Page 86 of Faker
“More than fine.” He’s talking to my stomach now. His lips refuse to leave my midsection, and I couldn’t be more ecstatic. I hope they make their way to where they left off last night.
His head pops up. “Dating you has been a dream. I’ve been wanting to make us work official for a while. I didn’t want to rush it though because I thought you wouldn’t be into it.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously,” he says in a slow hiss.
“Oh, go on.” My attempt to sound in control of my speech fails because I’m all hot sighs and moans. I’m also shameless. I want to hear more.
“The chemistry between us has been off the charts. All those months of bickering has led to some pretty hot times so far, don’t you think?” He begins a trail of kisses from my clavicle to my belly button, then slides a hand across my stomach.
“Yes. I want more though,” I whimper. I’m practically salivating.
He scoots his face to my right hip bone.
One deep breath later and I sound halfway normal again. “So what’s it like being in a work-official relationship with Tate Rasmussen?”
“Lots of foreplay, for starters.”
I blink, and my mind flashes back to a visual of last night, his mess of blond curls peeking from between my legs. I run my hands through the soft ringlets. “I can live with that.”
“Dates at the rock climbing gym.”
I slap his arm playfully. “No chance.”
“Damn. Tough crowd.”
His face is mere inches from the achy epicenter of my body. I wonder if he can hear it throbbing. I can.
“What else?”
“Late nights spent mostly in bed. Sleeping in the mornings after. More fooling around on my couch. Shower shenanigans. Making out in the stairwell at work. Flower deliveries on birthdays and anniversaries. Naked Skype sessions when one of us is out of town. Romantic weekend surprises.”
“Holy hell.”
I run my finger lightly along his sculpted jawline, buzzing at the thought of doing every single one of those with Tate. A shudder runs through him. This is all a preview of what’s to come for sure, but already I feel like I know. We’re weeks into being together, but it’s the happiest, the most content I’ve ever felt with anyone.
“Where do I sign?”
“Here,” he says.
He switches course and covers my mouth with his. For anuntold number of minutes, his hands roam wild as he kisses me. He alternates between squeezing my breasts, tracing my nipples through my sports bra, and lightly skimming my stomach. He takes extra care not to touch the lower part of my torso, just like last night. I smile against his lips, impressed at his mindful technique.
He pulls away for a moment. “Nothing hurts, does it?”
“Nope.” Not even soreness registers. Arousal is a powerful drug.
He licks his lips, then thumbs my bottom lip when I smile at him. His right hand is tangled between my hair and my scalp. He scrunches it into a fist, and I moan. I tug at the waistband of his gym shorts, desperate for what’s underneath. The shrill ring of his phone in his pocket interrupts our flow.
“Ignore it,” I say midkiss. He nods.
The beeping and vibrating continues.
“Hang on.” He pulls out his phone, resting his head against the headboard while he glances down at it. He shuts his eyes, his chest puffing up and down. “Crap, it’s my sister. She never calls me this late. I have to take this.”
I stand up to leave the room so he can talk in private, but he gestures me back. I sit down on the bed. We’re an awkward sight for sure. He’s perched at the head; I’m at the foot. My hair is a tousled mess, and I’m down to my sports bra and shorts. He’s still shirtless.
“Eli’s still out of town? No, it’s fine. I’ll be there. Give me fifteen minutes, okay? Hang tight.”
