16. Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Sixteen
Tate
Her body is breathtaking.
Every piece of clothing I remove from her feels like unwrapping something sacred. I take my time with it, not because I’m unsure, but because I want her to feel every second of this. Every brush of my mouth. Every pause.
When I slide her top up and off, I follow it with slow, deliberate kisses.
I trail them across the swell of her breasts, taking my time before unhooking her bra.
The fabric falls away, and I don’t rush.
I lean in, pressing my mouth to the soft curve first, then lower, drawing one hardened nipple into my mouth, slow and intentional.
She inhales sharply, fingers tangling in my hair.
I switch to the other, giving it the same attention. The same reverence.
Her hands tighten.
My mouth travels downward, kissing between the valley of her breasts, down the center of her stomach.
There’s a softness to her body, a gentle curve that speaks of motherhood, but beneath it I can feel the strength that still lives there.
The faint definition of abs from years of training, of discipline. Athlete and mother intertwined.
Both equally beautiful.
When I reach the waistband of her skirt, I glance up at her.
She’s watching me.
Propped up on her elbows.
Eyes darker than I’ve ever seen them.
Lips parted.
Chest rising and falling faster now.
I unzip her skirt slowly, dragging the zipper down with deliberate patience, savoring the soft metallic sound as it breaks the silence between us.
My fingers linger at the base of her spine for a moment before I step closer, positioning myself between her open legs.
With gentle care, I slide the fabric from her hips, guiding it down the length of her thighs.
The material catches briefly at one of her ankles, leaving her standing before me in nothing but a deep purple thong that contrasts beautifully against her skin, the sight alone enough to make my jaw tighten.
I lower myself to my knees, taking my time as I move, letting her feel the intention behind every second.
There is nothing rushed or frantic in the moment, only control and quiet reverence.
My hands glide up the backs of her calves, tracing slow, reassuring paths along her skin before settling lightly at her thighs.
Leaning forward, I press a soft kiss to the delicate line where the fabric meets her skin, just at the curve of her hip.
I place another lingering kiss nearby, allowing my mouth to hover at the edge of her panties as if savoring the anticipation.
The warmth of her skin beneath my lips contrasts with the cool air around us, and I can feel the subtle tremor that runs through her.
Her breathing turns uneven, each inhale a little sharper than the last, filling the quiet space between us. Drawn by the shift in her energy, I lift my gaze to meet hers. She’s watching me intently, her eyes dark with emotion and expectation, completely present in the moment.
She isn’t pulling away. She isn’t uncertain.
She’s waiting.
“Tell me to stop,” I say evenly, my voice steady despite the fire burning low in my stomach, “and we stop.”
She nods.
It makes me smirk, slow and satisfied.
But I don’t move.
I lean forward and press my mouth against her through the thin fabric, teeth grazing lightly before I suck gently, just enough pressure to make her gasp. Her yelp fills the room, sharp and beautiful.
I soothe the sting immediately, circling my thumb over her through the cloth, easing the sensation into something deeper. Something slower.
Her hips shift instinctively.
“One thing you’ll learn about me, Cel,” I murmur, keeping my eyes locked on hers as my thumb continues its steady rhythm, “I only accept words in the bedroom.”
Her breath stutters.
“I want you to tell me when you like something. If you need something different. And when I ask you a question…” I press a little firmer, watching her reaction carefully, “…I expect you to answer me.”
With control.
With intention.
“With words.”
My fingers slide along the damp fabric, and I can feel just how wet she already is. The knowledge makes my jaw tighten.
“So I’ll say it again,” I add quietly. “If you tell me to stop… we stop.”
I apply slow, deliberate pressure again, just enough to make her thighs tense around my shoulders.
“Yeees,” she breathes, voice trembling. “Yes… We’ll stop.”
The way she says it, breathless and already unraveling, nearly undoes me.
And we’ve barely even begun.“That’s my good girl,” I murmur, my voice rough, strained with restraint. “Keep using your words, and I’ll make sure you’re rewarded.”
I’m starving for her. Every sound she makes feeds something feral in me.
I hook my fingers into the delicate fabric at her hips and slowly drag her panties down her legs, taking my time as I peel them away. I don’t toss them aside. I slide them into my back pocket like a trophy.
Her body opens for me without hesitation.
She’s already slick, already aching. The evidence of it glistens under the dim light filtering through the curtains, and my jaw tightens at the sight.
“Jesus, Cel…”
I wrap my hands around her thighs and guide her to the very edge of the bed. She lets me move her, trusts me with the weight of her body. I nip at the curve of her hip as her fingers slide into my hair, gripping.
I kiss my way down, her body, slowly taking my time in each section my lips touch. Until, I settle between her thighs.
I look up once.
She’s propped on her elbows again. Watching me, her beautiful brown eyes blown wide, fully plush lips that have a hint of gloss left to them are parted open.
And I lose what little restraint I have left.
I lower my mouth to her, starting slow, teasing, letting my tongue trace over her heat, drawing a trembling sound from her throat. She arches instantly, hips lifting. "That's it baby, just relax, let me take care of you." I mumble between laps.
“Oh, Tate… I… I…”
Her body shakes beneath me.
I don’t rush or ease up.
I want her completely undone before I ever think about taking more.
I give my another long lick, groaning at the way she reacts, the way her thighs tense around my shoulders. My grip tightens, holding her open when she tries to close in around me.
“You’re so wet for me,” I murmur against her, my voice low and wrecked. “All this for me, baby?”
Her answer is a broken moan.
I work her steadily, tongue firm and purposeful, circling, drawing her higher. Every flick earns another desperate sound. I feel her hands tug at my hair, her body rocking against my mouth.
I slide a finger inside her slowly, watching her face as I do. Her back arches off the bed.
“That’s it,” I coax, adding gentle pressure. “You can do it baby, let go for me.”
She tightens around my finger immediately, breath catching.
I add another, moving with slow precision, stretching her carefully while my mouth keeps its rhythm.
She’s trembling now. Completely lost in it.
“That’s it, baby,” I growl softly. “Ride my fingers. Show me.”
She does. Grinding down, chasing the friction, her voice breaking apart into incoherent sounds.
“Tate… I— God, I can’t even think.”
“Don’t,” I cut in smoothly. I slide up her body briefly, bringing her knees higher, spreading her open beneath me. She’s unbelievably responsive, unbelievably flexible, and the sight of her laid out like this nearly sends me over the edge.
“Don’t think,” I murmur, brushing my lips over hers gently. “Just let me take care of you.”
She exhales, visibly trying to relax. That small shift, that trust, hits deeper than anything else.
And fuck, how lucky am I to be the one she’s letting in like this?
I lower myself again, working in tandem now, fingers and mouth moving together, steady and relentless. Her sounds grow sharper, more desperate. Her body tightens, thighs shaking against my shoulders.
She gasps my name and her entire body seizes. She’s arching, trembling, clenching around my fingers as she falls apart beneath me.
I don’t stop until she’s completely spent.
Only then do I pull back slowly, dragging my fingers free and sitting back on my heels. I bring them to my mouth, tasting her, not breaking eye contact.
“Good girl,” I murmur, voice thick with pride. “You did so good for me.”
She looks wrecked.
“I don’t think I’ve ever…” she breathes, still shaking. “That hard.”
Something primal swells in my chest at that.
“We’re only getting started,” I tell her, a slow smirk pulling at my mouth.
I stand and reach for the condom tucked into my wallet, discarding my jeans as I go. There’s no hiding how affected I am; the dark, obvious evidence straining against my briefs.
I crawl back over her, pressing a kiss to the side of her neck.
“Look at me,” I murmur against her skin. “You haven’t even touched me yet.”
Goosebumps scatter across her body instantly.
And the way she reacts to my voice?
That might be my favorite part of all.I pull my briefs off and cover myself with the condom. I slowly give myself a few measured pumps.“I want to do so many things to your body, but right now I just want to feel you. Okay?”
She nods, then quickly adds, breathless and desperate, “Okay, yes, just please… please fuck me, Tate. I don’t want you to treat me like I’m some broken china doll. Just… please.”
The plea in her voice does something primal to me.
A slow smirk pulls at my mouth at the way she uses her words.
“That’s what I like to hear.”
I don’t know how many men she’s been with before me.
I don’t care.
Because I will be the last.
“I’m going to ruin you for anyone else,” I murmur darkly, leaning down so my mouth brushes her ear.
Her response is immediate. “I don’t want anyone else.”
"Damn right,".
It feels like the first time she’s stepping fully into this, not guarded, not half in.
All in.
I line myself up with her, dragging the tip slowly through her slick heat first, watching her face twist in anticipation. The sound that leaves my mouth when I finally push forward is low and almost pained.
She stretches around me, inch by inch.