Three days had passed since that pivotal, almost feverish night, but Chuck still found himself suspended in a timeless and surreal limbo, dreading the moment when Blair would wake up and shatter the illusion. It was only a matter of time before the other shoe dropped. This bewildering dream, with its delirious sweetness and inexplicable ecstasy, seemed too good to be true. There was no way in hell this could be happening; life rarely dealt favorable cards to someone like him. No, not like this. He had become a master at stacking the deck in his favor, using lies, deceit, and manipulation with the finesse of the most cunning poker player. Years of living under Bart Bass' oppressive shadow had taught him that much.
Yet, even the most meticulous execution of Bart's playbook couldn't earn Chuck the approval he so desperately sought from his father. No matter how hard he tried to bridge the gap, Chuck would always fall short. Branded as weak and too emotional, he bore the weight of his father's disdain, solidifying the belief that such moments of happiness were reserved for others, not for him. The idea that someone like Blair Waldorf might willingly want to be with him felt like a cruel joke, an absurd scenario that defied the very logic of his existence. It was not happiness or approval that he should seek, but power. That was the only acceptable currency.
The tangible reality of Blair's head resting on his thigh, her hair cascading through his fingers and down his legs, contradicted everything Chuck thought he knew. In the quiet intimacy of his room, she lay sprawled beside him, engrossed in a fashion magazine, while he tenderly touched her curls. Her presence and the tantalizing scent that filled the air both soothed and unsettled him.
Chuck struggled with the authenticity of the moment, aware of its transient nature. Why bother trying to hold onto something everyone knew was just going to fade? Everyone knew how this story would end. Nate might be out of the picture now, but Blair Waldorf would still be playing the part of some prince's princess. The ideal couple would persist, hand in hand, casting an image of perfection that had played out like a well-rehearsed play from the beginning. This societal narrative dictated that Chuck Bass was a fleeting, rebellious interlude best forgotten. The world stuck to the predictable cycles of the sun and the roundness of life's trajectory. He doubted this time would be any different. It didn't matter how much Chuck wanted it to be.
But then, just then, Blair would look at him with eyes filled with care, understanding, and lust, and with a single look she could silence his thoughts. With just a touch, she could bring him back to life and make him forget about years of abuse, punishment, and abandonment. Perhaps she alone possessed the ability to make him believe, truly believe, that he had a chance, that he deserved one.
No.
That was stupid, and as quickly as it came, it was gone.
As much as Chuck wanted to, he couldn't stop the inexorable turning of the wheel. He couldn't defy the predetermined course.
So, why was he still here? Why couldn't he tear himself away? Why did he, like a masochist, keep falling into life's brutal trap time and time again? He'd lower the sun if Blair asked him to, yet that seemed an easier task than surrendering to the inevitability of fate. It was taking every ounce of strength he had to step aside, even if it was for her own good. The difficult and deep-rooted task of swimming against the tide of his own needs seemed impossible now.
Their affair was kept a delicate secret, hidden from prying eyes of even their most intimate friends. The fragility of their connection felt like a precarious dance, where the slightest breeze threatened to disrupt the equilibrium and send them tumbling into the revealing light. Who were they kidding? They just didn't want Nate to find out.
Nate.
His best friend.
The one he was betraying in so many ways he had lost count. He knew Nate didn't love her, and Blair didn't love him either. So, why did he feel so guilty? The weight of treachery tightened its grip on him with every passing minute, growing more oppressive, suffocating his breath. It was ironic—having become the embodiment of the very sins he once condemned in his friends. Hell seemed like a fitting destination. Well, he was already going there anyway.
Trying to shake off the overwhelming guilt, Chuck reluctantly stopped his ministrations on the silken strands of her hair. An audible sigh of protest escaped Blair's lips, accompanied by a subtle look that implored him to continue. It was impossible to deny her anything. Bowing to the inevitable, he touched her again.
His fingers ran through her hair, gently massaging her scalp, a routine that had become an almost unconscious comfort these days. The comfort, however, never lasted long, as the impending expiration date of this dream reared its ugly head and mocked him every time. He could stay like this forever, and that thought alone frightened him—it was both too much and too little at the same time. Playing with one of her curls, he marveled at its softness.
"Look at this," Blair said, her finger pointing at a specific page in the magazine.
When she turned her head to make sure Chuck was actually listening, his focus wavered. He couldn't concentrate on anything other than the reality of her—the warmth of her presence, the gentle rise and fall of her chest, everything he could feel at that very instant, as opposed to the elusive tendrils of words, whispers, or what-ifs. Every detail, from the soft curve of her smile to the subtle scent that lingered around her, demanded his attention. Those cherry lips that screamed for him to kiss them. Those eyes that were able to keep his dark thoughts at bay. To immerse himself in the present instead of drowning in the echoes of the past and the uncertainties of the future.
"Chuck!" she insisted.
"What?" he stammered, struggling to refocus.
Blair tapped insistently on the page. "Focus, Bass. I'm talking to you."
"Then don't distract me."
"Who, me?"
"Yes, you."
"I'm not doing such a thing."
"Well, when you look like that, you absolutely are," he said, his eyes locked on her. "Your entire existence is a captivating distraction, Waldorf."
Blair smirked, and Chuck sensed the pleasure she derived from their playful banter, where she held him captive in the realm of her charm. Whenever Blair was in the room, she seemed to flow through it like a liquid, filling every conceivable space, leaving little room for anything but her.
"What do you think about this dress?" Blair asked, holding the magazine up.
"It's hideous."
"I was going to buy it," she added.
"Are you high?" Chuck questioned incredulously, and a look of sheer horror crossed his face. Blair had to be joking. "No, you were not. That dress belongs in the depths of fashion purgatory, not in your esteemed closet."
"Don't insult me."
"It's not an insult; it's an intervention. I can't fathom why you'd consider draping yourself in that abomination."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because, darling, that dress is a walking contradiction," he continued, his tone full of criticism. "It's a mishmash of clashing colors, as if a rainbow had collided with a paint factory explosion. The pattern, an avant-garde nightmare, resembles an abstract art project gone wrong. The fabric seems like a misguided attempt to emulate luxury, a coarse blend of burlap and polyester that falls short of haute couture standards. It's something Vanessa Abrams would wear, not Blair Waldorf. It's like a reject from a community theater costume sale. I never pegged you for having a soft spot for the poor, much less wanting to resemble one."
"That's excessive."
"And that's an affront to elegance," Chuck concluded.
Blair's grin deepened, revealing a smug satisfaction, as if she had anticipated his reaction. It was clear that she had been teasing him. Chuck Bass had never witnessed Blair Waldorf poorly dressed, and he wasn't about to start now.
"Look at this other one," Blair insisted, pointing to a second dress. "It's a cute dress, isn't it?"
"Cute doesn't quite suit you."
"And what does?"
"Give me that." Chuck took the magazine from her and began flipping through it.
No. The hemline lacks the required length for true elegance. Too long. It falls like a curtain. Too green. One wouldn't want to resemble a misplaced bush. Not red enough. It should attract attention, evoke passion; this shade barely whispers. What kind of fabric was this? Certainly not the luxurious silk or velvet that suited Blair's impeccable taste. Who wore a vest as a shirt anymore? It's a relic of fashion missteps, a bygone trend that should remain buried. Absolutely not. Satin, satin, and more satin. Next. Voilà.
"This one," he declared.
Blair rolled over, taking the magazine and propping it on his thighs as her elbows sank into the mattress. She scrutinized the dress he had chosen–an exquisite crimson red, a cascade of ruffles flowing down, perfectly complemented by a matching Harry Winston choker. It exuded sexiness as well as unparalleled elegance. It screamed Blair Waldorf.
"You think so?"
"I know so. It would look spectacular on you," Chuck paused, his voice dropping into a husky whisper. "Hmm…"
"What?"
"I'm picturing you in it, and trust me, spectacular doesn't even begin to cover it. But what I'd really look forward to would be the exquisite moment of taking it off you myself—slowly, savoring every second."
Blair slapped his thigh, then gave him a look. The look. The anticipation in the air grew more palpable.
"Why don't you try to take this off?"
That was a proposition he was not about to turn down.
Blair wore classic Net-a-porter polka dot shorts that mimicked a skirt, paired with a preppy sleeveless white top. Her loafers rested on the floor, reflecting a casual yet chic choice for staying in.
Chuck could work with that.
He pulled Blair up, and placed her on her back, effortlessly sliding himself between her legs. His body lowered until every inch of him was in contact with hers, like a perfect puzzle piece fitting into place. The charged air hung thick as Blair, a flicker of desire in her eyes, bit her lip. In that moment, any pretense of rational thought vanished as Chuck's lips met hers. Blair had him in her dominion.
Time seemed to stretch and warp as they lost themselves in each other. It felt like he hadn't kissed her in a lifetime, although, in reality, it had only been what? An hour? Forty minutes? He couldn't tell.
These days, their exploration of each other hadn't gotten past second base. Aware of Blair's insecurities, Chuck treaded carefully, refusing to push too far. The ticking clock of desire took a back seat to her comfort, even as every nerve in his body screamed for release. He wanted to touch her, and he wanted her to touch him, but most of all he just wanted to be with her.
What could he complain about when she kissed him like that?
Blair's hips sparked an electric friction against his, the intensity building like a live wire humming with potential. Chuck pressed her deeper into the mattress, his grip on her thigh tightening with a fierce resolve, desperately trying to anchor himself. To extend the ecstasy, he needed to guide the rhythm, otherwise he would embarrass himself rather quickly.
"How about we do this all day?" Chuck suggested, his voice muffled against her skin. "And I'd gladly meet my end as a happy man."
Blair's breath hitched. "You'll tire of me eventually."
"I won't," Chuck vowed.
Their bodies moved in a rhythmic dance, synchronized with the passionate exchange of kisses. She nibbled his lower lip, and Chuck began to descend into blissful madness.
With a gentle nudge, she shifted their positions, a move that quickened his heartbeat. Lost in her, he lifted himself to meet her lips again, but she raised her arms, silently urging him to remove her shirt. Eagerly complying, Chuck gently slid the fabric up her torso, and the sight before him took his breath away.
Damn.
She was something else.
As his gaze lingered on her for what felt like an embarrassingly long moment, she redirected his focus, recapturing his lips. One of his hands found its way to her breast, teasing with a skilled ease. While he gave her the attention she deserved, she slowly unbuttoned the first buttons of his shirt.
His hand moved to the small of her back, anticipation building as he prepared to unclasp her bra in a swift and well-practiced move. Just as he was about to do so, a knock shattered the cocoon of desire they had woven. The interruption was abrupt, almost cruel, leaving them both caught in a suspended pause.
"Chuck."
Fuck. He plopped down on the bed.
At the sound of Nate's voice, Blair instinctively snatched the white top, covering her chest, a shield against the hypothetical x-ray vision of her ex-boyfriend peering through the door. As if that little garment could hide the evidence of what they had done, what they were about to do.
"Chuck," Nate repeated. "You in there?"
Chuck pinched the bridge of his nose in a silent plea for his friend to get the hint and leave him alone.
He would not be so lucky. Nate persisted, pounding on the door, each knock echoing in Chuck's head like the maddening tick-tock of a clock's second hand. Shut up. Knock. Shut up. Knock. Shut up, shut up.
"Chuck." Blair's voice cut through the noise. "Shut him up," she ordered.
Neither of them wanted to broach the subject of what would happen if Nate discovered their secret. It was a conversation Chuck was determined to avoid, drowning in guilt as he was, while Blair, with an air of indifference, chose not to delve into Nate any further than necessary.
Blair, still on top of him, allowed Chuck to stand. Just as he was about to silence his best friend's incessant calls, she boldly seized the neckline of his open shirt. Her fingers against his collar bone sent a delicious shiver down his spine. In a calculated move, Blair pulled him into a deep, intoxicating kiss, and a rush of warmth obliterated any lingering traces of sanity, the world outside fading in the subtle interplay of their shared breaths.
They were walking the fine line of exposure; a simple turn of the doorknob by Nate could reveal their secret.
What message was she sending? Chuck didn't care. In moments like this, his mind was flooded with desire.
Knock.
"I'm coming," he huffed with exasperation.
How was he supposed to confront his best friend, as if the lingering taste of Blair Waldorf's kisses were not still dancing on his lips? Pure and honest thoughts were a distant memory in the tumult of his mind. He took a moment, clearing his throat with an audible rasp. Before him, Blair stood—an embodiment of innocence, as if she hadn't been the primary architect of what had just happened, as if butter wouldn't melt in her mouth.
As if.
Chuck approached the door and opened it slightly. Just enough for Nate to check that he was still alive without revealing the identity of the person inside.
"What's the matter with you? Did my poor door commit some unforgivable offense in your presence?"
"Are you ready?"
"For what?"
"To set sail, man. Hit the high seas."
"What the fuck are you blabbering about, Nathaniel? I explicitly told you not to mix alcohol and shrooms. That one time when you ended up trying to serenade a street lamp was bad enough. I don't need a repeat performance."
Nate tried to come inside, but Chuck shook his head. "Aren't you going to let me in?"
"No."
"What? What the hell are you up to in there?"
Nate's gaze fell on Chuck, and for the first time, it seemed like he truly saw him—the disheveled hair, the undone shirt, his bruised and very red lips. Blair's lipstick color.
"Oh," Nate uttered.
"Yes, oh," Chuck replied, his tone laced with mock surprise as he raised an eyebrow.
As his friend attempted to peer inside, Chuck blocked him. Absolutely no way. He hoped Blair had at least gotten out of sight.
"What are you doing with a girl this early?"
"Is there a designated hour I should consult with you before indulging in life's pleasures?" Chuck retorted.
"It's just… You don't usually let anyone stay the night."
"There is a first time for everything."
"Was it that good?"
"You have no idea."
"You're gonna fill up that little black book of yours in no time, Chuck. A new entry every night this summer?"
His friend was treading on dangerously thin ice. No one needed a reminder of all the girls Chuck had fucked, let alone the one currently on his side of the door. Chuck subtly shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his fingers tapping an impatient rhythm against the door.
"Don't get me started," Chuck said. "I've spent more nights mopping up your tears than I care to count. So, thank you very much."
"What about that girl at the party? Amanda."
Ah, so her name was Amanda.
"Is she in there?" Nate persisted, unable to let it go. He tried to sneak another peek inside. What was wrong with him? Serena needed to pay his friend a little bit more attention.
"Yes," Chuck replied curtly.
"She was hot."
Chuck rolled his eyes. In the grand scheme of Chuck's priorities, he couldn't care less about how hot his friend thought that girl was. "You need to get laid. Do you want me to give her your number?"
He was getting tired of holding the damn door.
"Why were you looking for me?" Chuck redirected the conversation back to its original purpose.
"Serena thought it was a good idea to go sailing on the yacht today. You know, spend the whole day together, the four of us. I sent you a text," Nate explained, a hint of eagerness in his voice.
Chuck hadn't bothered to check his phone that morning; his hands had been occupied with more pressing matters.
"Serena is looking for Blair," Nate added.
"Good luck with that," Chuck snorted, a sardonic smile playing on his lips.
"What?"
"Nothing." Chuck subtly gestured toward the room's interior with a nod of his head. "I'll be down in a minute. I need to take care of this first."
"Yeah, yeah." Nate winked. "Good luck with that."
When he closed the door and turned his attention back to Blair, she was impeccably dressed, as if nothing had happened between them. The remnants of their shared passion were carefully concealed beneath her composed exterior.
He walked over to her.
"You heard Nate," Chuck said.
"So… Amanda. Huh?" Blair ventured casually, starting to button up his shirt.
"You have nothing to worry about."
Blair ignored him and, once she was done with his shirt, ran her hands up his chest. He recognized her skepticism and couldn't fault her for it. Chuck wished he could rewind the clock and undo the choices that had brought him to this point, but it was not possible. It was what it was.
"And does Amanda truly fulfill your desires, as you assured Nate?" Blair inquired.
Was this a test, a game she was playing?
"Oh, yes. Completely," Chuck said, throwing caution to the wind. "She's got a talent for it."
"Maybe I need to find a way to properly punish you," she purred.
"And how would you do that?"
She leaned in closer, her lips brushing against his ear. "I can think of a few ways."
"Fuck. I don't know how I'll survive the day with those two hovering around," Chuck blurted. "Let's stay right here."
"They'll think something's up," Blair whispered, teasingly tracing her fingers along his jawline.
"Something is definitely up."
"Yes, but they don't need to know that. Remember, we don't want Nate to find out."
"We could be kissing in front of him, and he wouldn't notice."
"Too bad. It's what he deserves," she said.
Wait. Was she really doing this just to get back at Nate? No, it couldn't be, could it? Well, why not? Chuck shook his head. Enough.
"Darling, you know you won't be able to control yourself all day," Blair playfully taunted.
"Look who's speaking."
She tilted her head, a confident smile dancing on her lips. "Believe it or not, I can resist your charms."
A challenge sparked in Chuck's eyes. "Care to put that to the test?"
If she wanted to play, they were going to play.
"You're the one who will surrender first, Bass."
"A dare, then?"
"Absolutely. Get ready for the worst day of your life."
"You may regret challenging me, Waldorf."
With a sly grin, Blair leaned in, whispering, "Oh, I know exactly what I'm getting into."
Her hot breath, a teasing caress, burned in the air, and Chuck fought the urge to pull her closer, to throw her onto his bed once more. The challenge seemed more alluring, more intoxicating than he'd anticipated or perhaps, he mused, he'd bitten off more than he could chew.
A smirk played on his lips, the embodiment of suave confidence. Finally, a game worth his attention, a rival matching his own caliber.
Let's see who caved first.
In the spacious kitchen of the beach house, Chuck and Blair sat on stools by the large island. The room was bathed in a warm glow from the generous sunlight streaming in through the open windows, allowing the ocean breeze to sweep in and infuse the air with its salty tang.
Having changed into more casual beach wear, Chuck lounged around in tailored navy swim trunks paired with a patterned short-sleeved linen shirt, while Blair wore a stylish bikini in the same navy shade. Over her swimsuit, she wore a pearl white sheer cover-up. Chuck's lean frame rested against the cool marble countertop. The clock on the wall kept ticking, the entrance still empty, Nate and Serena nowhere to be found.
Forced to leave the bed by those two, and yet, punctuality was a foreign concept to them.
Seated one in front of the other, Blair's foot, adorned in a strappy sandal, skillfully danced up and down Chuck's calf. Each deliberate movement served as a testament, a promise that every moment spent in her presence would be torture. Blair made it clear—she wasn't allowing him a single moment of respite.
The kitchen island displayed a familiar selection of fresh bites, momentarily untouched. Yet, amidst tempting offerings like assorted French cheeses, crusty bread, and a bowl of plump, ripe grapes, Blair surpassed them all. A carafe of freshly squeezed orange juice and a pot of strong coffee stood nearby, their aroma filling the air.
Blair indulged in a grape, arching an eyebrow provocatively. Chuck's attention oscillated between the enticing dance of her foot, the subtle intensity in her gaze, and the ticking clock, marking the languid passage of time until Serena and Nate's arrival. Where were they? Blair's smirk deepened as she reveled in the palpable effect she had on him.
Serena breezed into the kitchen. "Oh, you're here," she exclaimed, slightly breathless.
Finally.
"Where else would I be?" Blair responded, her tone laced with feigned innocence.
Serena shot her a look. "I don't know. Your room? I've been looking for you everywhere."
"Certainly not here." Blair tilted her head.
"Here, everywhere. I swear I've checked every nook and cranny in search of you."
"Are you sure about that, sis?" His sassy comment earned him a swift kick from Blair. Well, two could play at this game.
"Ou—" he began to complain.
Blair interrupted, "Well, I was here. Right, Chuck?" she punctuated every word, making her stance clear.
"Yes. Because there is no place you'd rather be. Right, Blair?"
"Right."
Serena cast a curious glance between them, but before she could say anything more, Nate appeared.
"Ready to roll?" Nate said, snagging a piece of cheese. "They'll be picking us up in five."
"I've got a few more friends coming later," Serena chimed in. "Hope that's cool."
"Wasn't it meant to be just the four of us?" Nate questioned.
"It is. They won't be coming until pretty late," Serena clarified, sidling up to Blair to show her something on her phone. "Don't worry."
Chuck, catching on to Nate's potential concern, tried to spare his friend a day of uncertainty. "Is the prestigious writer gracing us with his presence? That way he can sign me one of his non-existent books—with a dedication, naturally."
"Well, maybe I should extend the guest list too." Nate didn't let Serena answer.
"I don't like your buddies," Blair declared with a disdainful expression.
"Why not?"
"They sweat."
"Darling, let me remind you that you do too," Chuck intervened.
Her face told him to get ready for another kick in the shin. Chuck pulled his legs back.
"We should spice up the party, Chuck. Amanda and her friends, right?" Nate said.
Serena's brow furrowed in confusion. "Who's Amanda?"
"A girl from Nelly's party," Nate disclosed, a suggestive wink accompanying his words. "And Chuck here was apparently pulling an all-nighter, and well into the morning, with her."
Chuck resisted the urge to laugh.
"What?"
"Close your mouth, Serena," Chuck said.
Serena shifted her gaze between Blair and Chuck, anticipating a reaction, but both remained impassive.
"Are you okay with this?" Serena turned to Blair.
"Why wouldn't she be?" Nate raised an eyebrow.
"Exactly, why wouldn't I be?"
"Because you… and…" she stumbled. "Whatever. Chuck, you're just… ugh. So gross. And predictable. Can't you give it a rest for once?"
"Rest is for the weak, sweetheart."
Serena's eyes flared with a mix of disbelief and irritation. "Do you ever get tired of treating women like disposable accessories? It's like you collect them just for the sake of it. People aren't here for your amusement."
"Maybe they are."
Why was Serena so angry with him all of a sudden?
Before Chuck could dwell further on it, Nate's phone rang, and they all left.
As the group stepped aboard the yacht, with its French Navy hull and white boot stripes, they were greeted by a spacious deck adorned with plush seating, perfect for soaking up the sun or taking in the scenic views of the Hamptons coastline. The opulent interior seamlessly blended contemporary design with a select yet elegant array of furnishings. Rich wood finishes, luxurious fabrics, and tasteful artwork adorned every corner.
The yacht was packed with top-of-the-line amenities, from a well-appointed bar primed for mixing cocktails to cutting-edge technology, with a high-end sound system and entertainment center that hinted at the glamorous parties that could unfold on its decks.
Arm in arm, Serena and Blair sauntered along the main deck, and the sight of Blair's radiant smile stirred something within Chuck's chest. It was hard to admit it, but perhaps, in some small way, he was contributing to that glow. Nate, occupied with the captain, left Chuck, who went up to the bridge deck.
The girls' joyful laughter echoed around Chuck as he settled into the plush seat, his eyes shielded by sunglasses from the sun's intrusive gaze. He embraced the moment, letting the warmth soak into every inch—cheeks, neck, arms, and legs bathed in the gentle caress of sunlight, while the sea breeze spun its salty tales. Thoughts of the inevitable end were pushed aside, and he chose to savor the journey without dwelling on its eventual destination. Chuck refused to let this peace, rare and precious, slip through his fingers. Life owed him nothing, but he'd squeeze every drop out of it anyway. Tuning out Serena's noise, he focused on Blair.
Fears vanished as Chuck allowed himself to be completely consumed by her. Today he would navigate the waters of joy on his own terms, embracing the freedom to revel as he pleased, with whomever he pleased. A single day of unbridled bliss, a respite from agonizing over the story's ambiguous ending. Tired of his pessimistic tendencies, Chuck acknowledged the beauty present in the now.
A genuine smile played on Chuck's lips as he contemplated the game ahead, relishing the fact that he had a worthy partner to play it with.
Author's Note:
Thank you so much for your sweet words about the last few chapters! I've been going through a bit of a rough patch lately, so it really brightened my days. I hope you enjoyed reading this one as well. Things are never easy for these two, but they're giving it their best shot. Now let's just hope that the blondes don't get in their way 😊