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My mouth pops open into a littleo, because this is the second time in the past five minutes that he has completely knocked me for six. My eyes widen and he watches me carefully, as if he’s tensely waiting for my response.
Never in my life did I expectanyoneto ask me to go to Homecoming, let aloneTate Coleson. I’m all aquiver but no way am I going to let this moment pass me by.
“Tate,” I whisper, blinking myself through my shock so that I can give him my tiny excited smile. “Of course, yes, I would love to.”
His whole face breaks into the most gorgeous grin that I have ever seen, with twin creases setting deeply into the caramel skin of his cheeks. He stoops down so that he can kiss me again and I’m all but knocked out by the wave of testosterone that washes over me. Maybe it’s the rain, but the air around us seems to be even more charged than usual, heavy with the dampness from the lake and our heady raging hormones.
Our entwined hands fall into my lap and I let out a gasp that has his chest stretching the cotton of his shirt. I move my other hand to his collar, tugging him into me, and his eyes flare.
“I would only ever want to go with you,” I admit breathlessly, and his lips crash into mine.
The fingers that he had laced through my hair move down to my neck so that he can grip me steady, and then his thumb begins to move up and down the column of my throat.
“I can’t wait to see you in your Homecoming dress,” he whispers huskily against my mouth, before taking my bottom lip gently between his teeth. I make a small sound and it unlocks a deep rumble from within his chest. He drops his hand from my neck, spreading it protectively across my tummy, and just as he begins to firmly press, he slips his tongue inside my mouth.
“Tate,” I exclaim quietly, and he pushes his palm against my stomach with more pressure, his fingers flexing as they grip into my softness.
He pulls away only so that he can ask, “Can I keep going?” and I nod ardently, his hair gently caressing my forehead as I lean back to look up at him.
He brings us back together and slowly slides his tongue all the way in, his low grunt hitting the back of my throat as he fully claims my mouth. I shift around on his blazer because I’ve got a fire going on in my privates and, from the loud sounds of his heavy inhalations, Tate can tell. He glides his tongue out in a lush, never-ending stroke before pushing it back in even deeper than before. He’s wet and warm and so big everywhere that my body is growing limp beneath him.
He notices and pulls away, his dazzling eyes looking down at me urgently. The hand on my belly moves up to my jaw.
“Fuck,” he murmurs, “I’m sorry, I’ll stop, that was too much, wasn’t it? I’m sorry, stay with me baby.”
I lift my hand to my face and laugh as his fingers try to coax me back to full consciousness, my head shaking in embarrassment. “I’m the sorry one,” I say, and then, trying to be light-hearted, I add, “if I borderline black-out from a kiss, imagine how I’ll be when-” but Tate moves his hand up to my mouth, pressing his palm against my lips and preventing me from ending my sentence.
He swallows hard and then leads my eyes down to his crotch. I don’t exactly know how it works with boys but I think that Tate has somehow grown even bigger than he was a few minutes ago, the long length of his arousal protruding even more obviously now against the sorry fabric of his pants.
“I think that it might be best if you don’t finish that sentence,” he says, in a voice that is painfully calm. He takes in myastonished expression, both lust-filled and terrified, and then adds a strained, “Please.”
I nod my head, my lips brushing against his palm, and he pulls it away so that he can access my mouth again. He gives me a slow multitude of delicate pecks and then he helps me to my feet, bringing me in under the curve of one bicep, our hands still interlocked. He picks up his blazer and, without even dusting it off, he half-shrugs it over his other arm before we start silently traipsing back up the shoreline and into the thick greenery.
Tate doesn’t let go of my hand for the entire ride home.
Chapter 17
Present
Kit and I have managed to submit our college applications before it’s even hit Thanksgiving, to both the delight of my mom and the observing eyes of Mitch. I’m not sure what he is most afraid of but now I am the opposite of grounded, and he wants me as socially active as possible. This is kind of a challenge for an asthmatic introverted nerd but for the sake of him not telling my mom about my sordid agenda with Tate I’m holding up my end of the bargain.
I stay back at the library until the after-school sports practices end and then I go to the pool in town, to relax in the water for an hour. It’s a low-lit and underused natatorium that mainly hosts aqua-aerobics for the elderly, so it suits my purposes of maintaining a low profile perfectly. I shrug into my swimsuit and, taking the side of the water that isn’t being used by the pensioners, I wade through the streams unhurried.
I’m not the strongest swimmer, probably because I don’t have the best lung capacity, but I love being in the water. It takes concentration and precision to keep myself afloat, and it helps to clear my mind when I want to rid myself of my creeping sinful thoughts.
After my swim I go to the shower room with all of the old ladies and wash the chlorine out of my hair in my little booth, using ten tonnes of conditioner to try and salvage my curls.Without the distractions that I had whilst controlling my paddle in the water, my mind is wandering down dark and dangerous lanes as I stand under the streams. I think about that night a few weeks ago with Tate and Mitch in the attic, and all of the confusing things that they said. They were right about a lot, but they were also wrong in parts too.
Mitch has banned Tate from coming upstairs and I have barely seen him what with spending so much time in the library, doing assignments, and finishing up my applications after school. We haven’t spoken since that night and I can tell that it’s eating him alive. I’m sadistically enjoying holding all of the cards so when I see him outside in the garage with his bike or hanging around in Mitch’s kitchen I do a purposeful swish, and sashay away from the area.
I towel-dry my hair to the best of my ability, pull on my coat and hood, and then I walk down from the town square back to Mitch’s house. It’s so cold that it takes my breath away, especially with my damp hair and skin, so by the time I’m home my cheeks are pinched red and I’m almost gasping at the strong November chill. My lungs are officially dying for my inhaler.
When I open the door I see my mom, Mitch, and Tate all sat in the room at the back, which is weird because I’m pretty sure that they’ve never done that before, and even weirder because it’s almost night, so Tate is usually gone by now.
I give a small wave to my mom, who does an unconvinced appraisal of my raincoat-winter-hat-and-clunky-school-shoes outfit before turning back to Mitch, so after that I start ascending the stairs.
Ouch. It’s just my uniform – why does she have to be so unforgiving?
I’m shocked out of my thoughts when I feel a pair of arms grip me around the middle and pick me up, carrying me hurriedlyfrom the second floor landing up the last flight of stairs to my room in the attic.
