Chapter 36
Chapter
Thirty-Six
ARA
“I… this is a bad idea.” I get up and make my way back to our group. Joel takes one look at me and offers me his hand, along with the perfect excuse, by asking me to dance. And since I need to get away from Tate, I take it.
“You know I'm here for you, right?” Joel asks. The breath I release comes out shakier than I want it to.
“I don't like the tension you're under,” Joel continues. “You look like you're about to shatter.”
“That bad, huh?” I give him a humorless smile.
“No, you look beautiful. You always do.”
My eyebrows jump up at that.
“It's the truth. Don't look so shocked. I have told you that you're beautiful before, right?”
“No, I don't think you have, Joel. I'm pretty sure your words to describe me were more like annoying, reckless, or even stupid. And let's not forget that you like to shout at me, too.”
He looks shocked. “Ara, that's not … that's not at all what I think of you.”
I shrug. “It’s fine. I'm your best friend's little sister who always tagged along even when you didn't want me to.” His eyes widen even more, and I hurry to reassure him. “You were never mean about it. It's fine, Joel. I would even say we are friends now, right?”
“Ara, I care about you.”
“I know that. You are as overprotective as my brothers, and the way you panic when I get hurt.” I incline my head. “Oh well, now that I think about it, that could be because you fear the repercussions,” I tease.
He shakes his head, looking stunned.
“No, I’m…” He swallows. “But that is not the point. What is going on?” Joel asks, and there are a thousand questions in his eyes.
How am I supposed to answer that? Gods, I wish Ben were here.
However much I hate talking with my brothers about men, I would do anything for one of them to hug me and promise that everything will be okay.
“I miss them, Joel,” I say, going with the easiest truth. “I would give everything for one of Dar’s hugs right now.” My eyes wander over the crowd around us, but my brother is suspiciously absent. Now that I think of it, I haven’t seen Elena or Tyre either. That’s odd.
“I’m not Dar, but…” Joel says while cautiously pulling me against his chest. When I don’t protest, he wraps his arms around me. “Better?”
I nod, finding comfort in his familiarity. We sway from side to side to the music, and Joel slowly steers us to the periphery of the dance floor.
“Thank you, Joel, for not rubbing it in,” I finally mumble and look up at him.
He chuckles. “Oh, it took some restraint.” He pauses. “What happened?”
“Short version, Tate is Frederick’s brother.”
Joel’s eyes widen. “Wait, you mean … holy fuck.” He looks at me, eyes still wide, mouth open.
“Yeah.” I shrug, and to my absolute horror, tears gather in my eyes.
“And now?”
I shrug again because I don’t know anymore. I tried to push him away, to hate him, but I can’t, and since the kiss in the cave, in our kitchen, my walls are not just cracking, they are tumbling one massive chunk at a time.
“Hey, you're not one to give up, so don’t start now.” He presses a kiss to my brow and gives me a sad smile. I nearly break and confess it all when I’m ripped out of Joel’s arms.
“You've got to be kidding me.” Tate’s voice brims with anger.
“Hey,” I protest, but he already starts walking, dragging me after him. “What are you doing?” I hiss and try to dig in my heels, a hopeless mission on the sleek floor.
“What I’m doing?” he growls, but keeps walking. “I swear, Ara, you either come with me right now or I’ll throw you over my shoulder and carry you out, screaming and kicking if I must. I don’t give a shit what anyone in here thinks, but we will talk now. My patience is fucking over.”
This talk is long overdue, so I follow Tate without a fight.
It shows that Tate knows his way around the palace. We take only a few turns before we find ourselves alone.
He drags me into a room, a small office. A desk occupies most of the space. The walls are filled with shelves full of some sort of records. Tate closes the door behind him, and the lock clicks into place.
“What the fuck are you trying to accomplish, Ara? Are you trying to drive me mad with jealousy? Congratulations, mission accomplished.”
“What?” I look at him. “No. In case you weren't there, they asked to dance with me, not to fuck me.”
There is a humorless laugh as he drags a hand through his hair.
“My brother… I get it. I hate it, but I understand. You couldn't very well affront our future king in front of everyone. But Joel, to let him hold you like that in front of me, to let him kiss you while I'm very aware that he wants to fuck you…”
My mouth drops open. “What the hell, Tate? We're talking about Joel here. I told you he's like a brother to me.”
“You also told me that you had a crush on him. So tell me, what sister has feelings like that for a brother?”
“He's not actually my brother, and—”
“Exactly.”
“You're not making sense right now.” I shake my head at him.
“Okay, whatever. But after being careful not to offend my brother, you think he is okay with you cozying up to another guy on the dance floor right in front of him?”
“He wouldn't care.”
“He wouldn't care?” Tate repeats incredulously and takes a step forward, his eyes blazing. I step back, too aware of the pull between us.
He scoffs, obviously not believing me. “You want to tell me he’s okay with you fucking other men?” He stalks closer, and my heart speeds up. I take another step back and bump into the desk behind me.
“Yes, I’m free to do as I want,” I hiss.
“You really want to tell me…” He spins me around so my front faces the table with him right behind me.
“If I bend you over this table.” He grabs my neck and pushes me down so my chest and cheek rest against the smooth surface.
“And fuck you until you’re hoarse from screaming my name…
” Heat pools in my belly and wetness between my legs.
He steps even closer, his breath labored, his erection not to miss where it rests against my ass.
His breath skates over the shell of my ear when he leans in. “You want to tell me my moron of a brother would be okay with that?”
I bite my lip to hold in a moan, but can't help arching my back, pressing into him. Tate groans.
“You want to tell me nothing is stopping me from having you right now?” His voice is rough, lower.
Gods, I want him.
Our situation is already miserable. Is there even a way to make it worse?
He bites my neck when I stay quiet. And I can't stop the moan this time.
“Do you want me to fuck you?” he whispers against my skin, and my whole body lights up.
My breath is already ragged, and he hasn’t even started touching me.
Why is he still so much in control when my world is going up in flames?
How can he stand there all cool and dominating and still leave the choice up to me?
“No?” I croak out.
“That doesn't sound like you’re sure,” he mocks, skimming his nose along my neck.
I shudder. Dammit, I want him.
“Are you wet for me, sunshine?” he asks. And the question alone heightens my arousal.
“No,” I lie, and his eyes flare.
“Don't lie to me,” he growls. “Let me ask you again. Do you want me to fuck you?”
My heart races. I bite my lip, trying to keep the word in. I should say no. I know I should. But damn, I need him, and I don't care about the consequences.
“Yes,” I whisper, and Tate goes unnaturally still. I look at him through my lashes while he looms over me, my cheek still resting against the smooth wood of the table, his thumb caressing the base of my neck.
I lick my lips and watch him watch me. His eyes are dark with desire, his face tense with hunger. But that he is still so restrained won’t do at all.
I meet his gaze, and remembering his words when he cornered me in the hallway, I deliver the final blow to his control.
“Please fuck me, Tate.”
He snaps, explodes into motion, and all I can think is hurry .
Cool air caresses my wetness briefly before he slams home, replacing it with the heat of his body.
I whimper at the sudden intrusion, the fullness, the delicious stretch of him finally filling me. And at least for this moment, he is mine.
He pauses for a heartbeat as if he heard my mental claim or is as overwhelmed by the sensation as I am.
“Fuck, you’re so wet for me.” He squeezes his eyes shut as if he is fighting for control. But I don’t want that. I push back against him, propelling him into motion.
The pace he sets is fast, nearly punishing, anger, hurt, and frustration of weeks transformed into pleasure. I embrace it, crave it, and tilt my hip to let him slide even deeper.
Every one of his thrusts hits that delicious spot, causing sparks to flare and tension to coil.
His hand still rests on my neck, the soft caressing motion of his thumb a stark contrast to the way he claims my body.
Longing and sadness tinge the need in his eyes.
And the knowledge that I caused it, that this beautiful, broken man is in pain because of me, makes my chest tight.
My emotions nearly choke me, while my physical pleasure builds until I’m teetering on the edge, only moments away from exploding. Tate stops. Then he changes pace and angle and pulls me back from the high.
I growl in frustration, and he chuckles darkly.
“You love having control, don’t you?” he asks. “Driving me crazy with jealousy, shredding my control, pushing me until I’m on the edge of insanity…”
I shake my head, but he’s right. A dark part of me does love it. The knowledge that I can bring this powerful man to his knees … a shudder works its way through my body. Would I use it to harm him? Never.
Tate leans forward, seating himself so deeply inside me, my muscles flutter around him in anticipation, but he doesn’t move. Instead, his mouth hovers over mine.
“I don’t mind the control you have over me,” he whispers against my lips before claiming my mouth in a kiss that is as demanding as his following words. “But I need to know that you are mine.” I clench around him, satisfied when his breath catches.
“What do you want?” I croak.
“I want you to say it.”
I glare at him.
“So damn stubborn.” He chuckles wickedly. “But we have time.”
He keeps up his pace, building me up only to change rhythm again, denying me the release I desperately crave.
I make a whiny sound that would have mortified me if I weren’t so desperate.
Loosening the grip on the table, I reach for my clit, determined to take things into my own hands.
“Oh no.” Tate’s gift wraps around my wrists, bringing them back. “You only get what I give you. Just like you like to do with me.” He starts his maddening slow pace again. “Admit it, and you get whatever you want.”
“Bastard,” I growl, only to moan loudly when the vibration of his laughter flows into me.
I arch my back, let him slide deeper, squeeze him with every thrust, and feel dark satisfaction at every one of his curses, his praises.
But despite all of it, he stays in control and pulls me back from the edge again.
And again.
Until I’m a shuddering, whimpering bundle of need.
“Holy mists, Ara. Simply admit it,” Tate growls, his whole body tense with the effort of holding himself in check.
But I can’t. I won’t. We have no future.
“Please. Can’t you see I’m drowning here?” he whispers, and something in my chest cracks at that. He is the only one I’ll ever want, but admitting that…
It won’t change a thing, I realize. It doesn’t make it less true if I deny him the words. It won’t make it less painful.
“Only you, Tate,” I choke out while my emotions go haywire. Tears start pouring down my cheeks, and my skin heats.
“Thank fuck,” he growls. “I want only you, and it’s driving me insane.”
The wood beneath my fingers crackles and hisses.
Oh shit.
I throw my gift around him while I soar higher and higher, and just when I slip over the edge, I burst into flames.