12. Chapter 12
Chapter 12
Joy
I t feels like hours that I’ve been lying here, trying not to think of the man on the other side of this door. But it’s damn near impossible when I’m wearing his clothes and sleeping in his bed. The room carries his scent even more than the rest of the house, and I keep catching myself sniffing the pillow like a damn weirdo. This isn’t the first time I’ve slept over at a man’s house who I didn’t know very well, but it’s the first time I’m in a room all alone. I will my body to relax so I can at least get some sleep, or else tomorrow is going to be a long fucking day.
I jolt awake to find it’s still pitch black, aside from the soft light coming from the bathroom. I couldn’t have been asleep for more than half an hour. It must be because I’m in a strange place. I toss the blankets aside and swing my legs over, stepping onto the cold hardwood floor.
A glass of water might help. Slowly, I open the door and peer out. The rest of the house is dark too, the only light coming from above the stove in the kitchen. The ranch has an open floor plan, so I have a view of part of the kitchen from the hallway. The only thing between me and the kitchen is the large living room where I see the outline of the back of the couch where Tate must be sleeping. Stepping as softly as possible, I make my way to the kitchen. Rain taps against the roof, but it doesn’t sound as heavy as it has been, so hopefully I’ll be able to drive my own car to work. It’s bad enough I’ve taken over the man’s bedroom, I don’t want him to have to drive me to work, too.
Chancing a glance at the sofa, it’s impossible for me to make anything out besides nondescript lumps. I can’t tell what’s blankets and what’s person. I don’t want him to feel me staring at him, so I keep going.
“Couldn’t sleep?”
My hand flies to my chest as my heart practically leaps from my ribcage. I nearly made it to the sink without even realizing Tate was in here as well. “Jesus Christ!”
“I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.” His voice is raspy either from sleep or lack thereof and I do my best to ignore my body’s reaction.
Tate steps out of the shadows and joins me by the sink. He’s shirtless in a pair of pajama pants that hang low on his hips. There’s not enough light for me to make out the details, but I see enough to appreciate his muscular form. Enough to want to see more.
“I slept for a few minutes. I just came out for a glass of water.”
Giving me a quick nod, he reaches into the cabinet and passes me a glass, his fingers brushing against mine as I take it. “Yeah, I couldn’t sleep either.”
He places his hands on his lower back and stretches while I fill my glass with cold water from the faucet. My eyes have somewhat adjusted to the dark, and I don’t miss his slight grimace as he stands up straight.
“You okay?” I ask.
He gives me a nod but doesn’t answer the question. “You hungry? I was just getting ready to heat something up.”
“I could eat.”
He takes a Tupperware container from the fridge and tosses it in the microwave before grabbing two forks from the drawer. I don’t question him when he leads me to the couch a few minutes later with the two forks sticking out from top of the container of spaghetti. It’s obvious once we get to the sofa that it is entirely too small for a man of his size. No wonder he couldn’t sleep.
“Anything you want to watch?” he asks as he begins flipping through channels.
He briefly stops on a documentary I’ve seen before about a girl who is repeatedly abducted right in front of her parents, and they even know the guy who’s doing it. I grab his leg and point at the screen. “Oh, my goodness! Have you seen this one? It’s wild!”
Chuckling, he shoves a bite of spaghetti into his mouth. “Mmm hmm.” He pauses to chew. “Most of it, anyway. You want to watch it?”
I nod eagerly, plucking a meatball from the container and popping it into my mouth. We share spaghetti and watch the documentary as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. How we’ve fallen into a comfortable companionship is beyond me, but I refuse to overthink it. Earlier awkwardness aside, this is the first time I’ve felt like my old self since before I moved here. The breakup isn’t on my mind, and I feel like there’s no place I should be but here with this large cowboy who I barely know.
His hand finds my thigh, and the air in the room shifts. The only thing between his hand and my bare thigh is the blanket that’s covering us. The touch isn’t suggestive but tell that to the heat racing to my core. It’s been a long time since I’ve experienced a man’s touch, and just like during those stolen kisses, there’s no stopping my body’s reaction. I need his touch. Instead of being responsible and putting some distance between us, I cover his hand with mine. When I finally work up the nerve to steal a glance at Tate, I find him already looking down at me. His expression is unreadable in the dark, but I can feel his eyes on me.
I cast mine down and lower my head, taking in a sharp breath when he places his free hand along my jaw, tilting my head up before crushing his mouth to mine in a hungry kiss. Desperate for more, I kiss him back and part my lips to accept his tongue. Sparks zip across my body and my blood heats. His kiss is brutal. Feral. His hand slides into my hair, angling me the way he wants as he continues to claim my mouth.
Conscious thoughts drift away as I become a ball of sensation. This man kisses me exactly the way I need. He’s demanding. Dominating. All-consuming. I slide my hands around his shoulders and pull him to me, feeling his corded muscles move and flex beneath my touch. I can feel it the moment his control snaps. His strong arms grip me tightly and he hauls me into his lap so I’m straddling him. He cradles my face with both hands as his tongue continues to explore my mouth.
I still can’t get enough. His muscles are rigid beneath my greedy hands as I roam. I want to touch him everywhere. My core clenches as I imagine him with more than just his shirt off. He’s hard beneath me as I grind against him, desperate for any sort of friction I can get. I’ve never been this turned on. I picture him filling me. Slamming into me over and over. It’s obvious he’s large just by what I can feel beneath his pants.
“Fuck, Joy,” he grinds out.
Even the sound of his voice has my pussy clenching, desperate to be touched. I stutter out a breath. “Tate.”
He shifts his weight and lowers me onto the sofa without removing his mouth from mine. His hands roam my body. Stroking and squeezing. Slipping a hand under my borrowed shirt, he strokes my skin and lets out a low groan when he reaches my naked breast.
“Please,” I murmur, unsure what I’m even asking for.
I gasp and writhe beneath him when he teases my nipple. He doesn’t stop until I’m trembling. My nerves are on fire, responding to every touch as his hand slides down, only stopping when he reaches the hem of my borrowed underwear.
“Please,” I repeat. I want his hands on me.
Finally breaking the kiss, he pulls back to look at me. Everything stops as his warm brown eyes search mine. I could get lost in those eyes. They may be darkened by lust, but they tell me I can trust him. That he won’t hurt me. I give a small nod and, finally, he slides his hand beneath the elastic waistband and grazes his fingers across my throbbing clit.
“You’re soaked. Have you been waiting for me to touch you? Did you come out here looking for me?” His voice is a low growl, sending a shiver down my spine.
“No,” I breathe.
“No?” His movements stop.
“I mean yes. I want you to touch me. But that’s not why I came out here.”
He resumes his movements; slow and leisurely. His fingers easily slide against my slick heat, drawing me nearer to the edge. I buck my hips, desperate to feel him. Desperate for release. Returning his mouth to mine, he swallows my cries as he slips two fingers into me while massaging my clit with his thumb. That’s it. That pushes me over. My vision fades as wave after wave of pleasure shoots through me and my pussy pulses around his fingers.
“That’s my girl,” he breathes.
He places a kiss on my lips. My cheek. My neck. All the while he resumes his slow torturous movements across my sensitive slit while I continue to ride out my pleasure. The way he says those words is soft and gentle. Like he means them. Like I’ve given him something precious. It causes a warmth to spread across my chest as I lay there catching my breath.
“You should get to bed. You have work tomorrow,” he says.
“But you didn’t—”
“You should really get to bed.” His voice is strained, and he lessens the sting by placing another soft kiss on my lips.
I hope it isn’t regret causing him to send me off to bed. First of all, I’m an adult. And next, he is the one who initiated things. And those things were glorious.
I pull back but make no moves to get up. “Bed? Are you going to tuck me in?”
His smile looks sad as he shakes his head. “Not this time, sweetheart.”
“Okay. Goodnight.” I still make no moves to get up.
He lets out a short rumble of laughter before standing and pulling me to my feet. The sadness in his eyes combines with regret after he gives me another quick kiss. And then he sends me on my way, aroused and hoping there will be a next time.