Chapter 65
JORDAN
Tate backs me up, pressing soft, light kisses to my mouth, tension on his face in the dim moonlight, like he’s holding himself back.
The noise that comes out of his throat is the same as when he takes a sip of that drink he loves, like he’s losing himself in indulgence. Like he’s in heaven.
“You taste like that drink,” he whispers as he kisses down my neck. “You smell like that drink, Jordan. Every time I taste it, I think about tongue-fucking you until you come.”
Heat rushes through me. So that’s what that low groan of approval means when he takes a sip.
He pulls away, staring at my necklace, running his thumb over it. Awareness ripples through me in the form of shivers as he touches me, his other hand grasping my shoulder like he’s worried I’ll float away.
“Lovely,” he rasps before pressing another kiss to the base of my neck, over the necklace. “So fucking lovely.”
Another sear of heat lands between my legs. I’m practically vibrating, I’m so turned on. Is this what foreplay is? I’m a mess. I’ll do anything he says, at this point.
He straightens up, hands threading into my hair. “Tell me something honest, Jordan.”
I can barely concentrate, his hands on my scalp feel so good. “What, does vulnerability make you horny or something?”
He lets out a dry laugh. “With you? Yes.”
“I love this necklace.”
He hums, pleased, and his fingers tighten in my hair. Pinpricks of pleasure spark down my neck, across my skin.
“I love buying you things,” he admits. “And I love seeing you wear them.” His gaze slides down my clothes. “Can I take your dress off?”
There’s something both hot and adorable about the agonized, almost begging way he asks.
“Don’t laugh at me,” he says when I smile, wearing a self-deprecating smile of his own. “I’m struggling here, Jordan.”
He turns me so I’m giving him my back and slowly pulls my zipper down, exposing my bare skin.
“You don’t need to struggle.” I glance over my shoulder.
In the dim light from outside, his eyes have gone even darker as he nudges the dress off my shoulders.
It pools on the floor and I’m left in my bra and underwear.
And the necklace Tate gifted me, the one that’ll remind me of him every time I look at it.
He steps closer so his chest is against my back.
I can feel his heat. He shifts and I can feel him, thick and hard against my lower back.
The breath catches in my throat and my breasts feel heavy.
His mouth finds my temple and his fingers trail over me.
They dip beneath my bra, brush against my nipple, and a pathetic whimper slips out of me.
He laughs, low and teasing, and another rush of arousal settles between my legs.
He guides me back to the bed, and his mouth returns to mine.
Our kiss turns more urgent, searching and indulgent.
I don’t know whether it’s the warmth of him on top of me, between my legs, or his familiar and intoxicating scent, or the way he tastes, like we were designed to kiss like this.
Or maybe it’s the helpless, frustrated moan as I rock my hips against his.
Or maybe it’s the way his hands move over me like he can’t get enough. There’s a hesitation to his movements, though, like he’s still holding back, and when I reach for the thick bulge straining against the front of his pants, his hands wrap around my wrists and he pulls them away.
“Tate,” I protest. I bet his cock is incredible, and I bet the noises he’d make if I touched him are, too.
“Not yet.”
“Maybe you should just let go.” My stomach dips with nerves. Hinting at what I really want from him is terrifying.
“That’s what I’m afraid of.” His lips drop to my neck, working down my cleavage, hands still around my wrists. “I can’t lose control around you, Jordan. I’ll never get it back.”
Would that be so bad? “I like you losing control with me.”
It’s exhilarating, telling him little truths like this. Addictive. Terrifying. Adrenaline rushes into my bloodstream. My panties are damp.
“I like it, too, honey. Too much.” He sounds like he’s in physical pain.
“Be selfish with me,” I whisper. “Take what you need.”
Like my words undo him, he groans. He slides one bra cup down before his lips find the stiff peak and I arch at the wet heat. Spirals of need whirl through me, winding me up, and he sucks hard, pulling a desperate, surprised noise from me.
My bra comes off and he lowers himself on top of me to kiss me, groaning like I’m exactly what he needs, and pleasure spreads throughout my body. Under my palms on his chest, his heart beats a rapid, drumming pace, and I can’t take this anymore. I need skin to skin.
I find the knot of his tie and tug, loosening it.
He undresses in hurried, sharp movements, like he can’t bear to not touch me for a second.
He yanks his belt unbuckled, eyes on me, and I’m so turned on I could die.
He tosses his shirt and then his pants somewhere on the floor before his hands return to my body, mapping my slight curves, testing the softness of my skin, memorizing every dip and swell.
His fingers come to the sides of my panties and he slides them down an inch, and then another.
“I swear to god, Tate, if you don’t hurry this along, I’m going to sell the team myself.”
His low laugh makes me grin. “Frustrated?”
“Yes.” I’m full of sparks and knots and butterflies, so tense I could snap.
“Good.” His mouth tips. Tate Ward wearing a wicked smile should be illegal. “How does it feel to be on that side of things?”
Men don’t do this, in my experience. Everything is quick and hurried and usually unsatisfying, but Tate draws it out like he wants to make the most of it. Like he wants to savor me.
“Annoying,” I bite out, lifting my hips to meet his hand but he evades the maneuver. “And amazing,” I admit.
His low laugh makes the admission worth it. “Poor Jordan,” he says in a low, teasing voice. “God, you’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.” He swallows, looking over me with an edge to his eyes like he can’t get enough, and sighs. Yanks my underwear down so I’m bare to him, eyes between my legs.
On instinct, my knees draw together but his hands are on my inner thighs, pressing, gentle but firm.
“Please. Don’t.” His eyes meet mine, heavy-lidded and helpless. “Let me.”
I let him push my legs wide again, watching as his throat works, eyes on my center.
He shifts higher on his elbows, moving up the bed before his hands clasp my hips, his face drops to my center, and he takes a deep, indulgent inhale.
Arousal twists low in my abdomen as he lets out a pleasured groan.
“Holy fuck. You smell incredible.”
His voice is incredulous, but self-consciousness surges through me. Again, my knees try to snap shut but Tate’s wide shoulders are in the way.
“Don’t,” he tells me, more firm this time.
“You can’t do things like that,” I say, laughing a little.
“Oh, can’t I?” He lifts his head with a dark, cocky smile, like he can do anything he wants.
Another wave of arousal rushes through me, warming me, and he turns his attention back to between my legs, drawing his hands up until he meets the sensitive creases of my thighs.
“If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it my way. We’re going to go slow.”
“Why?” It’s hard to think, when he’s tracing his fingers over me like that, sending sparks across my skin.
“Because I say so.”
The strong line of his throat moves, and his fingers meet my center.
“Fuck,” I gasp as hot sensation races through me.
He makes a low noise of surprise and agony. “Your cunt is soaked. Is that for me, honey?”
I press my lips together to hold in the moan as he slides his fingers over my clit and sparks rush through me.
“Jordan.”
A stifled moan slips out of my throat.
“Let’s hear a yes or no.”
“Yes.” Evil bastard.
“Very good.”
I shouldn’t like that firm tone of voice so much, but I do. I like him telling me what to do because it means he’s finally letting himself enjoy something.
And if that something is me, well, even better.
“Ask me.” His voice is rough like sandpaper. “Ask me for what you need.”
“Touch me. Make me come. Please. I need you.”
“Yes,” he hisses, like I’ve unlocked one more door inside him, letting out another couple feet of slack on his control.
His hand comes to the sensitive spot and my body responds, tightening as he swirls his fingers.
My hands are in his hair, and god, he’s so gorgeous like this, all hard planes, toned muscle, dark eyes.
The front of his boxers tents with his impressive erection, but I’m his full focus.
His gaze swings from where his fingers work to my necklace to my face.
His jaw flexes, he breathes hard, and he keeps me right on the edge for an eternity, nudging me closer to release before he walks it back.
I’m shaking, sweating, and desperate. Begging. Gasping. I could stop it with one word, but I won’t. His hair’s a mess, falling into his eyes. He’s breathing hard, cheekbones flushed, with a fascinated tilt to his mouth and a ravenous look in his eyes.
Tate Ward is a devil, taking exactly what he needs. His fingers reach the pace I need, slick, fast circles at the perfect pressure, and heat loops through me. My toes curl, I stop breathing, and I reach out blindly. Tate’s fingers lace through mine, squeezing, and I tip over the edge.
My release crashes through me, a molten, pulsing, writhing brightness, racing through my blood and melting my brain with the overwhelming pleasure. Every nerve in my body explodes, the intense sensation blinding behind my eyes.
I am weightless. I no longer exist. I am a billion specks of sparkling dust.
Tate’s lips come to mine as he kisses me through it, murmuring praises, encouragement, and my name, over and over again.
“I wondered what you looked like when you came,” he says, almost like he’s talking to himself, as I come down. “I thought about it.”
I sigh, breathing hard. “I want to touch you.”
“No.” His teeth scrape the spot on my neck where the ghost of the hickey remains.
My lips part but he silences me with a thorough, drugging kiss before he breaks it and looks down at me. “When someone does something nice for you, Jordan, you say thank you.”
My face goes hot but I smile, remembering him saying that to me in his office.
His eyebrows lift. “Well?”
I’m grinning.
“Come on.” He nudges my temple with his nose. He’s smiling, too, and god, he’s so beautiful like this.
“Thank you,” I say, pretending to be annoyed.
“There we go,” he drawls, and I love it. I love all of it.
It’s the best sex I’ve ever had, and he still has his boxers on. I reach for him but he catches my wrists again.
“Jordan, I don’t know,” he starts.
“Please.” There it is, my desire out in the open. “I would love to, Tate.”
He seems to struggle before he relents, and jerks a short nod.
I wiggle out of his grasp, palm his straining erection and his lips part as I give him a slow, hard stroke.
The most delicious noise rumbles through his chest, so I do it again.
“Incredible,” he murmurs, and I give his chest a light push to make him lie back on the bed beside me.
That part of me that notices what Tate needs and lacks, the part that enjoys seeing him get what he wants, wakes up.
With one hand trailing up and down the fabric over his arousal, I kneel over Tate, pressing light, sucking kisses over his chest, down his abs, along the trail of dark hair into his boxers.
When I tug his waistband down, he lifts his hips, slides his boxers off, and tosses them aside, freeing his cock. It rests against his stomach, thick, long, and fucking gorgeous.
“Wow.”
My mouth waters, another thrum of arousal threading through me. Of course Tate Ward has a fantastic dick. A man as secure in himself as he is? I should have known.
“Did anyone ever tell you it’s rude to stare?” There’s laughter in his voice.
I sigh, eyes still on his erection. “I think they’d understand.”
He laughs, but his eyes fall closed as I wrap my hands around him. Like the rest of him, his skin is hot.
“You’re so hard,” I breathe, and he makes a tortured noise in his throat, inhaling sharply as my thumb circles the drop of liquid at his tip.
He swallows, eyes dark like sin and jaw tight.
“There’s something about your hands that undoes me.
Your nails,” he says, voice hoarse, eyes focused on where I stroke his thick length.
“Every time I saw you mixing drinks at the bar or rolling a pen through your fingers during a meeting, I thought about this.”
My hands tighten and he nods, eyes falling closed again. “Like that, honey. Fuck. Exactly like that.”
I stroke him, gaze swinging from his perfect length to his face, and back. Have I ever gotten this much pleasure out of someone’s reaction? Never. But watching Tate unravel, watching him pass the point of no return, is like a drug. In my hands, he pulses, thickening even more.
In an instant, I’m on my back again, Tate hovering over me. “Like this,” he says. “I want to come like this.”
Gratification rushes through me at him using me the way he needs. He’s thrusting into my hands, bucking against me. He’s so close. He’s almost there. Finally, he’s going to unravel for me.
“Next time we do this,” I whisper, “you’re going to come in my mouth.”
And with that, he loses it, a low, tortured noise scraping out of him.
He goes somewhere else as he releases hot liquid across my stomach, his head falling to my neck, murmuring my name and praises about how good and perfect and beautiful I am, how he’s wanted this forever and it’s even better than he thought it would be. Better than he dreamed.
After, Tate insists on cleaning me up, and I reach for my underwear and dress but his big arm loops around my waist, pulling me against his chest.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
I don’t know. Leaving after a hookup—it’s what I’ve always done.
“Noah’s in the guesthouse,” he says, pulling the duvet over us like it’s settled. “And I sleep better with you.”
I still, a smile tipping onto my mouth. So it wasn’t just my imagination.
“Goodnight, Jordan.” His chest rises and falls with a deep breath and his entire body relaxes.
“Goodnight, Tate.”
Our conversation earlier replays, about keeping this fun and casual until the end of playoffs, and worry rises in my mind.
Sex like that doesn’t feel casual. It feels novel and fascinating and addictive, setting a new standard that nothing will ever compare to.
I don’t know what to do. Casual has always been safe, but now? It feels dangerous.
It feels like I could get my heart broken.
And with that, I box up the worrying thoughts, vow not to think about them until June, and fall asleep against Tate.