Chapter 29
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
MAEVE
Arms wrapped around myself, I quietly watch Tate from the doorway to the bathroom, observing him as he rubs between his brows with his fingers.
He’s sitting on the edge of the bed in the dark room, nothing but the light from the TV glowing on his sad features as he stares at the floor.
He’s been like this since the hospital called this morning.
I think he would’ve had this reaction either way, but I at least thought he might’ve felt…relieved somehow that the results came back positive?
Relieved to help his mother while still being able to set boundaries or cut her off completely on his own terms, not forced because of death.
But I think a lot of this lingering feeling he has is because of us, or more so, because of me.
We haven’t really had another conversation since we were interrupted by the phone call.
It’s been small talk since. Is it because he could tell what almost left my lips?
Could he see how absolutely stricken I was with the realization that I almost told him I loved him?
I like him.
I can’t love him. I don’t know how to do it right.
There’s no possible way that I can love Tatum because I’m just confused. I’m in our blissful bubble of sex and friendship, and I’m just…confused. That’s all.
And I really, really hate this—not talking to him.
Watching him sulk around like this is driving a screw through my heart.
With everything he has going on, I shouldn’t be adding to it.
I should be helping him relax, comforting him, not pressuring him into letting me pay for all of his stuff like I’m some sort of…
God. I must’ve really sounded like a spoiled brat.
Really great, Maeve. Good one.
Pushing from the doorframe I’d started leaning against at some point, I let my arms fall to my sides as I sigh heavily, stalking toward him. “Tatum.”
He lifts his head immediately to look up at me expectantly through his glasses. “Yeah?”
“I don’t wanna do this,” I practically whine, gritting my teeth as I swallow. “I don’t like it. I don’t like…small talk with you, okay? I don’t wanna feel like—like—”
Tate grabs my hand, and my words fall flat on my tongue.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, squeezing my fingers gently.
“I’m…” I cock my head faintly. “I’m sorry, too.”
“Come here,” he tells me, tugging on my hand, and my heart plummets to my core at that command. It’s different coming from him because I’m usually the one telling him what to do, but I think I like it when it’s the other way around.
He positions me until I’m standing between his legs, his dark eyes looking up at me as his hands find my waist, rubbing and grabbing at the small sliver of skin there, massaging and kneading while his eyes don’t waver from me.
Something about that makes my stomach flip excitedly, and I rest my hands on his shoulders as I let him continue his gentle assault with his fingers.
My body sways with the movement, and I have to fight the urge to straddle him.
His eyes flutter closed after a moment, and then he’s pressing his forehead into my sternum as he continues his massage. My fingers thread through his hair, matching the same rhythm and force of his fingers on my waist. It’s a tantalizing dance we’re doing in utter silence, but it feels so loud.
“I just have a lot on my mind,” he croaks, breaking the silence. “My brain feels so heavy.”
“What do you need, Clark?”
His massage stops, but he doesn’t lift his head. “I…”
When he doesn’t say anything else, I tug on his hair, forcing him to look up at me, and I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows.
“Tell me what you need,” I say, firmer this time, but my voice low, “I want to hear words.”
His eyes are heavy as they flicker from my eyes to my mouth and back again. “I need y-you.”
My fingers tighten their grip in his hair, and he winces slightly as a breathless gasp leaves his lips. “You have to be more specific, baby. Yeah?” I nod, and the heat that sparks through me as he nods with me should be studied. “You need to use your words, Tatum. Tell me what you need.”
His hands slide down from my waist until he’s gripping the backs of my thighs, pulling me closer. “I need to fuck you, Maeve.”
“Such a good boy,” I breathe, untangling my fingers from his hair as I grasp his face in my hands, leaning down until our lips barely graze. “I love the way you listen so well to me.”
“I’d do anything you tell me to.”
I raise a brow. “Would you?”
He nods instantly, desperately.
Sparing a glance over my shoulder, my eyes fall on the small chair in the corner of our hotel room by the closed curtains. An idea flashes in my head, and I have to keep from nearly giggling in excitement as I twist my head back to look down at him.
“Anything?” I ask, biting down on my lip.
“Yes,” he whispers up at me.
Backing away from him, his hands fall from my legs into his lap as he watches me like a lost puppy.
I shimmy out of my pajama pants, kicking them away and discarding my long-sleeved shirt until I’m standing in just my black panties.
Tate’s posture straightens as his dark eyes rake down my body, his hands rubbing on his sweats as he licks his lips.
My eyes don’t leave him as I lower myself down into the chair, leaning back and letting my legs fall apart, giving him a glimpse of the dampness that’s formed between them.
“I want you to stand up and take off your clothes,” I tell him steadily. “Then I want you to get on your knees, Clark, and crawl to me.”
I have to keep from moaning at the sight of him standing up so fast he sways to catch his balance, pulling his hoodie over his head, whisking off his glasses, and quickly working at shoving his sweats down past his massive thighs until they’re being kicked somewhere with the rest of our clothes.
His chest is heaving as he gets down on his knees, looking like a giant teddy bear as he watches me with hunger in his eyes. Lowering himself to his hands, there’s not an ounce of fear or doubt behind his gaze as he starts to crawl toward me.
One may think it would be an emasculating sight, but I’ve never seen anything hotter in my life.
His burly shoulders flex with his movements toward me, his back muscles rippling in the glow of the TV, and suddenly, I think I’m wholly obsessed with him. As he gets closer, I extend my foot out to stop him, pressing it to his warm chest and feeling his groan rumble through him.
“What do you want, baby?” I pant, not even realizing I’m out of breath until now, just by witnessing that.
“I wanna taste you,” he rushes out.
“Yeah?”
He nods, pushing his weight against my foot impatiently as he looks up at me, his mouth parted slightly as he pants, too.
“Stay,” I instruct weakly, before pulling my knees to my chest and pulling my panties down my hips slowly, until I can slide them down my calves, tossing them to the side.
Tate moans at the sight of my pussy on display for him.
“Come,” I order softly, keeping my legs pulled up as I beckon him closer with my hands, unable to hold in my moans as he crawls the rest of the way over and his mouth connects with my clit without any hesitation.
My fingers knot in his hair again as he laps at my soaking cunt, licking and sucking between groans, and I feel like I could come right here, after a mere five seconds.
Fuck.
His hands grip the backs of my thighs as he devours me, humming his approval into my pussy with each flick of his tongue.
The tip of his large nose brushes just the right spot, and I tug his head down further like there’s any extra space between us at all, eager to chase the orgasm that’s building in my core.
My legs start to shake slightly as it intensifies, and I hold my breath unsteadily as I wait for it to wash over me.
“Right…there,” I pant out. “Shit. Fuck, don’t s-stop.”
My hips jerk against his mouth as he sucks on my clit, and there’s no way he can breathe like this, but he doesn’t let up. It’s like he’s drowning in it, and something about that turns me on so much that I’m coming in no time.
The friction of his mouth on me has me falling apart at the seams, my orgasm ripping through me like wildfire, and I moan out his name like a prayer.
I ride his face through my orgasm, and he doesn’t let up, not even a little bit, not until my body sags in the chair as I pant heavily, trying to catch my breath.
When my tired eyes peek open, I see him staring up at me, his mouth and nose glistening in me with the widest smile I’ve ever seen.
His dark eyes are lit up, like I’m his prize.
“How was that?” he rasps cheekily.
With a snort, I shove his shoulder. “Shut up.”
Tate presses his face into my thigh, pressing a chaste kiss there before he laughs. “Tell me, Mae. Tell me how it was.”
I watch as he grips my thigh, wrapping his large hand around it, peering up at me with a desperate expectancy. His brown hair clings to his sweaty skin and his lips are swollen from me, and God, he’s a beautiful specimen.
“You did perfect, Clark,” I tell him breathlessly, sliding my hand down my stomach until I’m grasping his chin in my palm, swiping my thumb through the dampness there. “You’re wearing the proof of that, if you couldn’t tell.”
His smile spreads even bigger, if that’s possible. If I weren’t already out of breath, I surely would be now as he beams up at me, looking like a portrait I want to hang on my wall.
As innocent as the thought may seem, like clockwork, it has my fight-or-flight instincts kicking in.
And as usual, my first thought is to flee, as quickly as I can.
Abort mission. Change the subject. Because I’m catching feelings for him at a rate I’m losing control of, and I’m not ready for that.
I need to fix me. I need to repair what’s broken inside me before I let this happen. This can’t happen now.
But I fear, as I gaze down at his warm features, it might be too late.