7. TATE #3
Protection for his brother? I didn’t account for his brother.
I know he has a brother and a sister because of the information I’ve had pulled on him, but I didn’t do a deep dive done into them.
I get brother bonds because of Luke, but adding another person to the mix is complicated.
Instead of one person watching my life, I’d have two.
“He doesn’t have to live with us, or anything. He probably wouldn’t want to,” he says, sensing my hesitation. “He’d just need, I dunno, some of your fancy guards or something.”
“My protection is conditional. If he spread information about what we do here, he’d be subject to our justice system.”
Ryan shakes his head. “I understand, but I don’t want him to know about this anyway. I’m going to lie. Spin a story that I met a handsome business tycoon and fell in love.”
I press a smile against his spider, thinking of my own meet-cute about us I’ve been spinning to Patrick.
“Alright, then. I promise to protect him as I will you. Is that a yes? You’ll marry me?”
“No.”
“Ryan,” I growl.
“I’m still thinking about it, but I want the protection to start now.”
“I’ve had to do a lot, now you’re asking for more, and you told me to go fuck myself.”
“I’m sorry about that. It was uncalled for, but you were being kind of a dick.”
“You don’t know how to apologize, do you?” It would be better if he were on his knees, but adrenaline’s racing through me, and my heart’s pounding its way out of my ribcage. Something scared him into this action, and I want to know what it was so I can end it.
“I’ll learn,” he promises. “Okay, I’m going to turn around now—don’t go off the deep end.”
I don’t wait, spinning him, plastering him against the glass. His face is … is swollen and bruised and cut. He’s missing his front tooth. He’s a hockey player, so it could be easily written off as something that happened in practice.
But this didn’t happen in practice.
“Who did this to you?” My voice is low and dangerous.
“I have an appointment on Monday to get the tooth fixed. It’s a wonder I’ve gone this long with all my teeth—”
“I don’t care about the fucking tooth.” My palm slaps the glass beside his head. Not hard enough to break it, but hard enough to get his attention. “I want names, I want addresses, I want their fucking blood.”
He exhales. “No.”
“I don’t like that word.” I grip under his chin, turning his face side to side. “What happened?”
“I thought we agreed not to get involved in each other’s business?”
“That was before someone used your face as a whack-a-mole.”
“It was just fists. I’m fine.”
“You’re scared, or you wouldn’t be running into my arms.”
He toys with my tie. “Yeah, probably not. Look, we’ve wasted at least five minutes on this. Don’t you want to enjoy all your time owning me?”
“I want to go hunting.” I bare my teeth.
Wrapping his hand with my tie, he pulls until our foreheads meet. “Be here with me instead.”
I wasn’t expecting to feel this way. The anger, yes, but the gut-wrenching fear? No. Fear was beaten out of me a long time ago. I decide, take action, and deal with threats.
But Ryan’s right, all of that can be shelved for later. “Once we’re married,” I say with utter confidence, because I will marry Ryan, “your business is always my business.”
He nods. “Same for you—your business is always my business.”
Our chests heave in sync. The air around us crackles and sings with electricity.
All it takes is the smallest tug on my tie, and I fall forward.
Our lips meet for the first time. Kisses don’t usually mean anything to me.
It’s something I do because I know it’s what a bed partner will be used to.
A way to get from A to B, B being me inside them.
But this is different.
It sets off a cataclysmic event inside me.
I want more, so I move my lips against his, pressing hard.
The kiss becomes rougher, hungrier. I feel things.
So many things. A spark in my chest. Burning desire.
Fuck, there are even goddamn bubbles. And I want more of it.
More of him. My hand closes around the front of his shirt, and I haul him forward.
He smiles against my lips. I shed my blazer while he holds tight to my tie, not wanting to let me go either, and I press him into the window with my body.
My right hand leisurely roams his abs, over his torso, all the way to his collarbone. “This is mine. You’re mine. You’re my fucking property, understand?”
“Yeah … yes,” he moans.
I don’t know if he means that or if he’s playing along for the quickly dwindling thirty minutes I have with him. I need to know he means it.
Still kissing him, I lift under his thick hockey thighs. He’s heavy, but I’m not going far. He helps by gripping around my waist, moving his center of gravity closer to me—perfect—sliding a hand up my face.
I growl at the hand without thinking, but I don’t stop him. We’re reaching my limit of touching, though, and he seems to sense that, keeping his other hand firmly wrapped within the tie and off my skin. I inhale him and spin at the same time, setting him down on the desk.
His chin tilts up, and my hands find where his shirt comes together. A loud rip sound breaks the air, buttons flying. Ryan startles and then glares. “Asshole, you ripped my—”
I cut him off with another kiss. His kisses have finally introduced me to my kryptonite. I’ll do anything for them. My finger pads connect with his skin, making him squirm, dragging down to his nipples. I pinch, and he cries into my mouth.
“Sensitive, huh, dollface?”
He nods.
Taking a good look, I inventory all that’s mine, wanting to memorize every dip and curve of his sculpted muscles. “So many tattoos,” I say. “Your father’s okay with all these?”
His lip curls. “No. He wants them removed.”
My brow furrows. “Won’t that be painful?”
“Most likely.”
“When you marry me, I’ll forbid it.”
“Is that supposed to sweeten the pot?”
“Does it?”
“A bit.”
I catch his unauthorized hand, attempting to move down my neck. I catch it, circling his wrist, shaking my head.
“Okay, you need to tell me about that. At least fill me in on the rules for touching you.”
I grit my teeth. “It’s simple. You fucking ask.”
He bites his lip. “But sometimes you let me without asking. Are there areas you’re okay with?”
“It’s not about areas. It’s about …” Do I tell him? If we’re married and fucking regularly, we’re going to have to work something out. I’d like him to touch me as much as I can stand.
“It’s about control,” I finally admit. A knot in my chest loosens. I take his hand, tracing a pathway with the palm from the base of my neck, along my jaw and cheek, then curl his fingers into my hair.
Ryan gets the idea, keeping our skin-to-skin contact sequestered to the permitted areas.
I kiss him some more, attempting to satiate my hunger for him, but it might not be possible.
He purrs into my mouth. I suck on his bottom lip.
Something ignites again, and our lips move from gentle exploration to attack.
His fingers tug harder on my neck as our mouths open wider, tongues sliding together, wet and rough.
He spreads his legs wider, opening for me instinctively, and I try to get closer, mauling his mouth.
I bite down on his lip, the one place I can mark him where others will see.
His face is already beat to fuck—I’m going to find out who did that, and I’m going to extract retribution from their skin—so I might as well seize the opportunity.
He’s intoxicating.
I pull back to get a look at him, gauge where he’s at. He already looks wrecked. I rub my hand under his sharp jaw. “Are you hard, dollface?”
“Yeah, are you going to fucking do something about it?”
“I haven’t heard any begging.”
“Oh, c’mon. Are you really gonna make me beg?” He tries to manipulate me, blinking his pretty eyes.
“Yes. I wanna hear it. Now, or I’ll spend the rest of my time teasing you till you wanna die.”
He groans.
I lean toward his ear, licking a wet line along the curve. “C’mon, dollface. Tell me what you want me to do to you, and I’ll do it.”
“I want you to play with my body and stroke my cock. Please. Please, Tate.”
“Are you mine to play with?”
“Yes.”
I move a hand over the bulge in his pants. His hips buck. “Is this mine to touch?”
“Yes. Please. Oh, god. Don’t make me wait anymore. Please, I can’t stand it.” He squirms, desperate. Needy.
I can’t stand it either, but I don’t want to make it easy for him. I want his body responding to my touch. I want him ravenous for it. “Up.”
He rises, and I sit in my wide leather chair, hauling him closer by the waistband of his dress pants—he went full out, dressing the part of coach for his team tonight.
He exhales the breath he was holding as I pop the button, slowly undoing the zipper.
Ryan watches, eyes intense. He’s so serious all the time.
Does he ever laugh? He’s smiled a few times, but they’re few and far between.
Leaning forward and to the side of him, I rummage through one of my desk drawers, coming up with the bottle of lube I know is there, and slip it into my pocket. He scowls at it. Why would he scowl at lube? Is a chafed cock his thing? Guess I’ll soon find out.