15. Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Fifteen
Celeste
My phone buzzes while Tate is still laughing at something Parker said.
I glance down absentmindedly.
Suzie: He’s out cold. 131. Steady. Don’t you dare come wake him up. He can stay here tonight. Enjoy your evening.
My pulse does something strange, relief and nerves colliding at once. He’s never not been home with me at night; Suzie’s is right down the hall.
Tate notices my concern immediately. Of course he does.
“Everything okay?” he asks, voice lowering, eyes searching mine.
I nod slowly. “Rowen’s asleep. Suzie said he can stay the night.”
There’s a shift in his expression. Subtle, but I catch it. Not predatory. Not cocky.
Intent.
“You want to go?” he asks quietly.
I think about what he’s asking, and every nerve in my body is begging me to give him the honest answer, so I do “Yes,” I whisper.
The ride back to my apartment feels different than any other time we’ve been in his truck.
Quieter. But there is a charge between us. Like my body knows what’s going to happen before I even know for sure.
The city lights blur past the windows, casting streaks of gold across his jawline. His hand rests on my thigh, warm, steady, thumb brushing absent circles over my bare skin where my skirt rides up slightly.
It’s not aggressive, it’s grounding, but my entire body is hyperaware of it.
I watch his profile as he drives. The focus in his eyes. The way his jaw tightens every so often, like he’s holding something back.
I should be nervous.
Instead, I feel… sure. I know this is what I want, what I need, and tonight I’m going to let Tate do whatever he has in mind.
When we pull into my apartment complex, the cold night air bites at my legs as we walk inside. My boots echo softly in the stairwell. The building smells faintly like laundry detergent and someone’s late-night cooking.
I unlock the door.
The apartment is dark and still.
Tate steps in behind me, closing the door softly.
And for the first time in years… my apartment doesn’t feel like a battlefield.
It feels like possibility.
I shrug off the coat he gave me before we left, fingers slightly shaky. He watches me like I’m something fragile and powerful at the same time.
“You sure? We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” he asks again, softer now.
I turn to face him fully.
“I’m tired of being scared of good things,” I say honestly.
His eyes darken.
He steps closer.
Slow enough that I can step back if I want to.
But I don’t.
His fingers brush my jaw first. Barely there. Like he’s reacquainting himself with the shape of me. My breath stutters when his thumb traces the curve of my bottom lip.
“You have no idea,” he murmurs, voice low, “how long I’ve been thinking about this.”
My heart pounds so hard I’m sure he can feel it.
“Show me,” I whisper.
That’s all it takes.
His mouth finds mine, not rushed, not desperate, but deep. Intentional. Like he’s memorizing the taste of me. His hands slide to my waist, pulling me closer until there’s no space left between us.
Heat blooms everywhere we touch.
I tangle my fingers in his sweater, pushing it up slightly just to feel the warmth of his skin underneath. He exhales against my mouth, the sound rough, unguarded.
The kiss shifts.
Slower at first.
Then deeper.
His tongue traces the seam of my lips, and I open for him without thinking.
My back hits the wall gently. Not aggressive. Just controlled.
His hands roam carefully. Waist. Ribcage. The curve of my hip. Every touch is steadily asking without words.
And I let him.
God, I let him.
Because for once, I don’t feel like someone’s mother or someone’s ex.
I feel like a woman who has fucking needs.
His mouth trails from my lips to my jaw, then lower. Down the sensitive line of my neck. My head tips back instinctively, giving him access. His teeth graze just enough to make me gasp.
“Celeste,” he breathes against my skin, like my name is something sacred and sinful all at once.
My hands slide into his hair, tugging slightly.
“I need you,” I admit before I can overthink it.
His reaction is immediate.
A sharp inhale.
Hands tightening.
“Say that again,” he murmurs.
My stomach flips.
“I need you.”
His control fractures just a little.
He lifts me, effortlessly, and I wrap my legs around his waist. The sudden shift makes me laugh breathlessly before his mouth claims mine again, hungrier now.
He carries me down the short hallway toward my bedroom like he’s done it a hundred times, even though I’m glaringly aware he hasn’t.
The room is dim, lit only by the streetlight filtering through the curtains. The bed has been unmade since this morning. Laundry basket half full in the corner. It’s ordinary.
But the way he looks at me makes it feel electric.
He sets me down gently on the mattress, hovering over me for a moment like he’s making sure I still want this.
I pull him down by the collar of his shirt.
The rest of the world fades.
His hands slide under my top slowly, warm palms against bare skin, tracing upward inch by inch like he’s savoring the journey. My back arches without permission. Every nerve ending feels alive.
The air feels heavier in here.
He kisses down my collarbone, lower, and I’m gripping the sheets just to ground myself. My thoughts blur; practical worries dissolving under sensation.
No alarms.
No what-ifs.
Just this.
Just him.
His mouth returns to mine, slower now, almost reverent. His hand cups my face, thumb brushing my cheek like he’s memorizing the feel of me.
“You’re incredible,” he murmurs.
Emotion sneaks up on me unexpectedly.
“Don’t say things like that unless you mean them,” I whisper.
He looks at me then, really looks at me, like he has it all figured out but is trying to find the words to explain it to me.
“I don’t do anything halfway with you. Not now. Not ever. I want you more than I want anything else in this fucking world. I know this is insane, I know you have so much on your plate, but let me be there for you, let me… just let me.”
That lands deep.
My hands slide under his shirt again, pushing it higher, needing skin against skin.
He pulls it off in one smooth motion, tossing it somewhere behind him without breaking eye contact.Tate’s body is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before, solid and sculpted, every hard line a testament to years of dedication to the ice.
He feels strong and steady beneath my hands, grounding and overwhelming all at once.
His scent, clean with a hint of warmth, wraps around me like a slow intoxication.
The heat radiating from him seeps into my skin, making it feel as though he alone could set this entire place ablaze.
And when his hands find the zipper of my skirt, and his mouth lowers again, the tension that’s been building for weeks finally snaps.
The rest of the world disappears.