Page 63 of Unwritten Rules
Chapter Sixteen
SINNETT
Iwasn’t kidding when I said Tatum is too much. Her scent, her warmth, her fucking ability to bring me to my knees with that damn smile. When I’m with her, I can’t think straight. I spilled a truth about my parents I haven’t told Khai—he knows the basics but not my true feelings—and yet a woman I’ve known for three weeks was privy to hearing part of myself I keep hidden.
Why?
Why Tatum?
What is it about her that makes it so easy for me to open up, to reveal parts of myself that I don't want to be made known?
My surroundings are a blur when I pull into the underground parking garage of my apartment. One second, I’m sitting in the car with Tatum, her presence too much. And the next, I have her pinned to the wall in my bedroom with my hands tangled in her hair and my lips attached to hers. Her hands tug at the roots of my hair, forcing us impossibly closer.
I vaguely recall Tatum asking if Khai is home, and me responding that he’s out with some guys from the team. It’s hard to think straight when she rolls her body against mine, eliciting a wildfire deep in my bones. Her hands are frantic as they tear at my black hoodie, forcing the material over my head.
My lips leave hers to tease the skin at the base of her throat, while my fingers work the material of the black leggings down her smooth legs. Her breath comes out in small pants as I lift her hoodie over her head, leaving her standing against my wall in nothing but an oversized band T-shirt, her hair a wild mess around her shoulders.
“God, you’re beautiful,” I murmur, breathing heavy.
A red hue coats her round cheeks. “So are you.”
I smirk. “You think I’m beautiful?”
Tatum drags her bottom lip between her teeth and nods slowly. “Yeah, I do.”
Being called beautiful by a woman is a first for me. I’ve gotten every other compliment under the sun, but this is a new one. And it happens to be my favourite coming from her sweet mouth.
My fingertips trace the edge of her T-shirt before dragging it over her torso, the material finding space on the large floor, along with the rest of her clothing. With eyes sweeping over every curve and inch of her body, my lungs fight to force air into them. Becauseholy fuckI don’t deserve this woman. Not a single part of her.
I nearly choke on the saliva in my mouth at the sight of the deep red lingerie set moulded perfectly to her body. It’s all lace and fucking see-through. Somehow, my cock grows impossibly harder, blurring the edge of my vision.
I can’t help but touch her waist, relishing in the goosebumps forming under my hand. Tatum watches me the entire time, waiting for me to do or say something. But how can I when I’m at a loss for words? She leaves me defenceless and while I hate the feeling of not being in control of my actions, I’ll gladly hand over the reins to her if it means I have the pleasure of being in her orbit.
“You really are too much,” I rasp, throat tight. “But in the best way possible.”
Tatum grins as she slides her hand over my pecs, taking her time tracing each ridge, before lowering her fingers over the pane of my six-pack. I fight the urge to shudder under her touch as she traces each line, smiling to herself.
I allow her to touch me, to really see me. And boy does she.
Tatum isn’t here to fuck spiders, her fingers reaching for the waistband of my athletic shorts. She holds eye contact as she lowers the material down my legs, forcing me to step out of them. Then, her eyes find the tattoo on my left side, curving from my hip to my back.
“You have so many tattoos,” she murmurs, fingers gently tracing the large design. “What is it?”
“A Japanese dragon.”
Her eyes round at the edges. Even in the shadows of the room, partly illuminated by the lamps on my bedside tables, I don’t miss the intrigue coating her irises. “Why a dragon and cherry blossoms. And why so big?”
I chuckle, my hands finding her hips. “Let’s just say I had too much money when I was twenty-one and thought a dragon would look sick.”
“I like it,” she whispers, dragging her eyes to meet mine.
And I like you.
“And these?” Tatum continues, drawing her attention to the tattoos on my right arm, not a blank piece of canvas in sight.
“I’ve always liked tattoos,” I say, never taking my eyes off her. “I consider it art.”
“It is,” she agrees, voice barely above a whisper. “It just adds to your beauty.”
