Chapter Twenty-Nine
L ater that night, when I stared in the bathroom mirror, I didn’t recognize myself.
My nose was the same. My lips, ears, and apple cheeks all recognizable to me.
But my eyes had changed shape. They’d morphed into something hard, almost sinister.
They had seen my husband kill numerous people.
They had witnessed blood and terror and anguish.
They sent this message to my heart, but it was never delivered.
Because the bloody organ did not care in the least.
I should’ve been scared. But all I felt was jealousy and possessiveness that simmered beneath my skin, threatening to explode.
Watching Tate with Lila tonight unleashed something wild in me.
I found myself crossing another moral barrier, like I did when I asked Dr. Stultz not to report Tate to the authorities.
I was willing to go all in for him.
Even if I didn’t know his real name.
Even if he didn’t know what really happened with his adoptive father and me and finding out would probably ruin what we had.
Shaking my head, I flicked the tap on and rinsed my facecloth in warm water, moving it across my cheeks, forehead, and chin.
I wet it again and reached between my thighs to wipe the dry cum that clayed over my skin before thinking the better of it.
Something thrilled me about going to bed marked by my husband’s sperm.
A knock hammered on my bedroom door, and Tate shouldered past it. The door to the en suite was open, giving him a direct view of me.
I rotated, leaning against the sink. “I’m not decent.”
He was wearing his gray joggers again. No shirt. Not an ounce of fat on his body. My thighs involuntarily squeezed at the sight of him. His cheekbones were extra sharp under the dim light, his hair damp from a shower.
“I’m wearing my retainer and nightcap.”
“I can see.” He took a step closer.
My pulse skipped all over the place.
“And my nightie is horrendous.” I pointed at my stripy blue pajama shirt.
“To put it mildly,” he agreed ardently and placed an open kiss across the side of my neck, his rough fingers hiking my sleepshirt up my waist. “Let’s get rid of it.”
He pushed me against the sink, and my traitorous legs opened for him on their own accord. I grunted, clutching the vanity to steady myself.
“We can’t… I have all my bed stuff on. I don’t feel sexy.” I plucked out my retainer, setting it on the vanity behind me.
“Well, you are.” His lips crashed against mine, claiming my mouth in a bruising kiss. He thrust himself against my thigh, demonstrating the evidence of his attraction. “You’ve never looked sexier to me than right now. Guard down. Barefaced. Without the fancy heels and the pastel suits.”
The praise warmed me down to my little toes, making me feel heady, lulled inside a dream.
“The Irish want me, not you.” I tore my mouth from his. I’d had time to figure it out on our drive back home.
“I know.” He trailed kisses along my collarbone and farther south. “Collateral. They have no use of me dead. Instead, they want to blackmail me by taking the only thing I care about.”
A wave of heat rolled through my body. Perhaps my husband could never love me, but he cared for me, and in time, maybe I’d learn to live with that. Maybe it’d be enough.
“This is bound to end badly.”
“For Tiernan Callaghan,” Tate said. “Yes. Not for us.”
“Be serious. How many people will you kill to stop the Irish from kidnapping me as a bargaining chip?”
“All of them.” His head disappeared between my thighs, under my nightie. His hot, wet tongue lashed at the dry cum around my pussy, cleaning me in circular, teasing strokes, a vortex of heat that kept inching toward my aching center.
“You’re playing a very dangerous game, Tate.” My fingers threaded in his hair, messing his perfect Ivy League cut.
“I’m very good at it,” he said cockily, parting the lips of my pussy with his thumbs to reveal my clit like he was extracting a pearl, flicking the tip of his tongue teasingly around it, swirling and sucking, grinding his teeth all over it. I shuddered, my nipples puckering under the flimsy fabric.
His tongue disappeared between my folds as he began thrusting into me with it, and I clutched his head, euphoria washing over me.
He massaged my clit with his tongue and feasted on my pussy, fingers digging into my arse in a death grip, and when I came all over his tongue, he slurped it all like it was water in a desert, grabbed my waist, and dragged me down to lie on the floor beneath him.
I gasped when the backs of my legs hit the cold tiles, and he took advantage of my open mouth, tonguing me hard and making me taste my own desire for him.
He tugged my nightie up, releasing me from its confinements, and latched on to one of my nipples, drawing moans and soft purrs from me as I opened up before him, eager to welcome him in again. His cock pressed against my core.
Tate’s lips fastened over my other nipple, and he tugged and caressed the breast he just kissed while I arched myself in offering.
The way he teased me without entering me left me crazed.
But I also wanted to pleasure him back. He’d been remarkably humble by not rubbing it in my face that I’d caved to our attraction in less than a month.
The least I could do was reciprocate oral sex.
I pushed at his chest, and he immediately leaned back, giving me space. He propped against the cabinets, frowning. “Not good?” His voice was roughened.
Butterflies flocked my stomach. This man, whose knuckles were busted, who’d killed people with his bare hands, was so mindful of my slightest discomfort.
“No. I mean, yes .” I crawled between his open legs, jerking his joggers down.
His cock sprang out, head purple and gleaming, veins snaking up and down his shaft. He licked his lips in concentration, grabbing his base and reaching between my thighs to ensure I was wet enough for penetration.
“No.” I pressed my palm against his chest again. “I’m going down on you.”
His eyes widened, boyish excitement filling them, like the mere idea was unfathomable. He looked like a kid who just got the present he wanted for Christmas.
It reminded me Tate had never been allowed to be a kid.
And that his Christmases likely did not include any pressies.
You took the only person who gave him a sense of family.
Pushing back the guilt, I brought my head down to the crown of his cock.
“Wait,” he said breathlessly, scrambling up to his feet. He grabbed the edges of the countertop, staring down at me. His chest moved rapidly, abs constricting into a bulging six-pack each time he exhaled. “Shit. Fuck. Okay. I’m ready now.”
He wanted to watch.
I’d never felt more powerful in my entire life.
I wrapped my fist around his shaft and brought my lips to his crown.
I didn’t want him to know I’d never sucked cock before.
I’d done very little in the sex department.
Slept with three men, Ashley included. It wasn’t an impressive record, but up until a month ago, I’d lived my life mostly tending to my career and my mother.
Winging it, I wrapped my lips around the tip, trailing my gaze up his torso to check his reaction. His eyes were fixed on me, heated with possessiveness. I rubbed my lips around his crown awkwardly, unsure what to do. He seemed content with that.
“Look at you, darling.” He reached to cup my cheek, his tone dripping pure affection. “You’re taking it so well.”
I nearly laughed at that. I barely covered the tip. I slowly inched forward, covering a bit of his shaft. The tip hit the roof of my mouth, filling it with a salty, earthy taste. He was hard but velvety. So velvety. I stopped myself from gagging.
He didn’t move, didn’t thrust into my mouth like I heard some men did. With the patience of a saint, he allowed me to hold on to his cock and slowly explore the art of oral. “Take as much time as you need,” he hissed, sounding in pain. “There’s no right or wrong way of doing it.”
I pulled his cock out of my mouth and pressed the tip of my tongue to the slit. It was extra salty. I gasped.
“You’ve never…” He swallowed hard. “You’ve never sucked cock before, Gia?”
I shook my head, embarrassed.
Tate tipped his head back and cupped his cheeks. “My fucking God, the woman that you are. You can snare me into death, and I’d say fucking thank you.”
After that encouraging praise, I tried everything. Suckling, licking, spitting. I suckled his ball sack into my mouth, then decided to take as much of his cock as possible until his tip hit the back of my throat. That really got him going. His breathing quickened.
“You can come in my mouth if you want,” I murmured around his cock.
“Nice try, sweetheart.” He gently pulled his penis from my mouth and offered me his hand. I took it. I followed him into my bedroom. “On the edge of the bed on all fours,” he instructed.
I did as I was told, crawling onto the plush linen.
The mattress dipped as he climbed onto it behind me.
It suddenly struck me that despite the fact that we’d been messing around for a while now, we’d never done it in a proper bed and never missionary style.
Our hookups always had a filthy, tainted feel to them.
We didn’t make love. We made hate filled with desire.
He never allowed for my soul to touch his.
For our heartbeats to crash against one another.
“Three strokes.” Tate’s gravelly tenor pierced my thoughts.
His cock slid into me effortlessly despite its size, gliding through my narrow, sleek channel.
“That’s how long I’m gonna last.” He drew circles with his cock inside me, filling me to the brim and making me whimper.
He pushed two fingers into my mouth roughly, fucking it with them.
“Your pussy takes my cock so good, and now we’ll practice you taking it in the mouth too.
” He grunted. “You’ve been a magnificent PA, but this is your best job yet, Apricity. ”