22. Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Two
Celeste
The café still clings to me when I walk into the apartment.
Burnt espresso. Polished wood. Control.
Tate’s voice carries from the kitchen before I even close the door.
“Don’t judge me if it’s overcooked. I got distracted.”
There’s music playing softly, something old and low, vinyl-sounding, even though it’s coming from his phone. The kitchen smells like garlic, basil, and butter warming in a pan.
He turns when he hears my bag hit the counter. Black t-shirt. Gray sweats. Barefoot on my kitchen tile, like he belongs here.
“Hey,” he says, softer now. “You good?”
I nod.
Lie.
He studies me for a beat longer than usual, like he’s trying to decide whether to push.
He doesn’t.
“Go sit,” he says instead. “I’ve got this.”
The table is set.
Actual plates.Cloth napkins.A candle that I didn’t even know I owned flickering in the middle.
“You didn’t have to do all this,” I say.
He shrugs, casual. “I asked Suzie to take Ro for a few hours.”
My pulse stutters.
“You did?”
“Yeah.” He steps closer, wiping his hands on a dish towel. “I leave for away games Saturday morning. Figured we should have one night that’s just ours.”
One night.
The words press into my lungs.
He leans down and kisses my forehead. Slow. Familiar.
“Just us.”
My fork scrapes gently against the blue ceramic plate. The sauce is rich and warm, coating my tongue. He watches me more than his plate.
“You’re quiet,” he says eventually.
“Long day.”
“With Elara?”
I nod.
“She scare you yet?”
A small laugh slips out of me. “Elara is intense. But she’s good. I’m lucky to learn from her.”
His foot brushes mine under the table. Not accidental.
Grounded.
“I’ve been thinking,” he says after a moment.
My stomach tightens.
“About next year.”
There it is.
“If I get drafted where they’re projecting… things are going to change.”
“Yeah.”
“Travel. Media. More attention.” He studies my face carefully. “But I don’t want it to change this.”
This.
The candle flickers between us.
“I don’t want Rowen thinking I’ll disappear when things get busy,” he adds quietly. “I’d fly back on off days. I’d make it work. Or maybe you guys can even come with me wherever I go. You’ll be graduating, and Ro will be going into first grade.”
You hope. Brett’s voice snakes through my thoughts.
“I just want to offer options. I want you to know I’m here, I’m not temporary,” Tate says suddenly, almost defensive.
The word slices straight through me.
“Why would you be?” I ask too quickly.
He leans back slightly, watching me like he’s tracking something subtle.
“You’ve felt… distant,” he admits. “Like you’re bracing for something.”
My throat tightens. “I’m right here.”
It’s not entirely a lie.
Because I am here.
For tonight.
He reaches across the table and takes my hand. “I’m not going anywhere unless you tell me to. But I really hope you’ll give me a chance to prove to you that I want a future with you and Ro in it.”
The weight of that settles into my bones. But I don’t have words right now. So I just nod, and he offers up a small smile.
Later, dishes sit forgotten in the sink.
The apartment is quiet. The air feels thicker somehow.
He steps close behind me in the living room, hands sliding around my waist, warm and steady. His chin rests briefly against my shoulder.
“You’re still thinking,” he murmurs.
“Not about that.”
He turns to face me slowly.
The look in his eyes isn’t rushed.
It’s certain.
That’s what undoes me.
He kisses me like he has time.
Slow at first. Testing. His hands trace my spine, deliberate and familiar. I slide my fingers into his hair, pulling him closer.
He exhales against my mouth.
“Cel…”
“Don’t,” I whisper.
Because if he asks what’s wrong, I might crack. And I need this, I need him.
We move to the bedroom without urgency, but without hesitation either. Clothes fall to the floor piece by piece. His hands are steady when they touch me, almost like he’s memorizing the shape of my skin.
He kisses the hollow of my throat.My shoulder.My collarbone.
Every touch is unhurried.
Intentional.
He looks at me before he moves deeper, like he’s asking a question without words.
I nod.
And this time, I mean it.
The room fills with quiet sounds; breath catching, sheets shifting, his voice low when he says my name, like it’s something solid.
This isn’t frantic.
It’s grounding.
His hands find mine, and we lace our fingers together against the mattress. His forehead presses to mine.
“I’ve got you,” he whispers.
The words nearly split me in half.
He hovers over me, his lips brushing along the curve of my neck before trailing lower. Each kiss is slow, deliberate. My fingers curl into the sheets as his mouth moves down to the soft swell of my breasts.
His gaze never leaves mine.
When he takes one nipple into his mouth, drawing it in with a slow, firm pull, a shaky breath escapes me. Heat floods through my body, my pulse pounding in my ears. I should close my eyes, should look away, but I can’t.
I need Tate more than I need air right now.
“Keep your eyes on me,” he murmurs, his voice deep and husky.
The command alone makes my hips shift against the mattress.
He presses one last kiss between my breasts before moving lower, lower still, until he settles between my thighs. The anticipation coils tight in my stomach as his eyes flick back to mine, that familiar heat burning in the icy blue I’ve fallen hopelessly in love with.
Then his mouth finds me.
The first slow pull of his lips sends a gasp from my chest. My back arches, fingers tangling in the sheets as pleasure ripples through me.
“Oh, Tate.”
He takes his time, teasing, savoring every reaction he pulls from me. Long, unhurried strokes of his tongue that have my breathing turning uneven. My body trembles under the steady rhythm he sets.
When his fingers replace his mouth, sliding deep and curling just right, my moan fills the room.
“That’s my girl,” he murmurs against my skin. “Don’t look away. Stay right here with me.”
As if I could look anywhere else.
His eyes hold mine, steady and intense, watching every flicker of pleasure cross my face. The pressure builds fast, too fast, tightening low in my belly until I can barely breathe.
“Tate—”
My release crashes over me, stealing the rest of my words.
“That’s my girl… falling apart for me, just like I knew you would.”
He eases his fingers away slowly, his gaze softening as he rises from the bed. When he pushes his briefs down and steps out of them, heat rushes straight to my cheeks.
He turns toward the nightstand, reaching for a condom, but the words leave my mouth before I can stop them.
“We don’t need one. Not tonight.”
He pauses, turning back toward me. My heart stutters under the weight of his gaze.
“Only if you want that, too,” I add quickly, suddenly very aware of the blush creeping across my face.
He studies me for a moment before nodding once.
“Only if you’re sure.”
I nod.
“Words, baby girl,” he says, a smirk tugging at his mouth.
This cocky man.
“Yes,” I say, gathering every ounce of confidence I have left. “I’m sure.”
Something warm flashes across his expression before he climbs back onto the bed, settling between my thighs. His hands brace on either side of my head, caging me in.
My hand slips between us, wrapping around him. I give him two slow strokes, watching the way his jaw tightens.
“Fuck, Cel,” he breathes, biting down on his bottom lip, but he never breaks eye contact.
I guide him to me, my breath catching as he slowly pushes forward. The stretch of him fills me, inch by inch, until he’s fully seated inside me.
We both groan.
“Please move,” I whisper, the words barely leaving my lips. “Please.”
He nods, resting his forehead against mine as he begins to move, slow and steady. Each thrust is careful, intentional, like he’s trying to memorize this moment just as much as I am.
This isn’t just sex.
It isn’t just bodies chasing pleasure.
This is love.
Two people who love each other coming together in the quiet of the night.
And even if I never get to feel this again…
I’ll always be grateful that I had tonight with him.
His hips begin to move faster, the steady rhythm turning deeper, harder. The mattress shifts beneath us with every thrust, his breath rough against my lips. His fingers curl into the sheets beside my head, knuckles white as he fights for control.
My nails drag down his back, digging in just enough to leave crescent marks in their wake.
A low groan slips from his throat.
“That’s it…” he murmurs, voice thick with heat. “Take me just like that, Cel.”
The way he says my name sends a shiver through my entire body.
His gaze never leaves mine as he moves, each thrust more deliberate than the last, like he’s determined to commit to memory the way I feel around him.
Pleasure coils tighter in my stomach, my breathing turning shaky as the edge creeps closer.
“Tate…” I gasp, my fingers gripping his shoulders. “I’m close.”
His forehead drops against mine, his voice rough when he answers.
“I know, baby. I feel it.”
My hips lift to meet his, chasing the rhythm we’ve built together.
“I want you to come with me,” I moan, the words barely steady as the tension inside me stretches to its breaking point.
His eyes darken, his grip tightening on the sheets.
“Then don’t hold back,” he whispers. “Let go with me.”
His eyes darken, his grip tightening on the sheets.
His hips slow for just a moment, drawing the tension tighter between us, like he’s stretching the moment as long as he can. The drag of him inside me makes my breath hitch, my body trembling beneath his.
“Tate…” I gasp.
His mouth brushes the corner of mine, barely a kiss, his voice rough against my lips.
“I’ve got you, Cel. Come for me.”
That’s all it takes.
The pressure inside me snaps, pleasure crashing through my body in waves that steal the air from my lungs. My fingers clutch at his shoulders as I fall apart beneath him, my name tumbling from his lips like a prayer as he follows seconds later.
His movement stutters, then stills, as he presses deep, a low groan rumbling from his chest.
For a moment, neither of us moves.
Our breathing fills the quiet room, uneven and tangled together.
He lowers his head to my shoulder, his warm breath fanning across my skin while his arms wrap around me, holding me close like he has no intention of letting go anytime soon.
My fingers slide through his hair, still trying to catch my breath.
Slowly, he lifts his head, those icy blue eyes soft now as they search my face.
“You okay?” he asks quietly.
I nod, a small smile tugging at my lips.
“More than okay.”
His thumb brushes along my cheek, gentle now in a way that makes my chest ache.
“Good,” he murmurs.
He presses a soft kiss to my forehead before pulling the blankets up around us, settling beside me, and tugging me against his chest like it’s the most natural place in the world for me to be.
And for the first time all night, neither of us says anything.
We just stay there.
Together.
Later, when the world slows, and the air cools against damp skin, he pulls me into his chest. His heartbeat is steady under my ear.
“I love—” he starts sleepily.
My breath freezes.
He shifts.
“I love this,” he finishes, voice fading.
I close my eyes.
Because if he had finished that sentence, I don’t think I would have been strong enough to leave.
He falls asleep quickly.
I don’t.
I slide carefully from beneath his arm and sit on the edge of the bed.
My phone lights up in the dark.
Brett: Friday. Four P.M. Be prepared to discuss formal arrangements.
Formal arrangements.
I open a browser.
Custody rights Massachusetts biological father.
My vision blurs.
From the bed, Tate stirs.
“M’right here,” he murmurs, half-asleep.
My chest caves in.
But I already know what I have to do.