A/N: I finally got access to a computer so I can post this! Wahey. Apologies for the long wait but unless I can get the next chapter written and edited by Saturday night at the latest, I'm not sure when it will be up. Limited resources, I'm afraid. But enjoy!

Edit: I just noticed that this story has 101 follows! Ahhh, thank you guys so much!

You're the first to admit that you get a little carried away.

Okay, fine, a lot carried away: you end up pinned down to your bed with Chloe's mouth on your neck, her tongue licking a path up and down the column of your throat — only ever stopping to bite down a little — and producing a barrage of unholy noises from you.

Nick has long since hung up the phone — most likely when he realised what was going on with you and Chloe, but you're not sure because you can only faintly remember the dial tone your phone had made when he'd ended the call — and for that, you are so grateful because you would never be able to live this moment down had he continued listening.

Chloe's hands remain planted firmly on your hips, but you can feel her growing impatient as she rubs circles on the little amount of skin you've granted her access to. You can almost feel her itching to explore, and you wish you could allow her to let her hands travel north but you know that if you do, you risk freaking out and running, and that's the last thing you want to do.

She hits a particularly sensitive spot on your neck — a place Jesse had never found before — and you call out on instinct, your hips jerking up and knocking against hers. For a second, you're reminded of the last time you were in this position with her — the hurry to leave; how you had been bombarded with memories of your father shoving religious arguments down your throat; how dirty you had felt for running — but when you feel her lips curve against your neck, all of your worries are replaced with mind-numbing bliss.

Chloe's nails dig into your hips — as if it physically pains her to refrain from touching you anywhere else. Her mouth begins moving up your neck and to your mouth, pulling you down into a needy kiss. It's messy — all overlapping tongues and muffled whimpers — but you're fairly certain that if you were to stop now, then you'd end up with some pretty serious health defects.

"Chloe," you whimper. "Chloe, please."

"Please what?" she asks, and it's not teasing — it's genuinely curious.

"I — I just — I need … I need you," you say, so desperate that it's embarrassing.

"Where? Where do you need me?"

"I don't know," you cry out, missing her touch so much that it's making you dizzy.

Chloe pulls you down into another kiss, silencing your frustrations. This kiss only ignites the flame burning low in the pit of your belly, and it does nothing to sate the heat pooling at your thighs — if anything, it makes it worse.

Slowly, you can feel her hand moving up your shirt, taking its time to explore every inch of your skin; her hands trails over your ribcage, tracing circles on your stomach, and her fingers find residence just under your bra.

The feeling of her so close to you is almost too much to handle, and you can feel yourself being swept up in the moment.

"Chloe," you manage to get out, your voice choked. "Chloe, please."

"I need you to tell me what you want, Bec," Chloe replies sweetly, pressing a kiss to the edge of your mouth. "I don't want to push you."

"I need you … to touch me. Please."

"Okay," she says, your lips meeting again for a brief kiss. "I can do that."

Her hand gently makes its way up and over your bra, palming your breast over the material. Although the contact is little, your back arches at the contact and you let out a quiet whine against Chloe's jaw, which only seems to encourage her — she squeezes lightly, and the contact is enough to draw a sharp hiss out of you.

She begins to knead your breast gently, and you're so caught up in the feeling that you don't hear the first moan. Or the second. Or even the third. But when you hear the distinctive sound of … well, not the headboard, but the back of the sofa, hitting the wall, you can't help but ignore it.

Chloe stills for a second, hand rested gently on your breast and mouth trailing soft kisses up and down your neck, because she appears to hear the noise as well. After a few seconds, she continues her ministrations, ignoring whatever is going on downstairs.

Until the banging starts again, and it's unavoidable at this point.

"Is that …" Chloe starts, but she bursts into a fit of giggles against your neck.

"Yep, that's Stacie and Aubrey," you confirm, cringing at the now very audible moan coming from downstairs. "Gross."

"Since when were they —"

"— Since Aubrey came to visit, I think. I mean, they were flirting before that, but I walked in the other day and saw them making out."

There's a lull in conversation, where Chloe lies with her head rested on your chest. You press a kiss to her forehead, eliciting a happy sigh from her.

"It's probably best that they interrupted us, now that I think about it," she says.

"Why?"

"Because we need to talk, and I don't think having a conversation about the fact that I told you I love you would work very well with my head between your legs." You can feel yourself blushing at that, and you love the way she grins a little to herself when she notices how flushed your face must be. "Plus, you were denying ever even kissing me like, five minutes ago, so I don't think you're in any state to be having sex with me right now."

"You're probably right," you say, looking down in shame. "I'm, uh, sorry about that, by the way."

"I know you are."

"So, we're good?" you ask nervously, biting down on your bottom lip.

"Yeah, babe, we're good." You can feel warmth spreading through you at the nickname, and you feel yourself grinning without even realising it. "Nerd," she says, laughing at the giddy expression on your face. "But we do need to talk about the whole 'I love you' thing."

"Yeah," you agree. "Of course."

"So … when I told you I loved you, how did that make you feel?" she asks gently.

You can feel yourself tensing up at the question, and she seems to notice this because she nuzzles her nose into the side of your face and presses a sweet kiss there. It has the desired effect because you're instantly calmed, even just a little.

"Don't think, Becs," she says, her voice low. "Just say the first thing you think."

"I felt … happy. Like … you know when something really, really good happens — like, you pass a test you thought you had no chance on — and you're just so happy and you just want to smile until your face breaks?" Chloe nods. "It was like that. It was like … I waited my whole life for you to tell me that. But then it set in: you love me. You love me. And I am just … so, so lucky. And so, so undeserving. You deserve someone who isn't afraid."

"Maybe," Chloe says, moving your hair out of your face. "But I don't want anyone else," she says, and her voice almost cracks. "I just want you, Beca. Please."

"I know," you say. "I know. And I … I want you too, Chlo, I really do. But I can't …"

"Jesus, Beca," she says, but her voice isn't angry so much as it is upset. "I can't do this anymore. I get it, okay? You're afraid of what other people will think — of what your dad will think. You don't wanna be different. You just want to be the same as everyone else, and find a nice guy and settle down and get married and — well. Newsflash: you are different. I mean, yeah, sure, you still could do all that stuff — hell, even I still could — but right now, I know you don't want to. And neither do I, Beca. Right now, I just wanna be with you. So much that it's eating me alive."

She's crying again, and you can feel yourself crumbling under her gaze. "Please don't cry," you say, your voice getting caught in the back of your throat. "Please."

Chloe's silent, and you watch as she trembles and wish that you could take away her pain more than anything.

"My dad … he …" you start, but the words get stuck and you just can't get them out.

"God, Beca, I know that your dad doesn't approve, okay?" she snaps. "You don't have to remind me."

"No," you say. "No, this is … this is more than that. He … he asked me to choose — you or Erin. He doesn't want me even being friends with you anymore, let alone dating you. He asked me to choose between you two. He said … he said that if I chose you, I wouldn't get to see Erin again."

"What?" she asks, breathless. "Oh, my God. Can he … can he do that?"

"Well, she is his kid," you say, shrugging. "I guess he can stop whoever he wants from seeing her, even if that person is his other kid."

"Yeah, but … but you're her sister," she says. "He can't stop you from seeing her."

"He could get a restraining order put out against me." You blink back a few tears. "I mean, it would become invalid on Erin's part when she becomes old enough to come and see me on her own and not just with him, but that's more than ten years away, and she won't want to see me then."

"Beca, if you aren't going to see me again, why did you let me kiss you today? It's just going to hurt more in the end."

"Because I didn't choose Erin," you say.

"What?" she asks, clearly horrified. "Jesus Christ, Beca! I mean … I love you, but you can't choose me over your sister."

"I didn't choose you either," you explain. "I refused to choose anyone."

"How did your dad take that?"

"Not well," you say, running a hand through your hair. "But he hasn't banned me from seeing her yet. I think I'm going to go see her soon — in case it's one of my last chances."

"Becs, don't say that," Chloe says, gently caressing your face. "It won't be, okay? It won't."

"You don't know that, though."

"I do. I do, okay?"

"How?" you ask, laughing even though there's nothing funny about it.

"Because you are Beca Mitchell," she says. She kisses you, soft and chaste. "And when you set your mind to something, you come through."

"But what about us?" you ask, your voice cracking.

"I want you," Chloe says, her voice full and honest and so, so heartbreaking. "More than I've ever wanted anything. I'm willing to wait for you. I can wait until you're ready — until you've sorted everything out. I love you. I don't think you understand that that means I amen't going to leave you. Not ever, okay? I just … I just need confirmation that this is going to be something someday. That all of this waiting will be for a reason. I need to know that. Please, Beca."

"I …" you start, but you're cut off by a knock at the door.