Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
They shed their clothes quickly between Alyssia’s office, and the bathroom. When she bent over to turn on the water, Tate glided a hand up her thigh, and over her ass, cupping the cheek.
She sighed and leaned into him, pressing her bare back against his chest. She wouldn’t linger on how right this all felt, just on how good.
He drew his palm up her stomach, and between her breasts, though he never touched them.
He rested his hand at the base of her neck, and held her tight.
Every touch was another claim staked on her skin.
Another searing mark holding them together.
He drew back the shower curtain and nudged her into the tub. Seconds later, he stood behind her again, as the hot water sluiced over them. She reached behind her to grab the hard length pressing into her butt.
He grabbed her wrist with a, “Tsk,” and then kissed up the side of her neck, lips vibrating against her skin. “Patience.”
She ground against him, satisfied when his erection jerked in response. “I’ll try.”
He reached over her shoulder, grabbed the body wash, and poured a generous dollop into his hand before setting the bottle back on its shelf. A shock of cold raced over her when he rested his hand on her stomach again, and she squeaked.
“Sorry.” He sounded anything but. “I guess we need to warm it up.” He drew his palms over her skin.
Up her chest, down her thighs, everywhere but the bits of her aching to be touched.
She gasped when he trailed along the back of her legs, behind the knees, and groaned when he slipped over the insides of her wrists.
With her entire body begging to be touched, new erogenous zones spread everywhere.
She cried out when he finally cupped her breasts, and a new spark of pleasure filled her.
“God, I love your tits.” His grip slid over her skin.
“Gorgeous, pink nipples. Perky.” He squeezed, and she squirmed in pleasure.
“Sensitive.” He kept one hand on her chest, and the other slipped lower.
“But this.” He pushed between her folds.
“What do you sound like when you’re not worried about someone hearing you scream when you come? ”
She swayed her hips against his touch. “You’re welcome to find out.”
He pulled away from her clit. “I was hoping you’d say that.” He moved both hands to cup her ass, and slid a finger between her thighs. Soap slithered down her skin, pooled at her feet, and then washed down the drain.
He reached over her, and grabbed the shower head. “I’ve always wondered, if you get the full enjoyment out of this.”
Embarrassment and a new level of arousal pulsed between her legs. She fought the desire to confess he was frequently the focus of those fantasies. “I might.”
He moved the head along her skin, letting the water flow over her, and rinse away the soap. He nudged one of her legs forward with his knee, and brought the shower head to rest between her thighs. “God, I’d like to watch that sometime.”
The idea of putting on a show for Tate pooled in her belly, tugging at some of her more vivid fantasies of him walking in on her. With the water pounding against her clit, his other hand still sliding between her legs from behind, and the vivid pictures in her mind, orgasm threatened her senses.
He pulled away before she climaxed. “Not yet.” He whispered.
She liked this teasing. She took the showerhead from him, replaced it, and filled her own palm with soap. “Your turn.” She whirled to face him.
He raised his brows. “What did you have in mind?”
“It’s a shower. So, getting clean.” She tried to repeat what he’d done just a few moments ago. Soaping over his chest, up his legs, everywhere but his stiff shaft.
He leaned a hand on the tile, and lowered his head until his forehead met hers. “You’re killing me, Lys. I need your hands wrapped around my cock.”
His groan when she obliged tickled all her senses. She kept her grip loose, stroking slowly, deliberately, sliding over every inch of his member. He lifted her chin, and crushed his lips to hers, devouring her. Driving the kiss through her. He broke away, and held her gaze. “Turn around.”
“I don’t—”
“Turn around.” He emphasized each word.
A pleasant shudder filled her at the command in his voice, and she spun away from him. He placed his hand between her shoulder blades, and pushed. She took the hint, bending at the waist, and pressed her hand against the edge of the tub for support.
“I can’t behave around you.” The head of his cock slid down the crack of her ass, then nudged her pussy. She let out a loud cry when he thrust inside without any further fanfare. “Fuck, you’re so tight. So slippery.” His words were punctuated by groans.
He gripped her hips, fingers digging into the skin, leaving more invisible marks. Each time he pounded against her, he hit something inside. Striking the pleasure spot hard, fast, and frantic. The orgasm she’d been drawn back from rushed forward again, and she teetered on the edge.
His other hand reached around her. When he bumped her clit, climax washed away her thoughts. It rushed over her, and penetrated every inch of her mind and body. She lost herself in the hard grinding from behind, and was only vaguely aware of him coming. Grunting and filling her.
Her senses slowly drifted back in, and her legs wobbled. He helped her stand, and pulled her back into him again.
He wrapped his arms around her, and kissed her neck. “Dirtiest shower I’ve ever had.”
She chuckled, and pulled his arms tighter, sinking into the embrace. Burning the moment into her memories.
When they caught their breath, they finished showering. This time Tate was tender as he rinsed her off, and she returned the favor. They toweled off, and she led him back into the bedroom.
He tugged her into the bed, wrapped himself around her, and pulled the blanket over them both.
He didn’t speak, and she didn’t dare shatter the moment by saying anything.
If she could only have him for right now, she was going to enjoy the moment for all it was worth.
Tomorrow, when he had to leave, she’d deal with that. Right now, he was still here.
* * *
Tate extracted himself from Lys’s sleeping form.
She frowned in her sleep and rolled over.
An ache spread inside him, knowing that he had to walk away.
Which was exactly the reason he needed to leave.
He shouldn’t have mixed business with pleasure.
He gave her one last look, resisted the urge to lean in and kiss her on the forehead, and padded into the other room for the change of clothes she’d brought him.
His brows rose, and curiosity tickled his senses when he saw what she’d grabbed.
On weekends—those he wasn’t working anyway—he was a board shorts and T-shirt kind of guy.
She’d grabbed him a pair of jeans, and a black and white button-down shirt with a dragon wrapped around the back and shoulders.
He’d completely forgotten he had it. Vivian had given it to him as a gag gift.
And it planted a tiny, rebellious idea in his head for tomorrow, at his parents’ Memorial Day barbeque. He finished dressing, left Lys a note thanking her for everything—but not saying anything else—and locked the door behind him on his way out.
It was best this way. For her, probably for him, and for the lucky, future Mister Alyssia Tippins.
* * *
Alyssia shuffled through her town house, operating on autopilot. Her brain was spinning to grasp a thought, a feeling, or something just out of her reach. Waking up alone in bed left her conflicted. It wasn’t a new thing, or an unexpected one, but it still drilled an empty pit into her thoughts.
She poured herself a glass of juice, struggling to make sense of what was going on in her head.
This was who Tate was. For as long as she could remember, even being a girl and playing house.
At the time his actions had just been those of a stupid boy who thought he was smarter than her because he was older.
He’d always boasted that he was never having a wife, or a family, and that house was a dumb game for kids who thought cartoons were real life.
Even though his delivery had changed, his views hadn’t much. In fact, she’d never seen Tate date anyone. He occasionally made a tabloid page, if he hooked up with the right celebrity, but he didn’t do repeats. He was adamant about that.
Someone knocked on her front door and hope surged inside.
She beat it back. It wasn’t going to be Tate.
What was wrong with her? She was sucking big time at this staying detached thing.
She forced herself to walk at a normal pace to see who it was.
Despite her mental insistence, disappointment flooded her when she saw a stranger on the other side of the peephole. She opened the door.
The guy looked up from his clipboard. “I’m looking for Lisa Tippins.”
“Alyssia.” She corrected him without thought. Years ago, the mistake bothered her. She was used to it now.”
He handed her a stack of stapled, folded papers. “You’re named as the defendant in the case of Bryce Thompson versus Alyssia Tippins and the Great ‘n’ Small Animal Shelter. Have a nice day.”
“Thank you…” She trailed off when he turned away before she finished.
His words sank in, and bile rose in her throat.
Thompson was suing her now? Crap. She unfolded the complaint and scanned it.
So much legalese. His lawyers probably made more writing this letter than she did in a week.
Her insides knotted themselves until she couldn’t breathe.
She plopped into the middle of the floor, and folded her legs underneath herself. Calm down. She needed to calm down.
When the spots stopped dancing in front of her eyes, she read the letter again. It was so wordy, but as far as she could tell, he was suing her for keeping the dog after he’d brought it in for standard care, and for the slander and harassment that accompanied her calling the cops on his son.
Fuck, this was so bad. She needed help. The lawyer she kept on retainer would charge extra for a Sunday call.
What was she going to do? She forced herself to her feet, and found her phone in the bedroom, on the nightstand.
Her fingers were pulling up a phone number before she registered whose it was.
She paused, thumb hovering over the Dial button, then cleared Tate’s number from the screen.
What was he going to do? It didn’t make sense to call Jared, either.
He’d be concerned, but it wasn’t like he could do any more than tell her to call her attorney.
Her fingers twitched against her phone, tapping the plastic frame.
What was she supposed to do? She couldn’t just sit around.
Waiting would devour her. She’d go to the office, catch up on some paperwork.
Her mind whirred over the situation as she drove.
Painting possible outcomes, making each scenario worse.
Could she lose the shelter over this? What if the crowd-funding didn’t pan out?
What would happen to all the animals? She needed to update her list of where she could send them.
What if the other local shelters didn’t have room?
By the time she turned down the street for the shelter, her thoughts ran rampant, throbbing against her skull. Beating out a merciless rhythm. Her world darkened several more shades when the shelter came into view. Five people stood on the sidewalk outside the fence, holding signs.
Puppy-napper
Animal abusers like you should rot in hell
She forced herself to look away, and ignored their shouts and waved fists as she pulled into the parking lot. Fortunately, no one was near the back employee entrance.
Fuck. What was she going to do now? She settled into her desk, mind working at high speed for a solution.
She needed to reply publicly. Regardless of what Tate said, these people had seen the shelter on TV, and that’s where she needed to make sure people saw her rebuttal.
She dialed Sara’s extension. If her assistant wasn’t in, she’d leave her a message.
Alyssia was surprised when she answered on the first ring. “Hey.” Sara’s cheery tone was strained. “I didn’t think you were in today.”
“Same for you.” The small crowd outside must be impacting everyone.
Of course, that made sense. Her employees were as dedicated to the shelter as she was.
“I was just going to leave you a message, but since you’re here…
on Tuesday, will you call up the TV station, the same one that ran the piece on us last week, and tell them I’d like to talk to them.
Clear things up?” There, that wasn’t so hard.
“Actually, funny you should mention that.” Sara’s laugh sounded forced. “I just got off the phone with them about half an hour ago. They want the same thing, sooner rather than later, so they can air it on Wednesday night.”
“That’s great. Isn’t it?” She didn’t know if she was asking Sara, or herself.
“It seems like it, right?”
“Absolutely.” Alyssia forced herself to smile, and hoped it would reflect over the line.
“Tell them I’ll make time, whenever they’d like between now and then.
” She exchanged a few more words about work and life with Sara, and then disconnected.
That had gone easier than she thought. So why was her gut souring at the thought of doing the interview?