20. Spray Starch has Many Uses
“HOW DO I look?” I do a spin, grinning in spite of everything.
Everything being my horrible outfit, my ugly brace and the fact that Tate wouldn”t let me touch him last night.
Or this morning.
It”s an odd thing to want to complain about only receiving orgasms instead of giving them, but I”m just about there. I enjoy everything he does—a lot. But I would also enjoy making him feel good—especially with how much he’s struggling—and he is taking that joy from me. If we didn”t have to go down to the stupid breakfast and stupid lecture thing, I’d throw a whole hissy fit until he let me put my mouth on his cock.
Yet another thing I never expected to ask for.
Tate’s frown is as deep as I”ve ever seen it as he glares at my outfit. “Do you want my honest opinion?”
I prop both fists on my hips, blowing out a breath, because as much as I want to get my hands on him, I need him to get his head in the game more. “I want your opinion on how well I”m going to fit in. I understand you don”t like the way I look. I don”t like it either. But it”s a necessary evil.” I wiggle my brows at him, hoping I can lighten up his mood. “Just like me.”
His lips twitch, making me think my tactic worked. “I like a little evil.”
I launch myself toward him, hooking both arms around his neck. “That”s good, because when the assholes here figure out what I”ve done, they’re absolutely going to call me evil.”
Any hint of a smile Tate’s mouth had flattens into a hard line. “They better not say shit about you. I”ll—”
“You’ll do whatever it takes to get these women out safely.” I boop him on the nose with a smile, because I love how protective he is of me. I can almost feel it healing the shattered bits of my past.
Even if it’s kind of a pain in the ass.
“I have complete faith in you.” I push up on my toes, letting my front rub against his. “You will get all of us out of here and then we can go back to normal.”
“What if I don”t want to go back to normal?” One of Tate’s wide palms moves from where it”s gripping my hip to slide under the cotton of my modest button up. “What if I want things to be different than they were?”
“I think I know what you”re getting at.” I lower my voice, like there”s a secret being shared only between us. “You want me to be more professional at work.”
Tate growls, his expression unamused as the hand under my shirt curves around my breast and the other one flattens against my ass, pulling me tighter to him. “You can be as unprofessional as you want to be at work, Sugar.” He leans down, tracing my nose with the tip of his. “But when work’s over, I think you should start coming home with me.”
I swallow hard at the offer. Not because I don”t want to take him up on it, I do. That”s part of the problem. My fears about losing myself and my voice are getting weaker with every second I’m around him, but they’re still there. And my issues aren’t the only ones causing problems.
“I”m pretty sure everyone at work will notice if we start coming and going together.” I try to pull out of his embrace at the reminder of what’s holding him back.
But Tate only grips me tighter. “Then I”ll tell them the truth.” His thumb drags across my nipple through the thin fabric of my turquoise blue bralette. “I want you with me all the time, Piper. I”ll make them understand this is different.”
“What if they disagree?” I understand where he”s coming from. I want to believe this is different too. I want to believe I can trust him. I want to believe I can trust myself. I”m just not sure it”s true. “Aren”t you worried about Nancy?”
“You said what we do is none of Nancy”s business.” His lips trail across my jawline and down my neck. “And I”ve decided I agree with you. I didn”t betray them. I didn”t manipulate you. I didn”t do anything wrong. And if they can”t see that, then they haven”t been paying enough attention to the kind of man I am.”
I swallow hard, because I have been paying attention to the kind of man he is. Closely. And I”m still struggling. Still terrified. Because what if I end up being the same kind of woman my mother is? What if I lose myself in him? What if I put him on a pedestal? Raise him up above everyone else in my life? I can”t take that risk. And until I”m sure it won”t happen, I have to be careful.
“Let’s not worry about that. We have way more important things to deal with.” I glance at my watch. “Like being downstairs in five minutes.”
Tate’s lips curve into a slow smile. “That gives me just enough time to offer a little persuasion.”
I yelp as his hands shift, gripping my waist and hauling me up, feet dangling off the ground as he steps to the bed and deposits me right on the edge. Before I fully have my bearings, my long skirt is flipped up, smacking me in the face, and Tate’s strong hands grab me behind the knees, tipping me the rest of the way back. I barely get the fabric of my skirt shoved down to my chin before he”s got a finger hooked in the side of my matching turquoise thong and pulls it to the side.
There’s no time to brace before his mouth is on me. Hot and relentless and demanding.
It”s been less than an hour since he woke me up the same way. Tate has quickly learned exactly how to touch me, and soon all I can think about is how good it feels. Hopefully he”s not the kind of man who likes a challenge, because the steady flick of his tongue against my clit has my thighs clenching around his head in record time, coming yet again.
As my body goes limp, he kisses down the inside of my thigh, righting my panties before giving me a smug smile. “Didn”t even need the whole five minutes.”
Tate rises to his feet, snagging my hands and pulling me up with him. “You ready, wife?” All the aggravation and irritation coloring his expression earlier is gone. It”s almost like getting me off legitimately makes him happy. And as much as I love that, I”m starting to get a little jealous.
Because I would like to be that kind of happy too.
“I guess.” I smooth out my skirt and try to adjust my hair. “Do I look like your head was just between my thighs?”
He leans in, pressing a kiss to my lips. “You look perfect.” One hand clasps mine as he tugs me toward the door.
“You didn”t answer my question.” I use my free hand to feel around my head, doing my best to do damage control on what I can’t see. As Tate leads me from the room, his hand comes to rest on my back, keeping me close as we make our way to the elevator. We’re not alone in the hallway, and I”m a little confused about why he’s still touching me. From what I”ve seen, and what Myra told me, these men basically act like their wives don”t exist when they’re in groups like this. Sort of an amped up version of, ‘the adults are talking’.
So far Tate has abided by that unspoken rule, but today he seems to have changed his mind. Because the warmth of his palm doesn”t leave my body as we crowd into the elevator. It doesn”t budge as we move out and into the lobby. It stays put as we file to the auditorium being used for today”s... Presentation? Sermon? Lecture? I don”t fucking know what to call it, but I”m pretty sure it”s gonna suck.
When we reach the double doors leading into the space, I discover I might not actually find out. The room inside is full of only men. There”s not a woman in sight, which leads me to believe we will once again be separated. That’s turning out to be pretty fucking inconvenient since we discovered last night when we tried to check in with Christian that the cell-service in this hotel is absolute shit, so my ability to communicate with Tate will be limited.
I start to square my shoulders, preparing to pump myself up for what”s coming, but then I remember I’m supposed to look meek and mild. Lifting my chin and straightening my spine will not fall under that umbrella.
Tate”s eyes shift from the auditorium to the hallway, finding a second set of double doors open further down. “I don”t like this. How will I know if you need me?”
I keep my eyes down and resist the urge to touch him–to soothe him. “It will be fine.”
I hope I”m right. I know I will be fine, but I”m starting to question if Tate will or not. Pretending to be something I’m not, has turned out to be much easier than I expected, but Tate isn”t feeling the same. I know he’s struggling, but I don”t know how to help, and that’s frustrating the shit out of me. I feel like a good dick sucking might make it better, but he simply won”t let it happen. It”s almost like he”s punishing—
My eyes lift to his face as realization dawns. Tate is punishing himself. He”s punishing himself for shit he hasn”t even done. Proving he will never be like them.
I almost smile at this major discovery and can’t wait to confront him with it. Convince him he’s being stupid. But when I lift my eyes, the worry and anger on Tate’s face steals my temporary joy.
“I”ll be fine. Really.” I wrack my brain, trying to come up with a way I can communicate with him, but nothing reasonable comes to mind.
Unreasonable, though… Now, that I”m great at.
“How about, if I need you—really need you— I”ll pull the fire alarm.”
A little of the misery in his expression dissipates, and one side of his mouth quirks. “Are you also going to set a fire so it”s a legitimate alarm?”
I lift one shoulder. “I guess it depends on the situation.”
Even more of his discontent filters away. “As much as I hope you don”t need me, I would love to see this whole thing get fucked up by a fire drill.”
I back away, because if I don”t go now, people will start to question why we’re lingering together when everyone else is separating. “I guess we”ll see what the good Lord has in his plan then.”
Tate huffs out a quiet laugh. “Be careful.”
I wiggle my brows. “Always.” Then I turn and fall in line with the rest of the women, moving through the second set of open doors to find our room is way less impressive than the auditorium Tate’s in.
Shocker.
Instead of upholstered, graduated seating with armrests, we get metal folding chairs on a flat floor. While the men get a beverage and snack station featuring coffee with a variety of creamers, juices, and Danishes, we get a case of unrefrigerated bottled water.
Awesome.
Luckily, Tate fed me breakfast this morning. And while the scrambled eggs and sausage he cooked up on the griddle aren”t sitting perfectly, my belly is full, so I only miss the Danishes a little.
Scanning the setup, I try to decide where I want to sit. I sure as fuck don”t want to sit in the front, but sitting in the back doesn”t seem like a good idea either. I”m trying to blend in, which means the middle is probably my best bet.
I give my skirt and hair one last smooth-over before going toward the chairs. I notice Lucy’s sitting in the second seat of the row directly in front of me. Like last night, she’s staring at me intensely. Obvious enough that other people will notice. Hoping I can get her to fucking stop, I slide into the seat beside her, and give her sweet smile. Keeping my voice low, I say, “You can”t stare at me like that. Someone”s going to see and wonder why you’re so focused on me.”
“I didn”t know how else to get your attention.” Her eyes shift around as she wrings both hands in her lap. “When can we go?”
“That depends.” I tuck my legs under my seat as a woman sidesteps in front of us, making her way to a chair further down our row. Once she”s out of earshot, I turn back to Lucy. “When can you get everyone together?”
Lucy”s brows pinch together. “We’re together now.” Her eyes move again, and this time I notice she”s not scanning the room like I thought, she”s looking pointedly at the two women sitting in front of us and whoever’s at my back.
To avoid being obvious, I try to pretend my chair is having issues, and I reach around to grip the back, like I”m attempting to adjust it. As I do, my eyes fall on the woman behind me. Her already fair skin is so pale I’m a little worried she might pass out. She grips the small palms of the little girls beside her, holding their hands tightly. I know I”m not supposed to be drawing attention to myself, but I can”t make myself look away from this mother and her daughters. I knew seeing her would hit me hard, and it has. My throat is tight and my eyes burn. Because I”m so fucking proud of her.
I”m also sad. Maybe a little jealous.
But all of it strengthens my resolve. Makes me even more determined to finish what we started. To get them the fuck out of here so they can live life on their own terms.
I turn back to Lucy. “Do we need to go back to your rooms to get your things?”
Lucy shakes her head at me. “We don”t want to take anything with us. We just want to be done.”
I understand. I did the same thing years ago. Maybe not for the exact same reason, but one that is shockingly close.
I know what it”s like to desperately need to get away. To be willing to leave it all behind. And I don”t want to make them wait.
I don”t want to wait either. I”m ready to get the fuck out here too.
So I look from the women in front of me back to Lucy. “I have a plan.”
I list out what I need them to do and when I need them to do it. When I”m sure they understand, I raise one hand to my mouth and rest the other one on my belly. I try to fake a retching sound, but my stomach is a little funny this morning, and I”m afraid forcing it might actually lead to an all-too-real reaction. So I jump up from my chair, gripping my face and my stomach as I rush from the room, hoping my act is believable, and no one will connect the dots.
At least not until we’re far away from here.
Once I”m out of the room, I release my face and stomach, looking up and down the hall. I don”t see what I’m seeking, so I hurry away from the small conference room and the auditorium beyond it, hoping I don”t have to search the whole fucking building but willing to do it if I have to. I scan the walls in front of me and peek down every corridor I pass. After five minutes of searching, I”m starting to get frustrated.
I reach a swinging door with a small window at the top. Peeking through the window into the laundry room on the other side, I notice all the machines are running, but the place is deserted. I push open the door to get a better look. There has to be a fire alarm in here, right? Lint is a fucking fire hazard and a half. I can”t imagine—
My eyes lock onto the alarm, and I let out a relieved breath. I go straight for it, but only make it two steps before a voice behind me stops me in my tracks.
“I think you”re lost, little lady.”
Little lady. I roll my eyes since he can’t see my face.
I recognize the voice, but outside of him thinking he’s some sort of fucking cowboy, I can”t quite put my finger on why it’s bothering me.
I spin to face him, barely remembering at the last minute to hunch my shoulders and tuck my chin. Rick, the asshole from the elevator group, stands there in all of his judgmental glory, blocking my exit. “I was looking for a washcloth. Someone”s not feeling good in our room, and I wanted to get them a cold compress.” I wish I could pat myself on the back, because that was fucking genius and it came out of nowhere. I’m a way better actress than I th—
In a flash he’s on me, pushing me across the room until my back slams into the wall. “You don”t have to lie. I know the truth. I”ve seen the way you look at me.” He starts grabbing me, squeezing my boobs in a completely unskilled way as he tries to smash his mouth onto mine. I turn my head with a grimace, grossed out as he grinds his wiener against me.
“What is wrong with you?” I put both hands at the center of his chest and shove, managing to get him to back up a couple steps. That”s all I need. Enough room to get my back away from the wall so I can—
My hand meets the back of my skirt and my stomach drops.
I fucking forgot my self-defense screwdriver. Got all distracted by Tate’s mouth between my thighs and forgot to twist it in my thong before we walked out of the room. “Goddammit.”
The air gets shoved out of my lungs on a grunt as his body slams into mine again. “You”ve got a filthy mouth too, don”t you, slut?” One hand grabs the lower half of my face as the other yanks on my skirt, trying to work it up. “Maybe you should show me what else that mouth does.”
Is he serious? “You are at a Jesus convention.” I try to wiggle my face free. “What is God going to think hearing you talk like this?”
“God”s gonna know it”s not my fault, it”s yours.” He sticks his tongue out of his mouth and tries to push it between my lips. I seal them together tightly, so all he manages to do is sort of lick around under my nose. The minor upset in my stomach flares to life at the grossness of it, and I come really close to gagging, but I swallow it down. I don”t want to risk actually having his stale, coffee scented spit in my mouth.
He continues fighting with the copious fabric of my skirt. “You knew the way you kept coming into the room last night would tempt me. You knew what you were doing because you wanted this to happen.”
For the love of—
And I thought drunk barflies were bad. This guy is on a whole different level. Definitely deserving of a stun gun to the scrotum. Or a screwdriver to the sternum.
But neither of those are options available to me right now, and the tangle of skirt around my legs doesn’t allow enough movement to swing a knee, so I”m gonna have to get creative.
I turn my head away as he comes back at me with his tongue, cringing as it slides over my cheek in the direction of my ear. Luckily, the laundry room has plenty of fun items to work with, and face licker here is stupid enough to think I won”t use them.
I stretch, reaching toward the shelf beside me, straining against his hold to get as good of a view as I can of what I”m grabbing. I”m not sure how much damage spray starch will do, but I can”t imagine it feels too great to the old eyeball.
The second my fingers close around the can, I whip it up between us, using the metal cylinder like a battering ram against his temple. I know it won”t do more than stun him, but that”s all I need. Just a little bit of surprise to give me some time. The sound of metal against cranium makes me smile and sends Rick stumbling back.
His eyes fly open and his face contorts into an ugly mask of rage. “You fucking bit—”
I raise the can between us and unleash the contents right into those open, angry eyeballs, releasing enough of the liquid to make sure they’ll be nice and crisp.
“I”m a bitch. Yes, I know.” I roll my eyes again as his hands go to his face, fingers digging into his skin as he starts to scream. “But you’re a heathen, and I hope one day you get everything you deserve. Because a little bit of spray starch to the eyeballs doesn”t even come close.”
While he”s temporarily blinded, I finish doing what I came here for, gripping the fire alarm and yanking the release. Sirens immediately pierce the air, and flashing lights strobe on the ceiling. “Oop. Sounds like there”s a fire.” I make for the door, pausing beside him as he scrubs the heels of both hands against his lids and tears run down his face. “Or maybe it”s just hell coming for you.”