2. Third Time’s a Charm
WHAT THE ACTUAL hell is happening?
I”ve struggled to get off with every single guy I”ve been with, and now—when I actually want it to take a few minutes so I can enjoy what’s happening—I come right out of the gate, gripping the edge of Tate”s desk, his palm pressed over my mouth.
I should have known I was in trouble the second he bent me over and pinned me in place. But when his deep voice growled in my ear about not wanting anyone to hear me come but him?
There was no coming back from that.
My ears are still ringing and my vision is still blurred when Tate uses his hold on my face to pull me upright, bringing my back to his front. ”Are you fucking kidding me, Piper?” Did you come already?” His free hand slides over my belly and down between my legs, fingers gliding through the excessive wetness there. ”Fuck,” he rasps out. “You did.” His hand presses deeper, stroking alongside where our bodies are joined. ”I think that might be a record for me.”
”Hut umfph.” I”m pissed off at him, and the muffled sound of my comeback—thanks to the hand still pressed over my mouth—only makes it worse. He should”ve paced himself. Taken a little more time to—
”Let”s see if we can make it happen again.” The pads of his fingers slide forward, tracing along each side of my clit. ”I bet we can.”
I”ve never come twice during sex before. Getting off once is hard enough. Hoping for two is the equivalent of visiting a ranch and expecting to find a unicorn.
It just isn”t going to happen.
But then Tate’s movement changes, going from hard and fast, to slow and almost languid. The difference is almost startling, and leaves my body reeling, unsure how to react. So it just decides to start this whole process all over. Like Tate pressed a magical reset button.
I guess he is working some sort of a button.
A little squeak of a sound sneaks out from behind the hand clamped over my mouth as he continues stroking me with a light touch. Tate makes a pleased humming sound that rumbles against my back and warms my ear. ”There we go. Now we”re getting somewhere.”
Knowing he”s right is irritating. He shouldn”t be this good. Shouldn”t know exactly how to touch me. Shouldn”t be able to make my body do his bidding. Yet here I am, bent over in his office, well on my way to my second orgasm in less than ten minutes.
Each thrust of his body into mine sends me closer to the edge, legs shaking as I flail around for something to hang onto. My fingers find the opposite edge of the desk just as he picks up speed, hips bouncing against the curve of my ass as he slams into me, dragging across a spot inside my body that has me seeing stars.
Is this how sex is supposed to be? Because up until now, I was under the impression it involved a lot of fumbling and random poking that never stayed consistent long enough to get me much of anywhere.
Nothing Tate’s doing seems random. Every move he makes feels calculated and controlled. Designed to ruin me forever.
And, like everything else he does, it fucking pisses me off. Not enough to make him stop, but I”m still pretty mad.
His palm slips from my mouth so his arm can band across my chest, hand gripping my shoulder as the other one continues to strum alongside my clit. His lips trail along my neck before pausing against my ear, words clipped and deep as he growls out, ”It”s time to come for me again, Piper, but you have to be quiet.”
Like the greedy, betraying bitch she is, my body complies. Clenching around him like he”s the fucking overlord of orgasms. Ruling my body as if it’s his birthright.
The hand between my legs stills, but stays put, cupping my pussy possessively as the room spins out around me. Tate buries his face against my neck, those perfectly executed movements finally becoming jerky and erratic as he continues sinking into me over and over again, each glide slicker than the last.
I”ve never been the kind of girl who gets super wet—likely due to the lack of orgasms—so the sloppy sounds coming from where our bodies meet is both shocking and a little embarrassing. Except Tate doesn”t seem bothered by it at all. The palm locked between my thighs grips tighter as he groans against my skin, cock buried to the hilt, breath ragged in my ear. “So fucking wet for me.” The heat of his front sinks into my back as he continues filling me to capacity. “Fucking perfect.”
No one’s ever called me that before. Not even close.
I’ve been called everything else though. Bitch. Slut. Tease. Whore. The list goes on and on thanks to the droves of drunk men I had to deal with while I tended bar at The Cellar.
And everyone wondered why I tazed one of them in the nuts.
Another mini tremor that might actually qualify as a third orgasm ripples through me as his dick seems to get bigger, reaching even deeper inside my body as it flexes against my clenching walls. A little sound sneaks through my lips, but I can’t tell how loud or quiet I’m actually being because the ringing in my ears is drowning out everything except the pounding of my own heartbeat.
Everything about Tate is intense. Focused. Determined. I shouldn”t be surprised that he would fuck the same way.
I am surprised, though, when he quickly releases me, sliding free of my body, leaving a dribble of wetness sliding down my thigh in his wake. He rights my panties and shorts before backing away from me, moving all the way across the room. He rakes the hand that was just between my thighs through his hair and my eyes follow the path, because I”m pretty sure he just wiped a little bit of me through the dark glossy strands.
Tate’s blue eyes don”t meet mine as he fastens his pants and shoves his T-shirt back into the waistband. ”You should go back to work since you’re leaving early today. If that guy calls, pass it through to me.” His movements are brisk as he finishes righting himself, and his tone is all business. Professional. Not at all the approach he normally takes with me.
He’s acting weird, which makes me less upset that I feel pretty weird too. Especially knowing what”s going to be in his hair for the rest of the day. I suddenly need to get the fuck out of this office. Put some distance between us. So in a move completely uncustomary for me—especially when Tate is involved—I agree. ”Okay.”
I rush for the door, flinging it open and hurrying out into the hall that stretches between the lobby at the front of the building and the shop at the back. The walls are nothing more than painted concrete block and the floor is untreated cement, but the place has always felt warm to me. Probably because it”s always filled with good food and friendly faces.
But right now I don”t want to see a friendly face. Right now I need a second alone. So I turn away from the lobby and the front desk where I work, going straight into the bathroom, closing the door and locking it behind me. Leaning against the solid metal panel, I close my eyes, pulling in deep, gulping breaths as I try to wrap my head around what just happened.
I accidentally fucked Tate.
Well. As accidentally as fucking can get.
It would be a lie to say I never thought about what it might be like, and that maybe that”s why it happened so easily. My brain had already mapped out the process, coming up with a thousand different ways it could happen. But never once did I believe it actually would. Not only because Tate is careful to keep a respectful, and professional, distance between himself and his employees, but also because he fucking hates me.
That”s fine, because I hate him back.
Over the weeks we”ve known each other, not only has he nearly broken my wrist and insulted my wardrobe, but he’s taken every opportunity to snarl in my direction. To poke at me. Purposefully saying shit he knows will piss me off and make me regret not unleashing a thousand volts into his scrotum when I had the opportunity.
The reminder of what we really are has me feeling a little more normal. Brings back my regular feelings for the man who just rocked my whole fucking world.
Which reminds me I need to pee. So I undo my pants and drop down onto the toilet, bracing my elbows on my knees and catching my head in my hands as I let out a little groan.
I don”t technically regret what happened—regret is an emotion I do my best not to waste time on—but I”m not looking forward to the rest of this day. Especially since I’ll have to spend more of it than usual with Tate.
With an audience.
I finish peeing and wad up some toilet paper, sliding it between my legs before letting out another groan as I look down and realize exactly what is on the paper.
”Fucking hell.” I clench my core like I think I can squeeze everything out of me.
Not only did I fuck Tate, but I did it without a condom. I”m not super worried about getting something from him—Tate’s a lot of things, but he’s not the kind of man who would knowingly put a woman in danger. I’m just not interested in having to deal with the other issue that can arise from unprotected sex.
After gulping in a few, calming breaths that don’t come close to calming me, I finish cleaning up, washing my hands before smoothing down my hair and going back to the front desk. Tate’s office door is closed as I pass, and I let out a little sigh of relief. I”m not sure what I would say to him, and I don”t want to find out. I have a bad habit of spewing whatever jumps into my mind, and so far I think most of the people I work with like me. I doubt they’d feel the same way if they found out I just fucked our boss.
And got off three times doing it.
”Fuck.” The word slips out before I can stop it and I wince because I know it won’t go unnoticed.
Nancy glances over at me, her graying brows pinched in concern. ”Are you okay? That dick didn”t hurt your wrist when he grabbed you, did he?”
It takes my brain a second to register what she”s talking about, because the interaction with the customer has become the least of my concerns. But it is a great cover story for any odd behavior I might exhibit, so I need to keep it fresh in my head. ”No. I was just surprised.”
Nancy rests one hand on my shoulder, offering a sympathetic smile. ”Sucks to have a vagina sometimes, doesn”t it?”
Not a statement I would currently agree with, considering mine served me well very recently, but I understand what she”s getting at, so I smile back. ”Yup.”
After another gentle pat of my shoulder, Nancy goes back to her work corner, leaving me to handle the main desk. As the afternoon passes, she occasionally comes over to check on me. Her genuine concern for my well-being makes me feel a little guilty, since it”s clear she thinks I”m upset over what happened with the customer.
I”m not. I am fucking dreading tonight. Maybe I can pretend to be sick. Maybe I can fall down some stairs.
Maybe I can disappear forever.
Two months ago, the last one might”ve been possible. But considering my best friend Lydia is now with a man who could track down just about anyone or anything, it’s a less than viable option.
Falling down stairs it is.
I glance down at the aging, hot pink walking cast on my ankle, frowning at its slightly frayed edges. Falling down stairs probably isn’t a great idea either. I’ve waited too long to be able to walk around without this uncomfortable thing making my steps wobbly and unbalanced.
The alarm on my phone goes off just as I’m weighing my sickness options, deciding between a migraine or food poisoning. I can”t claim cramps, because Tate will know with certainty I am not on my period and I don”t want him to think I”m skipping dinner tonight because of him.
Even though I am.
After pulling my phone free, I silence the alarm before turning to Nancy. ”I’m going to head out and get this stupid thing off my foot.”
Her smile seems a little bit brighter this time when she turns to me. ”I bet you”re thrilled.”
I grin back because she’s right. ”Thrilled is an understatement.” I scowl down at the thick-soled sneaker on my right foot. ”I can”t wait to wear cute shoes instead of this stupid thing.”
Nancy waves her hands at me, shooing me toward the door. ”Go then. I can”t wait to see what you pick for those feet on Monday.”
I give her a little wave, daring a quick look at the still closed door of Tate”s office as I walk to the side entry leading to the tiny employee lot.
I blow out a long breath as I drop into the driver’s seat of my well-loved third-hand sedan and start the engine, leaving the door open. It takes a second to turn over, but as soon as it does, I crank up the air conditioning. When the breeze blowing through the vents would no longer melt lava, I shut myself in and back out.
I don’t want to skip dinner tonight. I want to see Jill and Felicity and the rest of my new group of friends. But the thought of skipping dinner isn’t what has me frowning so hard I might actually end up with a migraine.
I swore I would never let a man dictate my life in any way, and if I don’t do something I want to do because of Tate, that’s exactly what I’m allowing to happen. It will make me no better than my mother. I’ll wind up sliding down the same slippery slope she did, and everything that’s happened—all I’ve done—will be for nothing.
That’s not an option. It never will be.
So, no matter how twisty my stomach gets at the thought of seeing Tate tonight, it has to happen.
Hopefully he survives it.