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The blinding morning light streams in through the open curtains, pulled back from the patio doors that lead from the bedroom to the porch. I blink at the whiteness all around me – white pillow, white walls, white duvet – before scrunching my eyes shut again and wiggling backwards into Tate’s warm body. One of his arms lies under my waist so that his thumb can rub up and down my stomach, and his other hand – the hand which reads my name – is holding my hip, tracing gentle patterns onto my skin with the hypnotising tips of his fingers.
After taking a year out to reapply to different courses and different colleges from my first time around, whilst working as Mitch’s sole PR and design assistant to amount a little cash to go towards my college fund, I started college in October as a Literature major. Tate came over at literally every moment that Mitch didn’t have him working, but now that it’s my first winter break I’m going to be staying at his house over Christmas.
Well, it’s not so much a house really. The little wooden chalet which overlooks Silver Lake has the cosy warmth of a cabin to it, but with no other residents anywhere in the vicinity.
Tate drove across to my campus yesterday to come and pick me up, and we arrived back to his place just as the night dawned. We talked whilst he was driving but once we got to the lakehouse there were other things that we wanted to spend our time doing.
I turn around and look up at him. He’s laying contentedly, eyes shut, with a steadily heaving chest that lets me know that he’s awake. I scoot closer to him so that I can press a kiss to the cavern between his pecs, and a satisfied groan quietly escapes his throat.
His hands roam until they are holding me just beneath my armpits, and he lifts my torso so that my head is resting at the same height as his on the pillow. Then he manoeuvres himself so that he can roll his body on top of me, hitching my knees up around his waist, as he settles between my legs and presses his lips into my neck.
“Hey angel,” he murmurs, his morning voice deep and consuming. I shudder beneath his bodyweight and I wrap myself tighter around him. I should probably mention that, although I’m wearing his t-shirt and soft boxer briefs, he is top-to-bottom naked.
He laughs quietly and tries to angle his hips away from me. Not so easy when you’re borderline centaur. When he lifts himself up onto his flattened palms there are still inches of hardened muscle dragging across my thigh.
I reach down to touch him and he restrains my hands, a secretive smile playing across his lips. Even half-asleep he has more strength than his tiny nymphomaniac girlfriend. “Baby, no,” he chuckles.
Um, babyyes. I lift one calf so that it’s resting against his shoulder and I pull the shirt up over my head. He sucks in a breath as he looks down at me but he unclenches his jaw and reconfigures my limbs like a Rubik’s cube.
I look up at him with a sad little expression and he presses chaste kisses up and down my cheeks.
“There’s something I want to do first,” he whispers, and then he pulls us upright so that we can look out of the windows.
I’m instantly dazzled as my eyes meet the shimmering blanket of snow carpeting the porch just beyond the bedroom, all the way down to the gravel and sand, right up to the edge of the lake’s smooth surface. It really is called Silver Lake for a reason. I lean over to the dresser so that I can put on my glasses and then, wrapped up in Tate’s tan arms, I stare at the view some more.
“Nice, huh?” he says, bouncing me on his lap as I take it all in. Obviously I could feel the crunch of the snow beneath my boots when we arrived last night, but under the cold morning sunlight it looks like a whole other planet out there.
“Let’s go outside for a minute, okay?” he asks, and my eyes instantly shoot to his.
“Aren’t we… I thought we were going to…” I attempt to roll his boxers down my hips whilst simultaneously running my palm over his length. It’s been two weeks since the last time he could visit me on campus so now that I have him beneath me I feel desperately hungry. I’m Oliver Twist with his little bowl of porridge.Please sir, may I have some cock?
He kisses my neck consolingly and says, “I just want to show you one thing first.”
I pull a face but I trust him, so I let him move away to shuck on a pair of briefs and his jeans, quickly sliding the tongue of his belt through the thick metal buckle, and then throwing on a shirt and a jacket. He pulls me by my ankles to the edge of the mattress, pushing his pyjama pants up my legs, but he does stop for a minute after he glances at my chest, running his fingers over me before taking me in his mouth. I clutch him tightly to my body but he groans and pulls away, looking around to find another shirt and my winter coat, and then we walk to the patio doors to put on our socks and boots.
He pushes open the door and I’m met with the crisp soundless air, snow twinkling up at us from every available surface. He gives my ass a firm little spank and I yelp out of my reverie, scowling up at his annoyingly attractive face with narrowed eyes and a frown. He grabs my cheeks, already frozen pink, and smashes his mouth down onto mine, a laugh reverberating in his chest as I bite him petulantly. I push him away and trudge sulkily through the snow to the edge of the lake. Okay, it’s beautiful, but it could have waited another fifteen minutes. Or another twenty-five minutes. Or even another hour, I don’t care, I’ve missed him, alright?
I stand at the water’s edge, waiting for him to come up behind me, and I look down at my reflection in the crystallised surface. My hair is spilling around me in thick curls and waves, mussed up from the night before, and my eyes – although feigning irritation – are bright like the sky above me. I almost startle as I watch myself because my expression is so full of hope and wonder and love. I breathe out a sigh, and it mists in the cold air around me. I don’t think that I could be any happier than I am in this very moment, and what a nice feeling that is to have.
“Tate?” I ask, not feeling his body behind me. I turn around to see where he’s gone to and my breath catches in my throat. My lungs empty. If my boots weren’t impaled ten-inches deep in the snow I would have probably fallen over.
Tate is down on one knee, his hands clasping a little leather box, and when my rounded eyes flash to his, the fingers with my name inked across them gently ease open the lid. Sat inside a plump cushioned bed is a large twinkling diamond, so bright and multifaceted in the winter sunlight that it sends millions of refractions sparkling across Tate’s sun-kissed skin.
“I’ve wanted to do this since you were fourteen years old,” he says. My eyes sting as I hold back a sob. “And I needed it to be perfect for my girl, so I thought I should write a speech.”
My vision blurs, so I quickly push up my glasses for a moment and wipe the heels of my hands over my eyes. Ever since Tate told me about his dyslexia he has been trying so hard to improve all of the things that he didn’t prioritise during high school. I love him so much, and my heart constricts painfully when I think about him putting pressure on himself like this.
I readjust my glasses so that they’re back in place and he jerks his chin to my coat.
“Check your pocket, baby,” he says, eyes on the silver zipper.
With shaking fingers I pull down the zip and put my hand inside. When I feel a little piece of folded paper I can’t keep my tears back any longer. They’re streaming down my face like a waterfall as I choke out, “Please tell me that this isn’t what I think it is.”
He waits for me to pull it out and when I open it up I clutch my chest in anguished heartache. It’s a marriage proposal – and it’s handwritten. My eyes trail to the neat black question mark at the end of the last sentence and I can barely see for my tears.
I shake my head and I hear Tate’s quiet laugh as he stands up to pull me against his chest. I clutch my fingers into the fabric of his coat as he caresses my head with his free hand, his biceps securing my body to his.
“Want to read it later?” he asks, a smile in his voice.
