Page 93 of Faker
Tate watches me, amused. “Hungry?”
“I’m always hungry for cake,” I say, mouth stuffed, lips shellacked in white frosting.
He laughs. “You are adorable.” I start to wipe at the frosty mess with the back of my wrist, but he holds a hand up. He passes me a napkin, then steals a bite of my cake. When he crinkles his nose at me, I have to steady myself on both feet to make sure I don’t fall. He’s being playful, and it’s more delicious than this cake.
My eyes fall to the frosting-smeared paper plate. “Your sister said something interesting to me while you were grabbing drinks.”
“What was that?”
He swipes a finger full of frosting from the plate and sticks it in his mouth. Biting my bottom lip is the only way I can keep from groaning. Who knew eating cake could be so sensual?
I clear my throat. “She said I’m beyond special to you.” I want to hear Tate say how he feels about me so bad, I could yowl right here in this school gym.
He raises an eyebrow. “Really?”
I nod. With his thumb, he swipes a speck of frosting from the plate and dots it on my nose.
I jerk away and laugh. “What the hell?”
With a firm hand on my waist, he pulls me against him. In a split second, his tongue slides over the tip of my nose. The frosting’s gone.
He hums, then licks his lips. His face darkens. “Do I seem like the kind of guy who would lick frosting off a woman’s face in full view of his high school classmates?”
“No.”
He leans to my ear. “That’s what you do to me, Emmie. Youmake me want to do things I would have never thought to do before. You make me happier than ever. That’s why you’re special.”
Suddenly, this gym is the last place I want to be.
My mouth inches to his ear. “Can we find someplace a bit more private?”
I understand his darkened expression perfectly now. Pulling me by the hand, he leads me out of the gym. We meander down a long, dark hallway until we reach a row of burgundy lockers at the end of the hall. The music is a distant echo.
I tug the collar of his shirt. “It’s crazy isn’t it? How far we’ve come.”
He presses me against the cold metal. “A couple months ago, you couldn’t stand the sight of me.”
“And you were starting arguments with me constantly.” I trace my finger down the hardness of his collarbone.
“Now you’re my girlfriend.” He presses me against the lockers, lowering his face to mine. “And the reason I finally dug out that roll of contact paper from my hall closet.”
His hands are brackets pressed on either side of my waist, caging me against the lockers. I’m confused at his out-of-the-blue comment, so I kiss him. A second later, my jaw drops.
“I saw you eyeing it when you walked in the kitchen.” He bumps the tip of his nose to mine. “Don’t pretend you don’t know.”
I yank him toward me by his shirt collar. “You cleared out a drawer for me? Already?” Squeals intersperse the kisses I plant on his lips.
He nods. “For those times when a late evening turns into a lazy morning.”
We pick up exactly where we left off the night before. We are our crazed selves once again, aching for each other’s mouths andtongues. My fingers find their rightful spot in his thick curls. When my knuckles curl against the impossibly soft strands, I moan into his mouth.My oh my, his curls say to my hands.Lovely seeing you again. How we’ve missed you.
His hands remain flat on the wall behind me, not touching me at all. They don’t need to. The rest of his body is doing more than enough. His entire lower half is pressed against my lower half. To call it grinding would be dirty and inaccurate. This isn’t a club, and he isn’t shoving his body into mine like a clumsy oaf. He’s pressing ever so slightly with purpose. It’s a strange way to describe it, but it’s true. There’s care in the way his body is making contact with mine. The rhythm is steady and slow, but deliberate. I wonder if this is how his body moves when he has a naked woman underneath him. I’ll find out soon enough.
His hands don’t stay away for long. They spring off the locker wall and spread against my rib cage, then up to my breasts. He gives both a gentle squeeze. His tongue curls away from mine as I feel him smile.
He grabs my hands, which are wrapped around his neck, and presses them against the wall behind me. They’re shoulder level now. Our fingers interlace quickly, like they’ve pulled this move together countless times. I break our kiss for a second.
“Is this what you did in high school?” I manage to say after a few breaths.
