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For some reason I was expecting him to work his way up to my ass, but instead I feel his palms press down until they’re encasing the backs of my knees, and for some reason this feels even more explicit. Maybe it’s because he had to bend a little and now his face is only a few inches away from my heat. Hesees me palpitating and the corner of his mouth lifts a little. Then he heaves his body upwards, lifting me with him, and he quickly compresses me to the front of his torso. The way that I’m splaying against his shirt makes me fold my lips into my mouth to prevent myself from making any sounds that will betray myI’m super arousedhormonal tumult.
He’s full on grinning because my pheromones have told him everything that he needs to know.She wants you, they are whispering. They are not wrong.
“You ready?” he asks as he repositions one of his hands to steady my back and he turns us around so that we’re heading for the door. His hand slides into the pocket on the butt of my jeans, and he removes the case that I had slipped in there for my glasses, clicking the open-close button a couple of times and making me worry about him wearing out the function. He slips it back inside the pocket. How did he even know that it was there? Now I am also worrying that he has x-ray vision, as well as psionic abilities.
“You’ll have to give me a yes or a no at some point,” he jokes, but as soon as he says it my body stills and his eyes flash to mine, away from the light switch he was about to turn off. His shoulders swell and tense. Predator mode.
My eyes have traitorously expanded to five times their usual size in flashback-fear. Thank God I’m not wearing my glasses right now or they would look ten times their usual size. I swallow quickly and try to neutralise my face but he’s not having any of it. There’s only one reason why a person would react weirdly to someone asking for consent.
“You’re going to have to explain that one to me, River,” he commands, and it’s in that moment that I become ninety-nine-point-nine percent sure that I have been wrong this whole time. The thing that happened that I thought Tate was the cause of? Tate doesn’t know what happened. Maybe he had plannedsomething, but what subsequently went downisn’twhat he had planned. No wonder he has been so confused.
The realisation makes my stomach sink with sickness, the anxiety about being so undeniably misled, but my brain clears as if a downpour has just washed away all of the shitty debris that had been festering for – I don’t know – three years?
Silver linings, I think to myself.
“River,” he prompts again, re-adjusting me against his chest.
I don’t want to think about the past anymore. I don’tneedto think about the past anymore. This is a good moment and I’m so happy that I almost release a kind of exhilarated squeal.
I shake my head down at him with a smile breaking across my face, and I bury my nose in his hair.Ugh.It’s so soft that I start breathing audibly and then I run one of my hands through it too, tugging at its thickness and length. We still haven’t gone outside because Tate is now frozen in shock due to my one-eighty; it’s too convoluted for me to care to explain it to him, so hopefully he will just accept my enlightenment as a godly miracle.
I hear him swallow as I continue inhaling him and he whispers, low and hoarse, “Is this a… a trick on me?” He threads one hand into my hair and lightly tugs it back so that he can see my face. Gauging his reaction I look like an addict mid-hit.
Eyes. Lips. Eyes. Lips.He’s deciding whether to continue this conversation – albeit quite an important topic that I am dead-set on avoiding – or haul me upstairs and show me how much he’s missed me. I would like to go with option number two.
“Tate,” I whisper.
And that’s all it takes.
I know thatheknows that this is the first time that I have said his name in the three months that we have been trapped in this childhood-trauma sexual-frustration experiment, and before that it had been threeyears.
You would think that I just said his spy-operative activation trigger word because he somehow drops every single shield that he was holding whilst simultaneously expanding and hardening in every direction. The sound that leaves his chest is not human, and the way he pushes my hips down from his waist to press into his groin is not gentle. I’m higher than a hot air balloon and my little flame-pot just got a tug. Toot toot.
I’m now up against the wall that he was standing at as he waited for me, and there really is no place that I would rather be. He grips my jaw in one hand, forcing my face upwards, and his eyes – devilishly hungry – quickly scan mine. “Can I?” he asks gruffly, eyes on my lips.
Drunk on deviousness I taunt back, “Can you?”
And then he shows me that yes he can.
His hands are firm as they pin me in place, but his mouth is the softest thing that I have ever felt. He presses his lips to mine gently, only parted enough to breathe in my sighs as he caresses my skin, but his body is a different experience entirely. The hand that cupped my jaw has moved to grip the back of my neck, holding me in place for his mouth, whilst lacing his fingers through my hair and tugging forcibly. His other hand is bracing the wall for leverage as he rocks the metal zipper of his jeans roughly up my core. When he removes his hand from the wall he slides it over and down the centre of my ass until his fingers reach my heat, and he holds into me so securely that I have to pull away to gasp. He gives me about three seconds before drawing my face back to his and this time he slides the hot length of his tongue into my mouth, gently filling me at first, and then gradually caressing until the strokes become relentless. The molten pool in my belly overflows as he parts my lips wider, and then he refills my mouth with his long wet muscle.
“I don’t want to go out anymore,” he says, his voice low and gravelly, lips mere millimetres from my own. I nip a tiny biteinto his bottom lip and he groans. He runs both of his hands over the curves of my hips and then he rubs his hardened groin up my crotch, to show me exactly what he wants to do instead.
“You don’t have any condoms,” I whisper to him teasingly, and I stifle a quiet laugh when he drops his head into the crook of my neck, moaning in agony. I run my fingers through his hair, savouring how thick and silky it is.Have you changed your mind, O moral one?
Tate is so turned on that he’s forgotten how to speak in proper sentences. His eyes are half-mast and his muscles are swollen and rippling. He keeps his mouth pressed against my throat as he mumbles something along the lines of, “Need my girl tonight.”I shiver in pleasure and he bucks against me, pushing my body into the wall again and again.
At that moment my stomach makes a sound and Tate lifts his head from my neck to look at me. He looks like he’s mid-fuck, hair in complete disarray and his pupils so black that they have extinguished his irises. “You hungry?” he asks. I don’t even know how he managed to choke the words out – his timbre has become so deep that I feel it more than I hear it.
I stare into his soul and nod, transmitting my innuendo-laden brainwaves.I am sooooo hungry, Tate.
Who needs subtlety?
He makes a gruff noise and bites into my neck, grazing and sucking as one of his hands finds my tummy. “Gonna feed you,” he mumbles and then he walks me into the kitchen, mouth never leaving my skin. His hand reaches into my back pocket again, retrieves the glasses case, and he places it on the counter as he turns to leave.
“Wait,” I protest, “I need that! And you still have my glasses - give me the hostages back.”
He rubs his palm over my butt-cheek in the place that the glasses case had been, and then grips it as he swings open thefront door. “You can’t wear them right now, baby. I promise you’ll have them back when we get home.” As he locks the door from the outside he leans his head down to my ear and I clutch my arms around his neck a little tighter. He drops his voice to a whisper. “You know I’m gonna make you wear them when I fuck you.”
