Chapter 5 #2
"Go away, Tom."
"We need to—"
"I said go away."
She gets the door open and walks inside, but I follow.
The space is dark except for the ambient streetlight through the front window, painting everything in weak amber light. Boxes everywhere—stacked against walls, clustered in corners.
Tate whirls around to face me.
Her face is furious. Soaked. Beautiful in a way that makes my chest tight.
"What the hell was that?"
"He was hitting on you."
"So?"
"So, you're mine."
The words come out before I can stop them. Tate stares.
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me."
"I'm not yours, Tom. You don't get to … y-you threatened that guy for talking to me!"
"Yes."
"That's insane!"
"Probably."
Tate's mouth opens, closes, and opens again. No sound comes out. She's speechless, and I'm not backing down.
The rain pounds against the windows, but I swear I can hear my heart galloping.
She runs her fingers through her wet hair. "This is exactly why I lied! This right here. Because you're a jerk sometimes, Tom. You make assumptions. You decide things without asking. You—"
"What assumptions?"
"The memorabilia! The posters, the bar stools, all of it—you saw them going in, and you just decided I was opening a dive bar to compete with you!"
"YOU told ME you were opening a dive bar."
"Because you already decided! You assumed. You came over here with that look on your face, and I panicked!"
My brain stutters. "What look?"
"The 'this is my block, and I want you out' look!
" She paces, soaked and furious, shoes squeaking on the unfinished floor.
"Those things were my Nana's. My grandmother, who died and left me everything she had, because I was the only one who visited her every week for ten years.
She was a groupie in the sixties and seventies.
Followed bands around. Collected memorabilia. Had the best stories I've ever heard."
The air goes out of me. "She left you a vintage Fender and three-hundred-dollar beer signs?"
"She left me her life, Tom. Everything she loved. And I wanted to use it because it meant something to me, but you—" Tate's voice breaks. "You didn't ask. You just assumed."
She's right. I did exactly what she said—saw the stuff, made assumptions, decided she was competition without asking a single question. Decided she was a threat right there and then.
"I didn't know."
"Of course you didn't know! You didn't ask!"
We're yelling now. Both soaked. Both furious. Arms flapping. Fingers raised.
"And this morning—" Tate starts.
"Don't."
"You can't just—"
"I said don't."
"We need to talk about it!"
"There's nothing to talk about."
"Nothing?" Tate's laugh is sharp, dangerous. "You had your face between my thighs, Tom. That's not nothing!"
Fuck me. The air changes again—shifts from angry to something else, something darker and heavier and inevitable.
Suddenly, Tate is just inches away, breathing hard, pulse jumping in her throat.
My eyes drop to her mouth, almost like I can't help it. Because I want to kiss her again. I want to taste her for the second time.
I don't remember moving, but one minute, we're standing close, and the next, the space between us disappears. My mouth is on hers, and she's kissing me back with the same fury she was yelling with, all teeth and heat and her hands fisted in my wet shirt.
I walk her backward until her back hits the wall beside the window—the shadowed area where the streetlight doesn't reach, where no one can see us unless they're standing right outside looking in.
My hand tunnels through her wet hair. Her leg comes up around my hip without me asking for it.
"Mine," I say against her mouth.
She bites my lip hard enough to sting. "Prove it."
Wet jeans are a nightmare to remove. I get hers open and shove them down along with her underwear. My jeans and boxers follow—belt, button, zipper, down to my thighs, because that's all the patience either of us has.
My cock is the hardest it's ever been.
Tate's hand wraps around it, and I groan into her neck as I slip a hand between her thighs. Fuck, is it possible to come from this alone? Yes, I think so.
"You're soaked," I say.
"Whose fault is that?"
With a growl, I lift her. Her legs wrap around my waist, locking at the ankles, her back against the wall, and I line myself up, wedging the tip to her entrance. It takes everything I have to not just drive in.
I drag a breath in through my nostrils for four long seconds.
"Look at me, Tate."
When she does, I push inside inch by agonizing inch. Tate gasps—sharp, loud—and I have to stop, have to give her a second because she's so tight it's almost painful.
"Tom—"
"I'll go slow." My voice comes out wrecked. "I promise."
I push deeper, my muscles contracting with the sheer effort of holding back. Tate's nails dig into my shoulders through my wet shirt, and the pain keeps me from losing it completely.
"That guy," I say against her neck. "Touched you."
"He didn't—"
"Almost touched your arm. Smiled at you." Another inch. She's taking me so well, clenching around me and pulling me deeper into her depths. "You smiled back."
Tate makes a sound between a gasp and a moan. "Being polite."
"Don't." I'm all the way inside now, buried to the hilt. Tate is hot and tight and perfect. "Don't be polite. Don't smile at them."
"Jealous?"
"Yes."
I pull out halfway and drive back in. Tate tilts her head back, her lips open. The sound she makes goes straight to my cock.
"Say it," I say.
"Say what?"
"That you're mine."
"Fuck you."
I pull out almost completely and stop. She whimpers.
"Say it."
"You're insane."
"Say it or I stop."
"You won't stop."
She's right. I won't, but she doesn't need to know that.
I stay still. Barely inside her. Watching her face as frustration bleeds into desperation.
"Tom."
"Say it."
"I hate you."
"No, you don't." I push in an inch, teasing her even though my self-control is fraying thread by fucking thread. "Say it."
"This is—" Another inch. Her eyes flutter closed, and she lets out a low moan. "Oh, God. Your cock is so big."
"Look at me."
She does. Those bright blue eyes focus on mine.
"Say it."
"Yours. I'm yours."
A swift, fierce heat sweeps through me, and I drive in hard. She cries out, nails rake down my back, and I do it again. Set a rhythm that's too rough, too desperate, my control fraying, but she's matching me thrust for thrust, rolling her hips, taking everything I give her.
"Look how well you take me," I say against her ear, her pussy clenches around me with every word. "Like you were made for this. Made for my cock."
"Tom—"
"Dripping down my thighs. Making a mess." I bite her neck, just above where my mouth was this morning. "All mine."
The window's right there. Someone could walk by and see us. The thought should make me stop, should make me pull out and take her somewhere private.
Instead, it makes me harder. A current slithers and swirls through my system.
"Someone could see," I say.
Tate moans. "So? I-I don't care."
"No?" I drive in deeper, angle changing, and her back arches. "Want them to see you taking my cock? Want them to know who you belong to?"
"Yes! God, yes—"
Her hand slides between us, but I catch her wrist.
"No. You come on my cock or not at all."
"Tom, please—"
"Please, what?"
"Please make me come."
My fingers dig into her thighs as I thrust upward.
"There?"
"Yes, there, now… don't stop—"
I don't stop even as I try to stave off my orgasm. Drive into that spot over and over until she stiffens for a second and her whole body shakes.
"That's it," I say. "Come for me. Show me who you belong to."
Tate comes hard, her fingers tight in my scalp, as her hips move erratically, her tight, hot pussy clenching around me in waves that drag me over the edge with her. I bury my face in her neck, her pulse thundering under my mouth, and let go.
Suddenly, pleasure rises and crashes through me. The back of my neck tingles. This release lifts what seems like years of weight from my entire body and mind. My body stiffens into Tate’s, pressing hard.
I come harder than ever. Pulse after pulse of cum painting her inner walls, and Tate's pussy keeps fluttering and trembling, milking me of every last drop till I’m dry and spent.
The rain keeps up its rhythm outside. The sound of water dripping, gushing, and driving hard into every surface drowns out our moans.
My cock's still inside her, and I can't make myself move, can't make myself let her go.
I pull back enough to look at her. Lips swollen. Eyes glazed and unfocused.
"You're really mine now," I say.