Page 7 of Falling for Mr. Corporate

“I’m talking with other things,” he clarified on a scowl. “You look like the type who wouldn’t leave work a minute before the workday ends. Am I wrong?”

I refused to answer the question. “And you? What are you doing in these mountains pretending the real world doesn’t exist?”

At the anger in his eyes, I immediately knew I had pushed too far. There was so much emotion going on in his eyes. The green depths stared back at me with turbulence.

“Tate, I’m sorry,” I started to apologize but he was already getting to his feet, taking his unfinished breakfast to the counter where he dumped the remains in the trash. “Tate,” I tried to call to him and apologize again but he had already stalked out of the kitchen.

“Shit,” I mumbled, worried that I’d made him upset especially when he had been nothing but kind to me. He had followed me on my trek down the mountain to ensure I didn’t run into any harm and that was even before we had been intimate. He had welcomed me into his home without complaint. He could have insisted I sleep on his floor or the couch in the living room but, I had a space in his bed. He made me breakfast and thought nothing of it and I’d gone and acted insensitively, when I knew very little of his life.

By way of apology, I hobbled over to the kitchen sink and took a few minutes to understand how to get the old-fashioned pump to work. I managed to wash up the dishes without making too much of a mess and wiped down the counters. I packed away the dishes I’d dried and the cutlery and Tate still hadn’t returned home.

I hobbled to the living room where there wasn’t much to do. He had a generator and there was a television set but, I didn’t want to waste his electricity on something so unnecessary. I was surprised when I found a stack of magazines of varying interests, including financial magazines and sports magazines. They were current too. I was reaching for the latest edition of Fortune Magazine when I spotted a copy of James Patterson’s novelBullseyeand reached for it instead.

I settled on the longest couch, reclining with my leg perched on the armrest. I skipped the first page and a picture fell out. Retrieving the picture, my heart started galloping in my chest as I stared at it. The picture consisted of a smiling Tate who looked very different. In the picture, his hair was cut short. He was wearing a jacket suit and looked professional. He had his arm around the shoulder of a beautiful redhead who was gazing at him, her eyes full of love. The look on her face said she had it all. Between them was a little girl who was no more than three.

Turning the back of the picture, I read:

My darling, Tate. Love you forever, Rachel and Kathleen.

“I don’t recall giving you permission to snoop through my things.”

At Tate’s gruff voice, I almost dropped the picture. I stuffed it back into the book and looked at him, trying not to look guilty.

“I-I wasn’t snooping,” I corrected. “I was just trying to find something to do. I love James Patterson’s book and have never read that one before.”

“Don’t touch my stuff without asking.”

I blanched at the vehemence in his tone. “Sure, sorry,” I apologized and pushed myself up into a sitting position. I struggled to my feet and tried to make my way past him. I was hurt by the way he had spoken to me and didn’t particularly want to be with him at this moment.

“Sit,” he instructed me, restraining me by taking hold of my upper arm when I would have passed him.

“I’m just getting out of your way,” I responded and tried to shrug him off.

“I never said I wanted you out of my way, Bry.”

I knew the nickname was a slip of his tongue, especially when I glanced at him questioningly and his complexion had gone ruddy with a flush.

“Then what do you want, Tate?” I asked softly.

I already knew the answer by the look in his eyes.

“You.”

He pulled me up against him and kissed me. I hesitated at first, a little confused by the turbulence of what was happening between us. One second he was mad at me and the next he wanted me. One minute he was walking out on me and the next, he was pulling me towards him.

All thoughts fled my mind when his tongue met mine and I couldn’t resist this contradictory man who in some ways was even worse in mannerism than Keith. He wrapped his arms around me, and grabbed my ass, pressing our fronts together. I gasped for breath in between our passionate kiss as he gyrated against me, his hard cock rubbing over mine in our clothes.

“Tate,” I moaned against his lips, running my hands over his muscles that I loved to feel so much.

“Hmm,” he moaned, biting my bottom lip carnally, before devouring my mouth again. I imagined he enjoyed kissing so much because he was so damn good of it. He almost made me forget what I was about to say.

“We should stop,” I whispered against his lips.

“Why?” he asked, his hands at the front of my shorts, already loosening the button and pulling down the zipper.

“We’re so different,” I answered and even though I was the one complaining about the difference and stopping, I hooked my arm behind his head and kissed him again. He reached into the front of my shorts and retrieved my cock. I moaned into his mouth.

“Right now, I don’t give a fuck about our differences,” he growled at me. “Does it matter, Bryan or does this? What I do to you. You want me to fuck that juicy ass again, don’t you?”

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