37. Tatum
37
TATUM
“ W ell, if that isn’t the hottest thing on the planet, I don’t know what is,” Rory muses. The stairs probably aren’t the most comfortable place to sit, but they give the best view of the front door, and watching the small audience—most of which are groupies—slowly stumble their way out has been pretty solid entertainment for the past two hours. It’s late, and I’m exhausted. But I promised Pax I wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye, and for some reason I genuinely can’t fathom, the idea of going back on said promise feels…wrong. But so does tracking the guy down because that feels desperate, and I am many things, but I refuse to let desperate be one of them. So, where does it leave me? With my ass on the stairs with my best friend beside me.
Resting my chin in my hand and my elbow on my knee, I twist toward Rory. “What was the hottest thing on the planet?”
“Pax singing to you.”
“Pax wasn’t?—”
“He totally was,” she argues. “And the song choice?” A quiet whistle slips out of her. “Damn.”
Damn is right. The thought alone is enough to leave me hot and bothered, which is a huge problem if I have any hope of keeping my one rule by not sleeping with the guy again. The question is…do I need to? Keep the rule, not sleep with him.
I’ve had it for so long I’m starting to wonder why, and it’s a scary thought.
With my elbows on my knees, I rest my chin in my hands, announcing, “I’m choosing not to overthink it.”
“Probably wise, since I'm overthinking it enough for the both of us.” She bumps her shoulder against mine.
“We should get going,” I decide.
“Sounds good. I’ll just…hang out here until you’re ready.”
“What? You’re not going to say goodbye, too?” I ask.
“Already texted him.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know that was an option. And since when do you have his number?”
“Since your twenty-first birthday,” she quips.
My jaw drops. “Are you serious?”
“Yup. Dodger gave it to me in case I had any issues getting ahold of you.”
What are the freaking odds? Although, it’s probably for the best. If I'd known she’d had it all these years, I have a feeling I would’ve caved and reached out to him during one of my low points.
And if I had, maybe there wouldn’t have been so many of them.
The voice is quiet as it tickles the back of my brain, catching me off guard. What would it have been like? If I hadn’t lied all those years ago? Would we have dated? Would we still be dating? Would we be?—
I shut the thought down before it has a chance to take hold.
Unlocking my cell, I announce, “You know, I think you make a good point. I’m going to?—”
She smacks my phone out of my hands, and it falls into my lap. “Nope. No deal. Messaging him goodbye is an option for me because I’m just the cherry on top of the sundae. You, my dear friend, are the main course. Go. I’ll stick around for ten more minutes. If you’re back by then, we can leave together, but in case you decide to let things get freaky?—”
“Rory!” I scold.
“No use lying, Tater Tot,” she says. “You forget how well I know you, and after a declaration of interest like the one he put out tonight? Well, let’s just say I’d be dropping my virgin panties in a heartbeat if someone did something as thoughtful as what Pax did for you this evening. Although, I do have a paper to finish tomorrow morning for my English class, so the ten minutes starts now. Go.”
After a gentle push from my best friend, I stride down the stairs. The place is a mess, but I don’t bother touching any of it as I make my way to the beach. He can have his other cleaning service do it for him, for all I care. Everyone’s gone. And it’s strange. Feeling the shift in the air. The charged energy from when the little concert first started to the subtle high after it finished, to this. A soft, comfortable ambiance I want to wrap myself up in. The bonfire is settling, but it still crackles as Pax cradles his guitar to his chest with a beer by his side.
“Well, would you look at that,” he says. The firelight dances in his gaze as he watches me approach. “I owe Coop a hundred bucks.”
Planting my ass on the sand next to him, I stretch my legs out. “A hundred bucks? Why?”
“He bet you’d stay.”
“And you bet I’d leave?” I challenge, though I can’t decide if I’m offended or impressed with how well he knows me. “I promised, didn’t I?”
“Pretty little liar,” he murmurs. “Remember?”
I do. He called me that the first night we met. When we were playing an unofficial game of Twenty Questions. I lied about my favorite food. My favorite color. Everything.
“Well,” I draw a tiny heart in the sand, “it seems I’m capable of turning over a new leaf after all. For tonight, anyway,” I add dryly.
He smiles against the rim of his beer. “I guess I’ll take what I can get.” Setting it back in the sand, he continues strumming whatever melody’s inside his head. “Thanks for coming.”
“Thanks for having me. This was…this was incredible, Pax.”
With a slow nod, he sighs. “Ready to give me a chance yet, Birthday Girl?”
I wish I knew the answer. Wish I knew if I was even capable of giving him a chance. A real one. A chance he deserves and has earned time and time again. He’s a good guy. Thoughtful. Patient as a saint. He’s done everything right. Has listened to my every request. So why can’t I let go?
Why won’t you let me go, Arch?
Observing Paxton’s profile in the flickering orange light, I take in the fullness of his lips. The strength in his jaw. The tiny pinch of his brows as he strums a particularly hard combination of notes. He’s nothing like him. At least, not on the surface. But beneath the cocky rockstar persona, I can’t help but notice the way their souls match. Not entirely. But little things. Tiny, seemingly insignificant similarities. Or maybe I’m reaching. Maybe I’m desperate to replace Archer. Maybe I’m desperate to justify my connection with Pax.
Without looking up from his guitar, Paxton notes, “You’re staring at me awfully hard, Birthday Girl.”
He’s right. I am. And even though I’ve been called out, I can’t stop. “I know what you want from me, Pax.”
“I mean, I kind of spelled it out for you.”
I ignore his thinly-veiled sarcasm, and push, “You know what I mean, Pax.”
The strumming quiets, amplifying the tension between us. But he doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t push me or question me or challenge me or…anything. He simply stares, waiting for me to take the lead. To make a decision. To do…something. And I want to. I want to do something, but if I do, what then? What happens next? What happens when one night turns into two? I’ve never gotten this far. Not with anyone.
“Pax,” I whisper. “I’m not…I’m not the girl you think I am, and the thought of ruining whatever perception you have of me, only to leave you disappointed, it’s…it’s more than I can take.”
“Not gonna disappoint me, Tatum.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do. It isn’t possible to disappoint someone with no expectations. Only a chance. That’s all I’m asking for.”
“And what if I can’t even give you that, Pax? What if the only thing I have is…” I lift a shoulder, then motion to my boobs. “A great rack.”
His full lips tilt up in satisfaction. “It is a great rack.”
I bite back my amusement, grateful for his sense of humor and how contagious it is. “Glad you agree.”
“You think I’m dumb enough to argue with you, Tatum Taylor?” He shakes his head and sets the guitar aside. “I’m not asking for anything. Not really. Only a chance.”
A chance. He makes it sound so simple. He has no idea.
The moonlight shines above us while the crackle of the fire and familiar rhythm of the ocean drowns out the charged silence, bringing with it the promise of peace. And it isn’t fair because I haven’t felt peace in…in who knows how long? I shift forward on the blanket, unsure what to do or where to go or what to say. He’s close. So close, yet so far. And suddenly, I hate how small the blanket feels. How I wish it would shrink even more, so I could justify shifting closer to him to see if he smells like cinnamon again.
“Give me a chance, Tatum,” he whispers.
“And if I’m not enough?”
His movements are slow, calculated, as he closes the distance between us, inch by torturous inch, before letting his gaze drop to my mouth, and I swear I can hear my own heartbeat in my ears. “Then give me this.” He brushes his lips against mine, stealing a kiss, making my toes curl into the sand at the edge of the blanket as his mouth moves over mine.
Give me this.
So, I do.
And instead of fighting it, fighting him, I give in, letting go for the first time in…ever. And it feels strange. And scary. And warm. And almost…right. Because I can give him this. I can give him my body. I can give him my time. I can give him anything he wants. Anything but my heart. Because the stupid organ in my chest? It doesn’t belong to me. Hasn’t belonged to me since I was a little girl, and even though I’d do anything to get it back so I could give it to someone else, I don’t think I can. The realization stings, but I push it away, praying my body and my time and everything else I have to offer is enough.
Please be enough.
My fingers find the edge of his shirt, and I tug him closer, pressing my front to his. He drags his tongue along the seam of my mouth, and I open for him, craving him desperately. When his tongue dips into my mouth, I suck softly. He groans, shifting closer.
Yes. Give me this.
I lean back, and he follows, climbing onto my body until every inch of him pushes me into the sand. It’s going to be a bitch to get out of my hair, but I don't care. I only want to feel him. Weaving my fingers along the hair at the nape of his neck, I spread my legs, cradling his waist and the hard line of his erection.
He smiles against my mouth. “I think you like me.”
“I like your house.”
His smile grows, and he steals another kiss, grinding into me.
“And your musical ability,” I add.
Trailing his mouth along the underside of my jaw, he murmurs, “Anything else?”
“Your face isn’t half bad, either.”
He nips at my throat. “And?”
“Your cock is top tier, too.”
Sucking my skin into his mouth, he drags his tongue along the small patch of flesh. Teasing. Tasting. Warning.
“And my shining personality?” he prods.
I lift a shoulder. “Meh.”
With a low laugh, he cages me in on both sides, staring down at me as the moon and softening firelight outline him. “Meh?”
“Meh,” I repeat.
When he starts to pull away, I cling to his shoulders. “Okay! Okay! Your personality is a solid B+.”
He rolls to one side, smacking my ass, surprising the shit out of me.
With a yelp, I squeal, “Hey!”
Another bruising kiss silences me as Paxton slides his hands beneath the hem of my shirt, massaging my breast as his tongue teases the seam of my lips. I’ve missed this. This feeling. Being cared for. Appreciated. Worshipped. And not by just anyone. Let’s be real. No one’s ever cared about me. Not like this. Fucked, sure. But appreciated? Worshipped? It’s different. He’s different. Even the first night we met, he was different, and even though a not-so-small part of me could feel it, I was too petrified to label him as anything but a rockstar, and it might be one of the biggest mistakes of my life.
Cupping my breast, Paxton kneads me softly until my nipple pebbles against his palm. The feeling shoots straight to my core, and he rips his mouth from mine, trailing kisses along my throat. His head disappears beneath my shirt, and he sucks my nipple into his mouth.
Ooookay, yes. Yes, that will do just fine.
I writhe beneath him, the heat of his tongue too much, yet not enough. Not even close. My back arches, and I hold him to me, lifting my hips in search of friction.
“We’re wearing too many clothes,” I announce.
“Is that an invitation?”
“Lose the pants or watch me play with myself,” I dare him. My hands start their descent before he even has a chance to make a decision. The sound of my zipper mingles with the crackle of the fire as he drags my jeans down my legs, exposing every inch of me. His eyes glow with interest, and his lips part with need. It’s a heady combination. I force myself to stay still when I feel like I’m burning up from the outside in. The same familiar zip follows, and he pulls his erection out, pumping it slowly in his fist as I lay beneath him. And boy, is it a sight to behold. I zero in on the veins along the back of his hand, and the sight turns me on even more. Shit, I could watch him all day. Tugging and rubbing and turning me into a wet mess. Unable to stand it, I let my knees fall apart and spread my folds, slowly circling my clit while biting my bottom lip. I could come like this. Just like this. With his eyes on me and his cock in his hand.
“Fuck, you have no idea how sexy you look like this,” he growls, staring as I play with myself.
My lips curve up. “I think I have an idea.”
His attention flicks from my fingers to my eyes. “So cocky.”
“I believe you’re the one who’s cocky,” I point out. “Pun intended.” He chuckles. “And I’m the one who’s empty,” I continue. “So, what are you going to do about it?”
A low rumble claws its way up his throat as he reaches for his jeans, retrieving a condom from the back pocket. Placing the thin foil between his teeth, he rips the package open and slides it on before grabbing my thigh and dragging me closer to him as he stays on his knees. Tugging me into him, my lower back and ass completely off the ground, he lines himself up with my entrance, the head teasing my opening as he holds me in place.
This is it. The last moment I could say no. The last chance I have to shove him back in the box with all my other one-night-stands. But I don’t want to. I want more than one night. I want a chance. A chance to prove I can do this. I can connect with someone without feeling guilty or like I’m cheating on a ghost. I can enjoy this. This moment, this connection, this feeling.
With his fingers digging into my thighs, Pax waits, a question in his espresso gaze. I lower my head in the smallest of nods. Satisfied, his hold tightens, and his attention drops to where our bodies connect as he thrusts into me.
Watching the need in his eyes. The obsession. It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.
He pulls out, leaving me with just the head before pushing in again, his movements torturously slow and deliberate.
“Touch your clit,” he orders.
I slip my hand between my thighs, feeling him enter me as I circle my clit. It feels incredible. I feel incredible. He feels incredible. Every inch of him. My body stretches around him, accommodating his size as he picks up his pace, hitting the little bundle of nerves inside of me, making me feel like I’m seconds from exploding. Sweat clings to my skin, leaving me hot and tingly.
“Fuck, Birthday Girl,” he growls. “You have no idea how pretty you look taking me like this. Spread out beneath me. Your tits bouncing. Your hair in the sand. The fire dancing off your skin.”
His words are like gasoline, making me burn from the inside out. “Don’t stop,” I beg. “Don’t you dare fucking stop.”
He bends forward, and I hook my ankles around his waist, holding on for dear life as he cages me in and pushes into me over and over again. I can see it. Feel it. Taste it. My orgasm. I’m so fucking close, I can’t breathe. My lungs cease to work, my fingers dig into his lower back, and my jaw falls as it rips through me, tearing me apart and leaving me floating. The familiar twitch of his erection and freeze of his muscles follow, a low curse slipping past his lips as he comes inside me. It’s stupid. Reckless. So fucking reckless. Giving my body to him again. But I don’t care. Not in this moment. Because it’s like he said, if this is all I can give him, he can have it. He can have all that’s left. Every piece of me.
“Fuck,” he grunts.
I smile. “Yes, Captain Obvious. We did just fuck.”
“Well.” He lifts his head, giving me a glimpse of his boyish grin. “It’s been great. Really great. But, uh, I guess I’ll see you around, or…?” His face tilts to one side, his eyes dancing with mirth.
I quirk my brow. “Seriously?”
“I mean, it’s what we do after actual sex, isn’t it?”
“It’s what I do,” I clarify.
Moving closer, he runs his nose along the tip of mine. “And what do I get to do?”
“Daydream about all the things you should’ve said to convince me to stay.”
“Like hire your favorite band?” he quips.
I fight my grin. “Something like that.”
He starts to climb off, but I tug him into me, letting his weight settle into my bones as he gives in immediately. I love it. The feel of him pressed against me. His soft cock still nestled inside. The mint on his breath. The scent of sex and campfire and ocean and…Pax. I want to bottle it up and keep it forever.
“You gonna run this time, Birthday Girl?” he murmurs.
It’s a good question. One I kind of hate. Because with Pax? It isn’t easy. To run. To leave. To write off our interactions as meaningless when it doesn’t feel meaningless. But the idea of promising him more? Promising something real and tangible and lasting? I don’t…I don’t know if I’m capable of something like that, even if he makes me want to be.
“Not gonna answer me, huh?” he prods.
His earlier words echo through my mind as he stares down at me, brushing the hair from my forehead.
You gonna run this time, Birthday Girl?
“It’s what I do,” I admit.
“Then I guess I’ll have to invest in some running shoes, ‘cause I’m sure as shit not gonna let you get away again.” He drops a kiss to my forehead, then rolls onto his back, tucking me into his side. I feel him slip out of me. And it leaves me weirdly…empty. I don’t know how I feel about it. But what I do know is that I like this.
And that much is terrifying, but I’m too weak to walk away, let alone run.
Not this time.