Page 103 of Faker
Giddiness seeps into my wonderment, and I laugh. “I’ve thought you were many things these past several months, a lot of them not so nice, but I never once thought you were a loser. I figured you were too cool for me.”
“I am the least cool person you will ever meet.”
I think of his effortless confidence that has intimidated me since the day we met. I think of his killer scowl that leaves all of Nuts & Bolts nervous, the way he disarms everyone around him. He doesn’t even know how far and above he is from everyone else. He has no idea how often he leaves me in awe.
“You couldn’t be more wrong,” I say. “You thought of that entire social media and marketing project just to be close to me?”
He nods, then tangles his fingers softly through my hair. “I know you don’t feel the same way. But now you know how I feel.”
“Don’t say that.” I stretch up and kiss him. He hesitates before engaging.
I press my head back against his lap, thinking carefully about how I want to phrase my next words now that everything has flipped. Earlier tonight I thought I cared more about him than he cared about me. I was so, so wrong. What an earth-shattering role reversal this is.
What I feel is intense, all consuming, and unlike anything I’ve ever experienced for anyone before. Because I’m nuts about him too.
I lose myself in his eyes for the umpteenth time. “I thought my freak-out at the reunion made it clear how I felt about you.”
When he says nothing in return, I sit up and straddle his lap, my thighs flanking his hips. The steely muscle of his legs braces my body as I rest my weight on top of him. We’re face-to-face, locked in an unbreakable gaze.
This time when we kiss, it’s different. Our tongues resume the dirty, wet rhythm of almost all of our prior kisses, but there’s a vulnerability to it now. Now I know for certain how he feels about me. I want to show him with my kiss how I feel about him.
Our mouths press together long and hard. I don’t dare let go.He doesn’t either. Minutes fly by, but the intensity never fades. Our heated kisses soon seep into vulgar territory. There’s nibbling and licking, followed by light biting. I love it all, and I can’t get enough.
I can’t get enough of him.
Our hands somehow remain measured in their conduct. My fingers settle against the back of his neck. His split their time between running through my hair and gripping my hips.
He drags his tongue gently against the side of my neck. I moan and exhale at the same time. I’m producing sounds that rival the volume and intensity of the ones I made in the hospital. It’s funny how close pain and pleasure sound. But that’s our existence. Tate and I have caused each other such pain in the past. When I let my mind dwell too long on it, the hurt in my chest returns. I stomp it away. Right now we’re trying our best to replace it with unending bliss. I’ll try as hard as I have to.
His index finger pulls down the already-low neckline of my dress. He dips his tongue into my cleavage for a long, excruciating moment, then pecks my chin softly.
“I’ve wanted you for so long. So much. So bad,” he says quietly. He grabs me by the chin and pulls my mouth to his. It’s a kiss so deep and rabid, I can hardly breathe.
I grip his shoulder, my fingers digging into the unyielding flesh. I shift against his lap. The hardness underneath me is unmistakable.
I run both my hands over his torso and bend down to kiss every bulging muscle I encounter. He leans his head back against the top of the sofa, his eyelids nearly closed. The parts of his eyes that manage to peek through are clouded over. He is drunk with pleasure. I release his shirt from his body button by button, kissing each patch of blond hair and fair flesh that comes into view as Imake my way down. A soft hum emanates from the base of his throat.
“You’re going to kill me,” he says, eyes pressed shut this time. My lips smile against the slit of skin peeking through one of his bottom buttons. Before I can undo the last couple, he lifts his head up and pulls me back to a sitting-up position.
“Death by foreplay,” I rasp. “What a way to go.”
Smiling, he fingers the neckline of my dress again, this time pulling it to the side. His teeth scrape against my collarbone, and it sends a throbbing ache between my legs. It pulses harder than all the other ones he’s given me. I break our kiss, surprised at the intensity.
“You turned off your phone, right?” I gasp. I don’t think I can survive another night of interruptions when I’m this close to going all the way with Tate Rasmussen.
He leads me back to his mouth with a hand at the nape of my neck, pausing long enough to whisper a few raspy statements. “It’s off. From this moment on, it’s just me taking care of you.”
He trails a line of wet kisses and feathery teeth scrapes against the side of my neck. His hot mouth lands at the top of my breast, and I hold my breath in anticipation of what he’ll do next. When his fingertips pull down my bra, I let out a breathy yelp. He pauses and looks up at me, his eyes mischievous. They are the eyes of a man eager to blow my mind.
The instant his tongue slides under the cup of my bra, I’m writhing. It’s just as divine as the first time he performed this move on me. Slow licks turn into soft nibbles, leaving me trembling and gasping.
I can’t take it. My head falls back along with my shoulders, leaving my body limp. There’s a loud noise escaping my lips. It sounds like a moan, but I can’t be sure. The pleasure buildinginside of me is taking over all my senses, and I’m having trouble keeping my wits about me. The only thing propping me upright is his arms, which are braced securely around my body. If I can barely stand it with my clothes on, then I’m a goner the instant we’re naked.
I don’t know when we decide to move upstairs to his bedroom, but when we do, it’s a decision we make wordlessly. We stand in the middle of his living room, refusing to break our kiss for what feels like minutes. He leads the way upstairs, tugging my hand behind him.
twenty-seven
We reach Tate’s bedroom and I grin. It’s so him. Plain with no decorations save a lamp and a giant map of the world tacked on the wall above his bed. The bed rests on a simple steel frame with no headboard. The cotton sheets are a light slate color. The walls are the same sandy brown shade as the walls downstairs. No accent furniture; just a dresser and nightstand, both made of hardwood.
