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“Can I do it again, River?” he whispers.
I nod.
And this time, it’s different.
He presses his lips tenderly against mine but as soon as I kiss him back he begins to move. His mouth caresses me harder, with more urgency, and one of his hands fists and tugs in my hair. When I release a little gasp, his other hand slides around my throat, warm, domineering, protective. My heart is hammering faster than the downpour outside. He pushes the lower half of his body against mine and he lets out a satisfied grunt when he feels the pulse in my throat quicken beneath the firm press of his thumb. I slide my hands around the swollen curves of his biceps and rub my fingers up the solid muscle, making him relieve a long low groan. He moves his mouth to my neck and sucks until my chest is heaving.
“Can I take you out this Friday, River?” he asks, hands smoothing down my ribs. “I want to show you something, and I want to do this again - without a time limit.” His teeth graze against my throat and then he delicately tugs at the skin.
I pull him back up to my mouth by entwining my fingers deep into his hair, so soft and wet from the shower. “Yes,” I say, and I let him lean forward to kiss me again.
He inhales deeply as his hands envelop my hips, his fingers digging eagerly into my pliable softness. “I want to use my tongue next time,” he whispers as he slots one of his knees between both of mine, and then he slowly lifts it up, up,up-
I jolt backwards and, having lost all of my brain cells, I bang my head hard against the door. I howl and laugh, but Tate quickly recomposes himself and pulls me flush against him.
“Sorry,” he says, his fingers massaging soothing circles against my skull. “I shouldn’t have done that, I’m sorry.” He locks me into the cradle of his arms, his cheek pressed against the top of my head.
“It’s okay,” I say, laughing, but he’s holding me so tightly I can tell that he doesn’t think that it’s okay. I can’t even tip my head back to look at him because I’m compressed so hard against his chest. His whole body is rigid, including the long tense muscle pressing into my stomach.
I try to think of something to distract him.
“What tattoo are you going to get?” I ask, my voice trembling only a little.
“Your name, across my knuckles,” he replies immediately.
I laugh again because I think that he’s joking, but he isn’t laughing with me.
I move my hands so that they are flat against his back and a shiver runs through his body. When he looks down at me he relaxes a bit. He leans forward and swipes a kiss across my forehead, before stroking my cheek with the backs of his fingers.
“Why did you have a shower?” I ask.
A small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “To calm my nerves,” he answers patiently. “Not that it worked,” he laughs, and then he dips his face into my neck again, sucking gently. “And I was going to get Madden to help me with something, but we didn’t have enough time,” he adds, before sinking his teeth into me.
I gasp – shocked, sensitised, and exhilarated – and he bites harder.
He runs his tongue over the area and his hands snake around my waist.
“I should go home, Tate,” I whisper, in an attempt to throw some cold water over the fire in my belly.
I feel him smile against my throat. “You probably should,” he agrees, and then he stands up to his full height, towering over me. He realigns my glasses on the bridge of my nose before quickly kissing the tip.
“I hope that you love the CDs,” Tate says as he walks me across the street before my mom gets back from work, squeezing my hand in his.
I smile up at him before looking away and swallowing nervously.
I think that I might love more than just the CDs, Tate.
Chapter 15
Present
When we get inside the house Tate sets me down on the floor and spins me around by my shoulders. Mitch is standing in the kitchen with a bowl of freshly made popcorn and a startled expression on his face. I stand on my tippy-toes to check if there’s any extras - M&M’s or something - in the mix but it’s unadulterated corn and salt for as far as the eye can see.
“That is a sad little bowl,” I say to Mitch, looking pointedly at the corn in his hands.
“I think that her drink was spiked,” Tate interrupts flatly, as if this explains why he’s acting like a Neanderthal.
Mitch’s eyes go crazy wide and he sets down the bowl. “Did you give her some water?” he asks Tate.
