color painted his cheeks, and I couldn't help but lean up to place another kiss on his lips.

"I'd be honored." I was morbidly curious what a Chuck Bass day date might entail.

XOXO

A couple of hours later, Chuck helped me out of the town car, and I looked up at the expansive building in front of me. It was clearly an historic site, perhaps an old bank or office building with ornate details climbing the gray stone. The display window to the right of the door read The Last Bookstore.

"Come on," he led me through the door, and my eyes widened at the vision that the store offered. I wasn't sure where to look first – I was met with beautiful works of art, wrought iron fences, and intricate displays, including a tunnel made entirely of books. There had to be tens of thousands of books in the massive space, and I itched to explore every square foot of the building. Before I could take off on my own, though, Chuck clutched my hand and directed me through a locked gate to the left of the entrance that I must've missed the clerk open for him. "This way."

"Take your time, Mr. Bass," the clerk offered. "Let me know if you need any help."

After the older man left, I turned to Chuck and asked, "What is this?"

"The Annex," he explained. "Rare books, collectibles, first editions."

I perused the collection in a state of awe. There was a variety of classic and modern literature with price tags ranging from a few hundred dollars up to a few hundred thousand. Tears sprang to my eyes, and I barely registered Chuck say, "Take your pick, Blair. Anything you want is yours."

Over an hour later, Chuck and I stood at the counter as Mr. Tilson took down my order. I'd found a second edition of Wuthering Heights that still seemed to be in excellent condition for its age. The price wasn't negligible, but Chuck immediately motioned for the shopkeeper to ring it up when he saw the way my hand covered my mouth in a gasp at the discovery.

"We'll take the Austen first edition, too," Chuck nodded toward the leatherbound book encased behind protective glass.

"Chuck, no," I shook my head vehemently. "It's too much." The Brontë was expensive, but the price tag attached to the rare copy of Pride and Prejudice could buy someone a luxury car – maybe two luxury cars.

"Nonsense," he said, signing the form the man placed in front of him.

"Thank you, Mr. Bass," the man offered him an overly gracious smile. "We will have these properly packaged, inspected and insured, and shipped to the address on file."

"Register them to Ms. Blair Waldorf." He wrote my name on the sales form, and my heart fluttered seeing those words in his careful penmanship.

He grasped my hand in his once more and started for the exit. "Wait," I said. "Mr. Tilson, will you take our picture in the tunnel?" This was a moment I certainly wanted to commit to memory.

I handed him my iPhone and led Chuck to the book tunnel, posing inside the recess. As Mr. Tilson counted down from three, I leaned up on my tiptoes and pressed a lingering kiss to Chuck's cheek, catching him by surprise. "Thank you," I said as I pulled away.

He leaned and whispered quietly enough that only I could hear him, "Anything for you, but if you really want to thank me, perhaps some Heathcliff and Catherine roleplay would prove to be a fun and creative way to adequately express your undying gratitude."

I blushed at the image, but a thrill shot through my body at the possibility. Before I could stop my thoughts, I was running through potential outfits and scenarios. It was definitely something to keep in mind for when we were better acquainted with one another.

We grabbed lunch a few doors down, and I was surprised by how relaxed I felt in Chuck's presence. I'd spent so long fighting my attraction to him that I hadn't realized that, somewhere over the past few weeks, we'd genuinely become friends. I could talk to him in a way that I'd never really been able to talk to anyone except Serena, and, in a way, I could talk to him even more candidly than her.

"Can I ask you something?" I wiped the corners of my mouth with my napkin.

"Of course."

"Don't take this as criticism, but you said that you turned to Georgina because you were afraid to face your emotions. I've put the pieces together, and given your week-long absence before the charity gala and all of the condolences that were offered once we got there -"

"My father died a few weeks ago," he locked his jaw tightly. "He was living in Australia at the time to launch the Australian branch of Bass Industries. I didn't seek Georgina out; she just happened to be there when I…after he…"

I reached my hand across the table to rest on top of his. "I'm sorry."

He exhaled slowly, his eyes flat and his features cold. "I told you I don't like to talk about him, Blair. He chose business over a relationship with me. We weren't close. I hadn't seen him for years when he died."

"Okay, Chuck," I nodded. I wouldn't push him, but I couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to the story. I mulled over his unwillingness to let himself be vulnerable. If I expected him to be open with me, then I needed to afford him the same benefit. I took a long sip from my water glass and cleared my throat nervously, "I wasn't completely honest with you about the history between Nate, Serena, and me." I looked away from him, tears welling in my eyes. "It wasn't just that they betrayed me by cheating behind my back." My voice broke. "The entire thing was caught on camera while I humiliated myself stripping on stage in front of all of our classmates. It was posted on a blog site, and I became the laughing stock of Constance. I ran away because I couldn't handle the scandal that my life became after that. I lived in Serena's shadow before she stole my boyfriend, so I felt…" I sighed, swatting at the treacherous tears that tumbled down my cheeks. "I felt worthless…inferior."

His body tensed, his fists balling at his sides. A large gulp slid down his throat as he swallowed down the anger he seemed to feel on my behalf. I saw something foreign in his eyes, but before I could question it, he was pulling me up from my seat, wrapping his arms tightly around me. "You," he cupped my chin in his hand, carefully wiping away the tears that stained my cheeks. "Could never be inferior to anyone. You are Blair Waldorf – beautiful and brilliant." He kissed my trembling lips and fresh tears fell from my eyes for an entirely different reason. "You're everything Serena pretends to be. If you ask me, Nate's an even bigger idiot than I already thought he was."

I buried my head in his shoulder and sniffled quietly, unsure of how the day turned me into such an emotional wreck. I laughed in spite of myself and said, "Thank you…again."

He pulled back, glancing at his watch. "It's three o'clock. Would you like to check out the Santa Monica Pier, hit up Rodeo Drive, or -"

"Actually," I smiled mischievously, biting my lip in flirtation, "We still haven't put that private jacuzzi to use back at the resort."

He groaned outwardly and tapped out a quick text to the chauffeur: We're ready to head back.

Not even a minute passed before he hammered out another impatient text: NOW.