Caught in a Chase

36 - Our House

Chelsea had set up her laptop in my home office and was taping away when I staggered in.

I was working from home today, dealing with emails, various calls and proposals Paul thought I'd be interested in. No point going into the studio if I wasn't making music.

"What time did you get up?" I asked, sipping my coffee as I sat down on the couch.

"Sixish. Headache, couldn't sleep," she said not looking up. "But it worked out. A New York publisher put out an open manuscript call to un-agented writers and I want to submit my book proposal today."

"Uhhh what story?" I asked. "Not the..."

"No, of course not!" Chelsea looked up at me. "I have notebooks and files filed with stories. Not just what I posted online."

I relaxed. "What are you thinking about submitting then?"

"I've been playing around with a thriller-type story..." Chelsea looked back down at her screen. "Let me work out a couple points, then you can read it if you want."

"Cool," I took another sip of coffee. "You know you don't have to submit in an open call. I can make a few calls —"

"No!" Chelsea said as her head snapped back up.

I frowned. "But I can help."

"No! No calls, no help. Please Marshall."

"What the fuck Chelsea?"

I was confused. Normally people couldn't wait to have me make a call and grease the way for them.

"Thank you, I don't mean to sound ungrateful, it's just..." Chelsea chewed on her bottom lip for a moment, then sighed. "If I'm successful in getting published, I want it to because it's a good book and I'm a good writer. Not because of your fame or favours."

"But —"

"No, please. I need to do this on my own. Just like you did."

"I had to. I didn't have anyone offering to help me. You do."

"You are also solely responsible for your success because no one helped you and can be proud of that. Which is what I want."

I nodded slowly, finally getting where she was coming from.

"Okay, no calls," I agreed. "But isn't there something I can do to help?"

"You can be the hot, supportive boyfriend encouraging me with praise and hugs," Chelsea grinned.

"Supportive boyfriend huh?" I raised an eyebrow as I stared at her. "I guess I can try that. If you think it'll help."

"Definitely."

"Fine," I looked down at my watch. "I gotta a call soon. Okay to take it in here or will that bother you?"

"It won't bother me," Chelsea said as she bent over the laptop again.

"It's with Paul. He might know how to hook up your laptop to the printer. Do you want me to ask him?"

"Nope. Already done."

I looked from her laptop to the printer. There was no cord.

"There's no cord," I said.

"I connected to the printer wirelessly."

"Oh. Right."

I pretended to understand as I took another sip of coffee. My phone rang and I slid it out of my pocket. "Hey Paul."

I finished my last call of the day and stretched. Chelsea had left awhile ago, after rolling her eyes at my gesturing and pacing.

It was crazy how smoothly things were going. Maybe I was finally due after all the crap relationships over the years. Or was this how things were when you found the right person? I didn't much fucking care as long as it continued.

But what if it didn't? I'd had professional success beyond my wildest dreams, but couldn't seem to hold onto personal happiness. This could all disappear tomorrow.

I closed my eyes and pushed the thought away. That wouldn't happen. Chelsea wasn't going anywhere. I was going to do things differently this time and make sure of that.

Needing to reassure myself, I went looking for her. I found her in my closet, unpacking her clothes and rearranging mine.

"Don't put your stuff there! I'm having more cabinets and shelves put in next week."

"That's crazy! I don't need that much room and neither do you. Not when you always wear the same four pairs of sweat pants," Chelsea laughed, motioning to the sweat pants I currently wore.

"Things have an order! You can't just rearrange shit!" I yelled, feeling my anxiety rise.

"We'll create a new order," she said.

"No!" I shouted, grabbing a pile of t-shirts from the floor and stuffing them back onto the correct shelf.

"Marshall you're being ridiculous!"

Chelsea laughed and put a pile of her jeans onto a cleared shelf. Then she gathered up a bunch of my t-shirts off another shelf and set them on the floor. I walked over, picked them up and shoved them back on the shelf.

Glaring at me, she grabbed another stack of t-shirts and dropped them on the floor. I scooped them up and thrust them back on their shelf. She grabbed one of the t-shirts and threw it at me. I caught the flying shirt and snapped it at her ass. It landed with a loud whack!

Chelsea squealed and jumped, knocking over several piles of the clothes on the floor. As I watched the piles topple, she threw another shirt at me. It landed on my head as she reached for another bunch of shirts.

"Stop. Stop!" I yelled, yanking the t-shirt off my head and breathing hard. "I have things like this for a reason."

Chelsea stopped, holding the pile of t-shirts and looked at me. "What's the reason?"

"It's ... never mind," I muttered, taking her piles off the shelf and moving my clothes back.

"If there's an actual reason to not rearrange stuff, please tell me," she said softly.

I sighed and leaned my forehead against the shelf. "I have issues."

"Agreed," Chelsea said.

"Of the OCD kind smart ass," I said, rolling my eyes and turning to face her.

"And my rearranging stuff bothers you?"

"Yeah," I said.

Chelsea set the pile of t-shirts she was holding back on their shelf.

"Okay. I won't move stuff. I'll wait for the new cabinets."

I tried not to show my relief and just nodded.

"And if you'd just said that to begin with, we wouldn't have fought about this," Chelsea said, surveying the messy piles of clothes.

"Yeah we would, cause apparently you don't like my sweat pants," I grumbled as I continued moving her clothes, putting my stuff back where it belonged.

Chelsea laughed as she began rubbing my back as I straightened the piles. Slowly I relaxed under her touch.

"You woke my genie."

"I rubbed your back."

"It's all connected," I smiled. "Besides, that was our first fight. We gotta have makeup sex."

"Do we?"

"Yup. That's the rule."

"Right. And you never break the rules," Chelsea said.

"Not that one," I said as I slid my hands around her waist, pulling her to me. Gently I sucked the spot on her neck I knew she liked. She moaned and I hid a smile.

"Wait 'til you see what I rearranged in the bathroom," she whispered.

I froze.

Chelsea pulled back and smiled. "Gotcha."

"You think this is funny?" I asked in mock outrage and she nodded, giggling.

I pushed her onto the clothes still covering floor. With one hand I held her down, while the hand alternated between tickling and pulling her jeans down. Laughing, she begged me to stop.

"No way. You're gonna pay for that," I promised.

With her pants and underwear off, I thrust a finger gently inside her. I wasn't sure how wet she was, but I needn't have worried. She was always ready for me and it slid in easily.

Her laughing stopped abruptly. I smiled and added a second finger, continuing to thrust. She moaned and moved her hips up to meet my hand. I let her build for a moment, then slowed my hand. Her eyes flew open.

"What the hell?"

"You gonna touch my stuff again?" I asked.

"Seriously?" Chelsea asked.

I stopped all movement but didn't withdraw my hand.

"Okay! Fine," Chelsea said. "I'll never touch any of your stuff ever again."

That was too easy. I studied her for a moment, considering her words.

"That means my stuff, not my junk," I clarified. "You can touch that whenever you want baby."

She grinned and nodded. "An important distinction."

I smiled, knowing I'd dodged her trap and won. No way she was outwitting me with words. Time to show her who's the G.O.A.T.

Withdrawing my hand, I yanked down my sweat pants and boxers. In seconds I was lining my dick up with her entrance.

"Look at that, sweat pants are good for something," Chelsea grinned.

Her and her smart mouth, I loved it. I loved her. But she wasn't getting the upper hand this time. I met her eyes and in a single thrust, drove into her hard. Her smile was replaced by a moan. That's more like it.