Chapter 11 – Natasha
Everything goesdark for a while because Tate knocked the wind out of me and all the desperate gasping in the world won’t draw air back into my lungs. He’s such a monster. But when I come to, the monster has his arms around me. His ass knocked me unconscious.
“NATASHA! WAKE UP!”
“Chill out, dude,” Cormac says. (I recognize him as a well-known nuisance around town, much like Tate.
“Chill out?” Tate says. “No fucking way.”
Then, he kisses me. Hard. He’s definitely not trying to do mouth to mouth to revive me. He’s just… kissing me. I have never risen to consciousness so quickly. I squeal and shove Tate away from me. He lets me pull away from his kiss, but there is no way in hell I’m getting out of his giant bicep’s tight grasp. Holy fuck…
“No,” Tate says, his gaze fixing on mine. “Stop. I came all this way to find you and committed several felonies to stalk you. Cormac has a gun here so we can kidnap you if you put up a fight.”
“Tate!” I scream, but he stops me with a kiss again and it hurts. Like… it literally physically aches my chest because Tate is such a good kisser. I haven’t had a kiss that sends feelings straight down between my thighs in forever. His lips are way softer than I expected and he kisses me with tenderness that doesn’t seem like it comes from Tate.
His hand brushes my cheek as he pushes hair away from my face and gazes into my eyes so intently that my heart tries to jump out of my chest through my throat. I try to say his name, but he just presses his finger to my lips.
“You’re coming back home with me, babe,” he says. “And we’re bringing Terrorist with us. We’re going to be a happy family.”
God, he makes me so fucking angry. How dare he tie me up, leave me overnight and then stalk me, tackle me and kiss me. I want to smack him across the face, but when I look into his eyes, I think that arguing with his dumbass sounds much better.
“Terrorist is an insane name,” I respond to Tate testily, making my best efforts to wriggle out of his increasingly tight grasp. I can’t see over his broad shoulders what Cormac is up to, but judging but our chihuahua’s occasional yapping, he’s doing something interesting. What’s interesting to the dog is likely dangerous to my freedom.
“I already renamed him Timmy,” I tell Tate. “We’re not changing it back.”
Terrorist refuses to respond to his new names, but I don’t want Tate to know that I’m flopping at my new chapter already.
“That’s a bitch ass name,” Tate murmurs, running his tongue over my neck and clearly not listening to me in the slightest. I grunt and shove his broad chest, fighting every biological urge that normally comes up when your hands come into contact with a solid, broad chest. I can’t think about that right now when I have to fight Tate.
“It’s not a bitch ass name. It’s a much better name than Terrorist.”
“It’s a human name,” Tate says, kissing my neck again, even if his friend is standing right there. I push against his body again, ignoring how fucking good his lips feel and focus on arguing with him.
“I thought it was a bitch ass name,” I grunt as Tate puts his hands on my thighs and sends that fucked up shiver straight to my pussy. I can’t get over how much I hate his ass.
“The worst guy on our football team was named Timmy,” Tate says, running his tongue over my neck and sucking on my earlobe. “Cormac fingered his ass once.”
“WHAT?!” I shriek. Apparently, this doesn’t kill the moment for Tate. Or for Cormac’s creepy ass.
“It’s true,” Cormac says calmly. “Terrorist is a much better name.”
I don’t even want to know the context of this and I hate that they both sound extremely calm about this, like butt-fingering is something that goes on in football.
“UGH!” I scream, shoving Tate again since my first effort worked. “Fine, let go of me. Can we just get off the muddy ass ground!”
“Promise he’s still named Terrorist?”
“I PROMISE!” I scream. “NOW RELEASE ME.”
Tate leans back and I scramble to my feet. Terrorist runs straight to me and I scoop him up. I glance over my shoulder, giving Tate that split second advantage to guess my plans. He grabs my forearm sharply, drawing my muddy body towards his and not giving a flying fuck about the dirty puddle water and mud spraying everywhere.
“LET GO OF ME!”
“Cormac,” Tate says calmly, looking at me with a smirk. “Get the gun. Clearly, my roommate is going to be just as much trouble as I thought.”
“ARE YOU CRAZY?” I scream at Tate, clutching Terrorist to my chest as if somehow, the barely-five-pound chihuahua is going to turn into a tactical bulletproof vest. Cormac pulls out a pistol and presses it against my head.
“Unfortunately, ma’am… I might have to kill you if push comes to shove. I have considerably large gambling debts and… well… if Tate needs me to kill you, he’ll have to offer to pay them off.”
I don’t want to turn my head and yell at him in case this crazy small town white boy actually pulls the trigger. I’m sure his fratty ass doesn’t want to spend the rest of his life in prison, gambling debts or not. Also, I’m scared as fuck and trying not to show it. Tate loves this situation entirely too much.
“Great, let’s lead her to the truck before anyone catches us.”
Just my luck that an extremely popular state park is empty as fuck the second I have two crazed white boys dragging me and my pet chihuahua away. Tate can’t make me live in that apartment. Sure, I’m currently living out of my car, which is parked behind a Walmart, because housing is hard to come by. But just because I’m temporarily living in my sedan doesn’t mean I’m desperate for a house.
I just need to find a spell on social media for manifesting that actually works…
Cormac and Tate hold me up at gunpoint while I clutch Terrorist to my chest. I hear Tate’s point. Nothing wrong with getting your ass fingered in private, but I don’t want our puppy associated with some weird guy on their football team. No thank you. Tate sits in the back of the truck with me while Terrorist sits shotgun next to Cormac.
I don’t have the gun pointed at my head anymore, so I feel comfortable glaring at Tate like I want to kill him.
He gives me a smile once Cormac gets the car started.
“You can get the clothes and the rest of your things tomorrow. I’m not letting you sleep on the streets.”
“Who said I was sleeping on the streets?”
I was sleeping in my car, but that’s not the point.
“It doesn’t matter. I’m sorry I left you tied up with your ass in the air.”
“Tate!” I hiss. “Cormac can hear you.”
Cormac glances at me in the rearview mirror and I wish I could sink into the backseat of the car. Tate is about as tactful as a rhino fart. He leans over and kisses my cheek. It reminds me of how he kissed me on the ground. We’re getting mud all over this truck and the last thing I should want to feel is Tate’s lips against my cheek. But damn, he is such a good kisser.
I turn my cheek away from him.
“Don’t worry. I will be very discreet,” Cormac says. “Especially since Tate owes me money.”
“Right,” Tate says with frustration, turning his attention back to me. “We can talk here.”
“I don’t want to talk to you. I ghosted you, Tate. Take a hint.”
I try to ignore my racing heart. Or the way my neck and lips still feel warm from Tate kissing me. I should be fighting him more. He leans in, and his natural scent just makes me even angrier.
“You don’t get to take Terrorist without discussing a custody agreement.”
“You left him alone to starve,” I remind Tate, who surely remembers that his ass disappeared for almost a full day. “I think the court would agree I get full custody.”
Tate’s cheeks turn red. I’ve never seen him show this much emotion, and I get a small surge of pleasure from watching his ass sweat a little bit.
“Listen, I don’t know how you got free, but I was at work helping people and saving lives. Trust me, where I really wanted to be was right between your legs.”
“Hot damn…” Cormac grunts.
Tate clears his throat.
“Sorry,” Cormac mutters.
I have never wanted to put my hands around Tate’s neck more. But he just keeps smiling at me. My curse did not work. At all.
“I’m glad you’re both okay. I swear, Natasha. I’m sorry. Once you read the news, you’ll understand.”
“Why the hell would I read the news? It’s always some negative shit.”
“Fair point,” Tate says. He keeps looking at me. I hate how vulnerable I feel beneath his gaze. He shouldn’t have this much power over me when he’s crazy, literally kidnapped me, and now… he’s dragging me back to the place I just moved out of. What type of man responds to a woman ghosting him like this?
He puts his hand on my thigh and when I try to yank my thigh away from him, Tate’s grasp only tightens.
“I’ve had a lot of time to think, Natasha. I can’t live there without you. I just can’t.”
“You are the worst roommate I’ve ever had.”
Tate smirks. “I know. I’ll be a much better boyfriend than a roommate if you give me a chance.”
He must be joking. I know Tate is an insane asshole, but how would dating him make our situation better?
“We don’t like each other,” I remind him. But the heat from my lips and necks has already spread to my chest and my stomach.
“You don’t kiss me like you hate me,” Tate says, touching my thigh.
The feeling gets worse. I don’t want him to take his hand away.
“I have never kissed you.,” I protest forcefully.
Tate leans over, ignoring the mud all over us and the back of the car. I hate him for this. No. I hate myself even more for not pulling away from him. I feel so fucking weak but my body reacts to Tate by leaning into him. Once I smell him, I lose myself because my pussy throbs again like a total goddamn traitor.
He pulls away from me with a smile.
“You have such big sexy lips.” There’s that shiver again. Straight between my thighs. Slickness follows right after and I am so damn grateful he can’t tell just from looking at my face.
There are definitely racial undertones to that little comment about my lips, but Tate runs his thumb over my lips and the shiver creeping down my spine distracts me from any response. Tate kisses me again. His warmth spreads through me and I let him put his tongue in my mouth. I let him kiss me back.
“You taste so fucking good,” he whispers. “I can’t wait to taste more…”
I squeal and press my hands to his chest so I can push him away and scold him for doing more dirty talk in front of Cormac. I have no power against Tate’s large, gigantic chest pressing into me, but luckily, Cormac drives like he’s out of his fucking mind, so we’re already back at our place.
Tate’s place.
He jumps out of the truck. I know he won’t hesitate to have that Bigfoot in the front seat hold a gun to my head, so I don’t fight. Terrorist barks excitedly, because he knows we’re home.
Cormac holds Terrorist and carries him out of the truck. I watch him carefully to make sure that brute doesn’t crush Terrorist in his ham-sized hands. Tate stays close to me and puts his arm around my shoulders.
“I’m serious, Natasha. I want to give us a shot.”
“Tate… Why?” I groan, squirming again and trying to force that feeling between my thighs somewhere else. All the rubbing just makes it worse.
“Because you’re fun. You’re sexy. I haven’t met a woman that makes me feel so alive…”
The irony doesn’t miss me there. That spell should have killed Tate, not made him feel more alive. But right now, I feel weird. It’s almost like I hope the spell doesn’t work. Like I want to just be here in the real world with Tate. Slightly cleaner, but still next to him. He has no right to be this attractive. I look away from his grey eyes in case it restores me to sanity.
“Tate…” I whisper as I glance down. Tate presses his finger beneath my chin and tilts my face up so my gaze meets his. The dominant gesture sends a throb straight between my legs again. I convinced myself I could run away from Tate. That I would never let him get close to me again, especially not without the influence of alcohol.
“No more rent,” he says as he holds me in place. “If you say yes, you live rent free. I’ll take care of you and if you want to leave… as long as you don’t ghost me… I’ll let you go.”
He holds onto my shoulders and makes me face him, like he wants me to see that he’s serious this time. Very serious.
“You make me act like a psychopath,” I point out. “How can you possibly want to date me?”
Reason might get us out of this. But it doesn’t feel likely. My heart keeps pounding. I don’t feel in control here. At all.
“I know,” he says. “It’s hot. It makes me want to fuck you even more…”
He runs his thumb over my lower lips and I don’t know what to say.
“Be my girlfriend,” Tate says. “Or I’ll tell Cormac to take Terrorist back to those sick Amish people…”
“Tate… This is a bad idea.”
His closeness is getting in my head.
“It’s getting me hard,” Tate replies, nearly killing my attraction, but then I glance between his legs and see that he is one hundred percent serious. “Doesn’t feel like a bad idea.”
“Life isn’t about what makes your dick hard,” I respond, making a desperate effort to put distance between me and Tate. He just smiles, like my hatred doesn’t even affect him.
“You make my heart a little hard too.”
“Tate… ew.”
He doesn’t stop touching me. It makes it hard for me to think straight. That must be it. Because I am not developing feelings for Tate Whitmarsh.
“Be my girlfriend, Natasha. Or I’ll say something much cornier. Much worse.”
I definitely believe him about that.
* * *