Chapter 4
TATE
I'm inside my apartment with the door closed, and my back pressed against it, my heart doing something that feels less like beating and more like trying to escape through my ribcage.
That was close. Tom just told his ex-girlfriend he likes me—likes me, present tense, a lot.
Thankfully, William Shakespurr saved me. So I ran. Like an adult. Like a reasonable person who makes good decisions. I ran away from the man I've been fighting with because I wanted to kiss him, climb him like a tree, and maybe see if his veiny hands actually know how to please a woman.
Oh God.
My brain keeps replaying the way his eyes dropped to my mouth, and how my core clenched in response. Even without checking, I know I'm wet, probably already dripping by now.
This is fine. I'm fine. I just need to calm down and think about this rationally.
But…
What would've happened if I hadn't run? If I let him kiss me? If I closed that last few inches myself?
Everything would've changed.
Two knocks on my door make me jump hard enough that I bite my tongue. You'd think I was in one of those horror movies where the serial killer is on the other side and carrying a machete.
But no.
It's just Tom.
I know it's him, and I know exactly what's going to happen when I open this door. Am I ready for that? Am I ready for him? Just yesterday, he was my enemy—at least in my head—and everything that happened in the past hour is still giving me whiplash.
Opening the door is the mother of all bad ideas. It means crossing a line I can never uncross.
I open it anyway.
Tom stands on my landing. I almost wish he looked smug—that familiar, infuriating arrogance. I know how to spar with that. I can handle sharp words. I can handle a smirk.
What I can't handle is this.
His gaze drags over me, slow and apologetic.
Heat crawls up my spine under the weight of it, and my fingers curl against the doorframe. His jaw tightens, throat shifting as he swallows. His eyes become darker, steadier, hungrier.
I almost whimper, and he hasn't even touched me yet.
"We're not done," he says.
His mouth is on mine before I can form a response. His lips are hot and demanding, stealing the air from my lungs, stealing the ground from under my feet. There's nothing careful about it. Nothing hesitant. It's all certainty. All heat.
I gasp against his mouth—a mistake, because he takes the opening, deepening the kiss with a low, frustrated sound that feels ripped out of him.
His hand tangles in my hair, yanking my head back, as he plunges his tongue to tangle it with mine. Oh, dear God. Tom knows how to kiss. Like, really, really knows.
I make a sound I've never made before, and I stand on my toes, sliding my hands across his chest and looping my arms around his neck. I meet him with equal force, my teeth catching his lower lip, pushing back as hard as he’s pulling.
"Fuck, Tate."
The door closes behind him—I don't remember moving, don't remember pulling him inside. Suddenly, we're in my apartment, his other hand’s on my waist.
His cock is against my stomach. Should I acknowledge it? Shit, I should know, but suddenly I realize how little my love life has actually prepped me for a moment like this. Out of the blue, I push in, and I rub against it, earning a satisfying groan from him. Tick! I guess?
The kiss only turns hotter and more demanding. It's as if we're both making up for lost time. Tom molds his lips to mine, and I suck on his bottom lip. That's when he grabs my ass and pulls me flush against him.
By the time we come up for air, we're both breathing hard.
"Tom, what—"
He kisses me again.
He turns us around, my back hitting the wall beside my door. Tom's body is pressed against mine, and my knees almost give out. His thigh slides between mine, and oh God, we are really going there.
His mouth moves to my neck, just below my ear, sucking on the sensitive spot. My head falls back against the wall as his hand slides under my shirt—this is not a drill!—rough palm against my ribs, moving up.
I'm not wearing a bra, so there's nothing between his hand and my breast except a bit of space and about three seconds.
I should stop this. Should say something.
Should do literally anything except what I'm actually doing, which is leaning into him, rubbing my pussy against his thigh, and making sounds that are going to bring anyone nearby to check if someone's dying.
"Oh God, Tom."
Tom's thumb brushes my nipple, and the pulsing in my core intensifies. My underwear is soaked. I can feel it. He can probably feel it too, the way I'm pressed against his thigh.
"Tate." My name comes out rough, barely recognizable. His hand cups my breast, thumb still moving, and I can't breathe.
His other hand slides down my back, over my hip, gripping my thigh and pulling it up around his waist. The new angle makes me gasp again because now I can feel exactly how much he wants this, hard against me through layers that suddenly feel like too many layers.
I try to say Tom's name, but his mouth finds mine again. Deeper this time. Like he's been holding back before, and now he's done holding back. My hands move from his shirt to his hair, pulling him closer, and he groans into my mouth.
Tom pulls back slightly, just enough to drag in air, and I whimper in disappointment.
His eyes are almost black, pupils blown wide, and his chest rises and falls so fast. We’re still standing but pirouetting around the small space in my apartment, resembling cage fighters more than enraptured lovers. Move, counter move.
"Tell me to stop," he says.
"I'm going to kill you if you stop."
"Resorting to actual threats now, I see."
"Tom, shut up." I cling to him, reaching out almost my full arm’s length to fist his hair. My brain is doing too many things at once. Keeping me upright. Keeping me here. Keeping the rest of my thoughts from catching up to what's actually happening.
With a smirk, Tom drops to his knees, almost pulling me down on top of him.
Wait, what is…? Tom Sullivan is on his knees, hands on my hips, looking up at me with such hunger in his eyes that I'm more than willing to tear my clothes off for him.
His hands hook in my shorts, my underwear, and he pulls both down in one movement. I step out of them because what else am I going to do, and then his hands are back on my hips, thumbs pressing into the hollows there.
I'm bare for him, and his face is just inches from my pussy. I have never felt so vulnerable and turned on at the same time.
"This is my first meal of the day."
“Ha! You do look hungry, Tom… ahhh! What do you—"
My words die in my throat when he parts my folds and drags his tongue along my slit. Oh Jesus. This feels so good.
I grab the doorknob, needing something to hold on to, but Tom has other ideas. He drapes my leg over his shoulder, exposing me further to him, and wastes no time planting open-mouthed kisses along my pussy. Just when I thought it couldn't possibly feel any better, he flattens his tongue on my clit.
Whatever coherent thought I had flies out the window. My stomach trembles, my legs turn to jelly, but Tom holds me up like I weigh nothing, basically not letting anything get in the way.
I don't know what kind of magic he works with his tongue, but colors dance when I close my eyes. He alternates between sucking on my clit, licking my slit, and slipping his tongue into me.
“So, so good, Tom don’t...” I’m not sure what my mouth is saying; it’s moving, and I hear my own sounds, but I have no idea what I am saying.
I don't want this to end, but I also know I'm careening towards something. Something I can’t pull back from.
Tom's face in between my thighs. I cannot bring myself to care about anything except the fact that his tongue just works wonders on me.
In and out of my pussy, across my clit, along my inner thighs.
"Oh, God. Tom, I—"
He doesn't stop or even slow down. One hand leaves my hip and slides up my thigh.
He wriggles it between us and hooks one thick finger into my pussy.
And I actually squeal. Vision blurs white at the edges.
My hand tightens in his hair, and he groans against me.
That sound, that vibration. I push my hips down onto his finger.
"Tom, I-I'm coming. Tom!"
His curled finger pressing inside me while his tongue flicks and circles my clit makes my entire world narrow to this moment, this sensation, and this man on his knees making me fall apart.
He sucks lightly on my clit, again and again, and I lose it — then taps rapidly with two fingers until I'm shaking.
"Oh God, oh God. Yes!"
I come so hard my legs wobble, limp and boneless. My chest heaves, and I smile as the orgasm recedes. My head falls backward. Eyes see the ceiling but hardly register where I am. Tom's hands catch me, hold me up, keep me exactly where I am.
Maybe where I belong.