8. If it Itches, Scratch it
I SCOFF, MY rage leveling up at the amount of audacity he’s managed to cram into this tiny room. “Not everything is about you, Ta—” My brain fully catches up to what he said and my words die out, a slow smile replacing the snarl on my lips. “Why would me talking to another man piss you off?”
I see it the minute Tate registers what he said. The inference it made. His eyes barely widen and I know I’ve taken the upper hand in the fight that is about to unfold. A thrill ripples up my spine, like fire racing along a fuse, the heat from it spreading, making my heart race and my stomach flip. I love to argue. Love standing up for myself. Proving no one pushes me around.
But instead of arguing with me—trying to convince me I misunderstood—Tate prowls closer, backing me across the room with slow, predatory steps. “Why have you been avoiding me all week?”
He’s ignoring my question so I decide to ignore his. “Shouldn’t you be out there talking with your fans?” The last word reminds me about the gorgeous woman with amazing tits who’d caught his attention during the last break, and the snarl returns to my lips. “How are you supposed to find someone to take home tonight if you’re back here with me?” I manage to seal my lips together, but not before the damage is done.
In the same way I didn”t miss Tate’s earlier comment, he sure as fuck doesn”t miss mine. His ocean blue eyes seem to glimmer in the shadows of the poorly lit storage room as a wicked smile works its way onto his face. ”Is that a hint of jealousy I detect in your tone, Sugar?”
“Right.” I force out a laugh. ”Why the hell would I be jealous?”
Tate closes in on me, each movement careful. Methodical. Like a predator circling his prey. ”Because it would be someone else coming hard for me tonight instead of you.”
I attempt to school my features as my back hits the wall, but self-control has never been my strong suit. If I don”t say it with my mouth—which is rare—my face absolutely gives me away. And, based on Tate’s triumphant smile, this moment is no exception.
”Is that what”s wrong?” His body presses flush to mine, pinning me against the cool cement. ”You want to punish me for even considering bringing someone else into my bed?”
It”s taking every bit of effort I have to continue breathing. To keep my focus on something besides the hard line of him pressing into my belly. ”Why would I care who”s in your bed? I”ve never been there.” I almost wince, because I hear it plainly this time. The jealousy he”s so gleefully identified. It”s ugly and angry and lined with teeth. Ready to bite anything that gets too close.
Hopefully the opportunity arises.
”You sound bothered by that, Sugar. Did I offend you by not inviting you upstairs the other night?” Tate”s voice is dark and deep. Rippling over my skin as he zeroes in, hitting all the pain points I work so hard to hide.
I”ve always been jealous of what other people have. Always been angry. Reactive. Stubborn, defiant, and occasionally unhinged. Part of me reveled in the extremes of my emotions and my willingness to use them for my own benefit.
But now they”re being used against me, and for the first time in my life I”m regretting the freedom I”ve given them.
I lift my chin, digging deep, falling back on the biggest weapon I have before lashing out in the hope I can cut him back. ”Hardly. Considering what the rest of your house looks like, I imagine it”s nothing more than a mattress on the floor.”
My insult doesn”t seem to hit the way I expect it to. Instead of being pissed at my accuracy or embarrassed over the state of his home, Tate’s smile holds as he leans closer, resting one forearm against the wall beside my head. ”Jealous and psychic.”
I grab the anger I”ve carried so many years, pulling it closer as I stare him down. ”I”m not jealous.” I say it with conviction—with certainty—managing to sound truthful and spite of the pit in my stomach.
Tate’s dark brows lift. ”Is that so?” His free hand comes to my face, one finger tracing the line of my jaw, following it down to rest under the point of my chin before pressing up until his eyes hold mine. ”So you’d be fine with me bringing a woman home tonight then, right?”
I force on a smile, even though I feel like throwing up at the thought of watching Tate lead that beautiful, big-tittied woman through his front door. ”Of course.” I hold his gaze, refusing to look away. ”Maybe we can carpool. I”m sure my new friend wouldn”t mind driving us all back to the neighborhood in his BMW.”
Any hint of amusement leaves Tate’s face as his eyes narrow and his jaw clenches. He presses tighter to me, and there”s no missing that arguing has the same effect on him as it does on me. The hard line of his dick digs into my belly as his nose meets mine. ”You would let him fuck you?”
I lift my chin higher, trying to look miffed. ”Why shouldn”t I? Women need their itches scratched too.”
I would never have taken that man home. Not only because I live with Christian and Lydia, and that would just be weird, but because he did nothing for me. Was he handsome? Of course. Also smart and well-spoken and not afraid to put himself in the middle of something to protect a woman who might have been in a bad position.
But he had perfect fingernails. The edges were rounded and smooth and his cuticles were clipped. When he introduced himself and shook my hand, there wasn”t a single callous on his palm. It was enough to wither any lady boner I might have gotten at his well-dimpled, professionally whitened smile.
”Is that your problem?” The hand Tate still has pressed under my chin drops, the wide width of his warm palm moving to grip my bare leg. His skin is rough and scrapes against me, a reminder of everything he”s capable of. All he’s done. “You’ve got an itch?” His lips skim along the line of my neck, sending goosebumps racing along my skin. “Because I’m pretty sure that guy out there would leave you wanting.”
Tate might not be as rich as that guy out there. He might not have an expensive wardrobe or a luxury sedan, but I don”t doubt for a single second any woman he”s with would never want for anything. And he wouldn”t have to open his wallet for a single bit of it. He would make it all happen with his exceptionally capable hands.
“Why do you think that?” My voice is breathy and weak. Stolen by the sensation of one of those capable hands climbing higher on my thigh, dragging the hem of my dress along with it.
“Because he doesn’t know how you are.” Tate’s rough fingers tease along the edge of my lace thong. “And his cock will shrivel when he finds out how fucking hard you bite.”
My eyes widen and I’m not sure if I’m flattered or insulted by his observation. “I haven’t bitten you.”
“Not true.” Tate’s qualifier comes immediately. Like he knew what I was going to say before I said it. “You bite me every chance you get.”
I try to hold my scowl, but part of me is preening at his assessment of me. Hearing him acknowledge my temperament. ”Don”t act like you don”t like it.”
Tate’s expression hardens, almost like he”s mad at me. ”I don”t like it.” The slow drag of his finger along the edge of my panties is about to drive me insane, but his next words manage to steal all my attention anyway. ”I fucking love it. It”s one of the biggest problems I’m dealing with.” His finger hooks under the lace as his body presses even harder into mine. “Because I know I shouldn”t be touching you, Piper.”
My heart is racing and my breath is rushing in and out like I”m a panting dog. Maybe I am. Most accurately, a bitch in heat. ”I disagree.” I try to wiggle around in an attempt to work those teasing fingers closer to the spot I want them. ”You seem so sure that guy couldn”t get me off, but now I”m wondering if you might not be able to do it either.”
Tate growls–fucking growls–his blue eyes boring into me. ”You fucking know I can get you off.”
”Do I though?” I clench my hands in his T-shirt, needing to hold onto something before I attempt to climb him like a tree so I can rub myself against him until I get what I want. ”That could have been a fluke.”
”Three fucking flukes.” His words are the same growl he made earlier, scraping from his lips as one of his heavy boots kicks my feet apart. The hand that has been taunting me, shoves down the front of my panties, fingers separating my pussy lips before zeroing in on my clit with unerring precision.
My hips buck at the sudden, intense contact, and I let out a strangled moan. He circles with perfect pressure, pace never faltering as he works me up and sends me over the edge, a smug smile curving his lips as I shudder against his touch.
”You don”t have to bait me, Sugar. If you want me to make you come, all you have to do is ask.” His fingers are still between my thighs, sliding back to glide between over the slippery wetness he caused.
I know I just got off, but that little rendezvous in his office has turned me into not just a bitch in heat, but a greedy bitch in heat, so one orgasm doesn’t really feel like enough. ”Then make me come again.”
Tate lets out a low chuckle that vibrates from his chest to mine. ”You”re a demanding little thing, aren”t you?” The fingers he so expertly wields sink into me and my head tips back, eyes slipping closed as he works my body with slow strokes. It feels amazing, but it”s not enough. I need more to get me where I want to go.
And now that I know all I have to do is ask… ”I want your cock.”
The second the demand is out of my lips, I”m desperate for it. Empty and hollow and filled with unmet need. I grab at the waistband of his pants, working them open. ”Get inside me now.” The hard line of his cock springs free, and I grip it tight, hooking one leg around his hips as I push up on my toes, hoping he takes the hint and gives me what I want.
What I need.
With another low growl, he yanks my panties to the side and grips my hips with one strong hand, hefting me higher before sinking deep, bottoming out in one merciless move.
My eyes roll back so far I swear I can see my blissed-out brain. There’s nothing hesitant or cautious about this man. He”s just as rough around the edges as I am. Just as aggressive. Just as reactive.
At least with me, and that’s all I care about.
I link both arms around his neck, fingers spearing into his dark hair. I hold on for dear life as each slam of his body bounces me against the wall. It”s hard. It”s fast. It”s a little desperate, and that’s what I love most about it. Tate fucks me like he can”t help it. Like he couldn”t stop if he wanted to. Like this whole fucking building could burn down around us and he would keep going, untouched by the flames.
I appreciate his dedication. I’m not usually the kind of girl guys get all wound up over. I’m not sweet and soft. I”m not particularly interesting or worldly. I can”t cook, don”t love to clean, and I hate sports to the depths of my soul. The best I have to offer is a nice pair of tits and a can-do attitude, and those don’t get you as far as you’d think. But they got me here, so I shouldn’t complain, because right here is pretty fucking spectacular.
The hand on my hip grips so tight I”ll have fingerprint shaped bruises in the morning, and the other tangles into my hair, fisting tight to hold me in place as he continues fucking me with abandon. Like his life depends on it.
And like last time, that desperation does crazy things to me, and has me sailing straight toward a second, consuming climax.
”Tate.” His name is more wail than anything. ”I”m coming.” My pussy clenches around the thickness of his cock. ”I”m coming.” The release blasts through me, sending my nails digging into his skin and my head once again dropping against the concrete, this time a little harder. But it barely makes contact, because Tate”s palm glides higher, cradling my skull to buffer the impact as his hips still, body rocking into mine as he groans into my hair. The flex of his cock as he comes sends another ripple of pleasure through me and I clench around him, earning myself another grating groan.
I let out a long sigh as my body goes limp. Every inch of me is relaxed and possesses the integrity of unset Jell-O.
Right up until something buzzes against my ass cheek. I let out a yelp, grabbing Tate tighter as my body tenses.
”Fuck.” He carefully unwinds my leg from his hip, keeping one arm around me as I try to regain my balance. The other hand digs into the front pocket of his jeans, pulling out the cell phone that stole my last few seconds of enjoyment and dragged me right back to reality. He swipes across the screen, not even waiting for whoever”s on the other end of the line to say anything. ”I”ll be right out.”
Ending the call, he shoves it into the back of his pants, eyes moving over my face. ”It’s time for our third set.”
I manage to hold myself upright as the arm across my back relaxes a little. After adjusting my panties and straightening my dress, my restless hands start fluffing my hair. ”You should probably get back out there then.”
This feels awkward. Way more awkward than the aftermath in his office, so I push at his chest. ”Go.” I try to give him a dirty look. “Before I bite you.”
Tate’s lips pull into a slow smile as he goes to work putting his clothes back in order. “Someone seems pissed they didn’t get number three this time.”
My skin flushes, heating at the mention of another orgasm in spite of the two mind-bending ones I just had. “Guess you’ll just have to owe me one.”