Chapter 5 Tatum
Tatum
Still in disbelief of what I asked of him, I haven’t found the courage to follow through with it. Not yet.
After we’d returned from our hike, I tried to take care of the problem he created between my thighs. Even worse, just thinking about the whole thing had set me on fire again.
I tried hard.
No matter how my fingers pinched my nipples or I palmed the heat gathering at my core, the ending was the same. Rolling against my own hand until I was breathless only left me accepting the truth.
It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t him.
I crashed hard after that—exhaustion from the hike and the mental toll he’d taken out on me finally winning out. But even in my sleep, I couldn’t escape him.
Now every second I spend near him, I’m waiting. Watching. Wondering if he’s changed his mind again.
I feel his eyes on me constantly—that hungry stare that makes my skin prickle and my pulse stutter. It’s there every time I turn around, every time I catch him across the room. So what the heck is he waiting for?
Is it me? Is he waiting for me to make the first move?
The thought should terrify me. Instead, it lives in my chest like a dare.
I spend the night dreaming about it—all the different ways I could approach him, all the different angles. My lack of experience is painfully obvious, though. Every scenario I cook up ends up feeling like a bad porn intro, the kind I used to stay up too late watching in my cramped apartment.
But then my brain does this infuriating thing where it recasts those cheesy scenarios with Abel as the lead.
Suddenly, I’m melting into the fantasy of his breath hot against my ear, his voice dropping low as he whispers the filthiest things.
Things I’ve only ever heard through headphones at two in the morning.
In my head, his hands are everywhere. Petting. Stroking. Finding every desperate, aching place I need him most. In short, the entirety of my body.
The dreams leave me panting, flushed, thighs pressed tight together when I wake. I don’t think I can keep putting myself through this.
Instead of feeling dread about the unknown future, I’m left frustrated and impossibly wet between my legs.
Pressing a hand between my thighs just to relieve some pressure doesn’t help. Nothing helps except the thought of him—of those big hands finally touching me for real.
Abel promised to follow through, so I need him to be a man of his word. If I have to be the first to approach, fine. I’ll do it. I’ll do anything right about now.
The idea takes root, spreading heat through my chest.
I throw off the covers before I can talk myself out of it.
Hunting him down is easy. Learning that this man is an early riser, I find him sitting in his kitchen, a cup of coffee beside a hunting magazine that looks like it’s been flipped through many times already.
Good. He won’t be missing much when I approach, then.
I don’t have to announce my appearance. There must be a creak in my step, or a shift in my breathing, as the space between us becomes less and less before I finally make it to him.
He turns, starting his greeting before it catches in his throat when I don’t stop until I’m barely brushing against him. For a second, I feel his gaze as it slips down to take me in. His throat bobs as he drags his eyes back up.
“Are you hungry? I can cook—”
His words fail him when I reach out and brush my fingers along his bearded cheeks. While it tickles my palms, I’m wondering how it would feel against the patch of skin where my thighs meet.
“Abel…” Groaning his name, I reach out for his hand and squeeze his fingers. These are the culprits for my constant suffering. If he hadn’t touched me, I never would’ve known what damage they could do.
He curses softly and lets out a breath when I flatten his palm against my chest. My nipples are already pressing against the silk, making me realize what had caught his attention. When I release him, I’m relieved that he doesn’t pull back immediately.
His mouth parts, and I think I’ve caught him off guard.
“Don’t stop this time. I need…” I don’t even know how to ask for it. Already acting the most forward I have ever in my life, my body’s leaning toward him, trying to show him, all while my words fail me.
His chair creaks as he scooches back. Far enough to reveal that I’m not the only one burning up. Except, while I’ve been suffering all morning, he’s reacting on the spot.
I’m turning him on.
“Come here.” Removing his touch for only a moment, he’s reaching for my hips instead. There’s a little roughness to his order, as if he doesn’t have the patience for me to move on my own; he’s tugging me over to him.
The space between him and the table is perfect enough to fit my squirming body. Once I’m settling on those plaid-covered thighs, I feel his arousal digging against mine.
Feels good. Feels really good.
When I rub against him, he grips my hips tight enough to leave an ache. Holding me in place, his expression cracks when I let out a huff of frustration.
“You are just a needy little thing, aren’t you?” He cracks a surprising grin that does funny things to my stomach. “Tell me what you need, and I’ll make it happen.”
And now he wants me to say it out loud? Does he enjoy making me suffer more than I originally thought?
“I want you to touch me.” Sliding my hands up my chest, I fight the urge to cup my breasts before I’m fumbling with the buttons that keep my shirt intact. It’s a miracle I don’t accidentally pop one of them off at the rate that I’m moving.
Somehow, I’m not ready to hide myself away from his hungry gaze. In disbelief of how badly my body is throbbing, I finally reach the bottom button. Slowly peeling the fabric away, I reveal to him what he’d only known by touch.
Abel stares, hardly blinking. The longer he looks, the more I can’t help but wonder if something is wrong with them. Following his gaze, I take in my curves. My belly’s a little soft, sure, and my chest is flushed a deep pink, but I don’t think anything stands out as odd.
“You’re the prettiest woman I’ve ever laid my eyes on, Tatum.” Shaking his head, he flicks his eyes up to meet mine. “I don’t… You could get so much better, you know that, don’t you? There has to be a better man. There—”
Raspy in the way I love, but speaking the words I don’t care for, I’m reaching out to cup his bearded cheeks before he starts spouting some other nonsense.
“I want you.” Whispering the words so softly, thanks to both fear and embarrassment, the way he groans is telling enough.
He’s heard them. From the way he’s pressing against the silk of my shorts, the words have pleased him.
“I’ve never felt these things before, Abel.
Not for anyone else. Then, when I tried to take care of myself yesterday, that didn’t work, either. ”
Confessing the truth, I lean in to kiss him before I start admitting too much to him. It’s a simple brush at first, but it’s not long before I’m trying to make it more. Curious to know if he still tastes like the coffee he consumes in the morning, my tongue flicks out to graze his lips.
Just as he’s opening up to meet me halfway, I feel his hands squeeze and slide behind me before teasing the band of my shorts.
“Slip them inside…” Murmuring the demand against his lips, I grind against him to seek a little friction. “I want to feel your touch directly.”
After having him touch my chest, there’s no doubt that I want to experience what it feels like to have his fingers roam all of the other sensitive spots on my body.
A breath catches in the back of my throat as he doesn’t argue, immediately shoving his hands inside. Not just my shorts, but my underwear, too. His grip isn’t gentle, thank goodness. No, he squeezes hard enough to hopefully leave little red finger marks.
I want to have something to look back on when we’re finished. Something that’ll remind me of him.
“You’re so warm.” Groaning lowly, he squeezes again like he can’t help himself. Then, I can feel his forefingers brushing so close to my pussy. “Barely even touching you, and I can feel how soaked you are.”
Nodding my head, I pull back just enough that I can hug his neck. “I want you to touch me there, too.”
He nods, but he doesn’t rush to relieve me of this tangling knot forming at the pit of my stomach. Instead, he continues palming me from behind like he can’t get enough. “Has anyone touched you down here?”
Panting against his neck, my blush burns all the way to my ears. “No, never. Just me.”
Closing my eyes tight, a part of me expects him to pull away and change his mind.
A man his age, most likely double mine, wouldn’t want to have to deal with someone with so much inexperience.
Virgins are troublesome, aren’t they? I don’t want to be a pain, but there’s no way I can go out and pop my cherry now, can I?
It has to be Abel. There’s no way I’m going to be able to look at anyone in their fancy suits back in Lincoln Heights and get this hot and bothered again.
“What in the hell did I do to deserve to be this lucky?” He lets out a tight laugh and shakes his head. “I’m a bastard if I keep this up.”
At his words, I’m pulling back to meet his gaze. Frowning, I meet his eyes. “You’d better not think about stopping. Not after I finally got you to touch me. I want to feel your fingers.”
Leaning back, I reach behind me and slowly pull at his wrists so I can take control of his hands.
It’s almost laughable how easy it is to tug him away and move him as I please.
But even more funny is the way he flushes when I abandon one of his hands so I can concentrate on the other, automatically pressing it to my front, right between my thighs.
“Fuck.” He curses again, much softer this time. Shifting, he widens his thighs beneath me, forcing my legs even further apart. “Why stop at just my fingers, sweetheart? I could give you my tongue, too.”
At his gravelly suggestion, I realize just how good of an idea that is. A great one, in fact. The best ever.
With a dip of my chin, I’m confident this man is going to give me that much, and more.