Page 13 of SummerTime Madness
The ping of a notification pulls me out of the memory, moving towards my laptop set upon the end of the table, I grab the glasses resting beside it and read the rejection email.
I didn’t need the opportunity, but I wanted Tate to sweat for it. I wanted him desperately... so much so that he will fall willingly into my hand. I needed him for my plan, and now, all the pieces are falling together perfectly. If only it could happen quicker, then I could move to the next phase. I look at the time, and with a sigh, close my computer. Today is Thursday, which means family dinners which also means I will be seeing Tate... Not that it was a bad thing, I enjoyed watching him squirm, but I hated pretending like I didn’t want to give in.
All to make his choice… his.
Not mine.
Not orchestratedbut solely his.
I arrive at my father’s lake house right before the sharp dinner time of seven thirty, it’s a shocker to see Tate’s bike here already.
I bet he’s eager.
I wonder what kind of insult he will make for me, what kind of trap I’ll be walking into. My body hums with anticipation and excitement wondering what his big move will be. The lights to the garage are off… and I can’t help but to tighten my legs as the thrill rushes through my nerves.
I like our games.
Love them in fact.
Two predators not willing to submit.
Placing the car into park, I grab my phone out of the cup holder to check on my babies. The camera from their tank in the greenhouse shows me no change–which is great.
Excellent actually.
Tucking the phone back into the cup holder, I open the door and slowly walk inside, but just as my sandals step over the threshold of the garage door, large hands press against my mouth, his scent covering me.
Marijuana and soil.
I can smell the recent soil left under his nails, he must have been gardening.
“Little sister,” he sneers, his hand and body pressing deeper into me. The cold of the wall bites into my skin, sending chills down my spine. I smile as I look up at Tate and see the feral look on his face. His black locks falling over his face, framing his chiseled features.
All power and lust, mixed with hate.
Longing...
All that makes him a fucking great lover.
My beautiful love… is so much like me, already tasting his victory–one I single-handedly delivered to him.
Curiosity dances in my iris as I try to inhale... Tate has his own project.
Mycorrhizal.
Symbiotic. Cooperative. Weak. I crave domination–not mutualism.
Tate wants to create beneficial connections… his own network. While I’m interested in creating something entirely new from something that already exists, he wants to learn how the pathway connects–we could truly be unstoppable together.
Magical.
However, I'm too ambitious to settle for his small town dreams. That’s why we will never work. He seeks small victories, and I want evolution, I want the gold…. The earth shattering creation.
But not my Tate.
He just wants a garden where he can create.
I want evolution.
