Page 34 of The Situation
I pick my jaw up and formulate a plan. While I don’t know her backstory, it’s obvious someone has screwed her over. That was why she hesitated to meet me tonight and didn’t answer any of my personal questions.
That’s also why she only wants to fuck.
I grin.
You’ve come to the right place, Kelly Kapowski.
I am going to rock her world so fucking hard that she’ll want even more than my number.
She’ll want me.
ChapterEight
Aurora
Tate’s hands slide over my hips and shove my dress down my legs. His palms rub against my skin—fingers splayed, tips dragging behind so deeply it almost hurts.
I’m lightheaded despite being anchored in the moment, and every sense is overstimulated.
The air is thick and musky, making it hard to breathe, and Tate’s breath on my neck feels like flames licking my core. My thighs are sticky.
It’s too much. It’s also not nearly enough.
“Breathe,” Tate whispers into my ear. “You have to breathe, gorgeous.”
I exhale, releasing the breath I’ve been holding.
How am I even here?
I never expected to find such a … stimulating experience again, and especially not with a man so much younger than I am. With so much more experience, too, it seems. A man who doesn’t even know my real name.
I’m about to fuck a man I’ll never see again after tonight.
Who am I?
“Step out of your dress,” he says, brushing my hair across my shoulder. “Heels stay on.”
I step one foot and then the other, holding his hand for balance.
“Now turn around and face me.”
Tate boldly rakes his eyes over the length of my body as I face him. His gaze is slow and seductive, and I can almost feel it slide over my curves. It’s as if he’s mentally photographing every dip and freckle, cataloging them like precious goods.
“Fuck, Kel. You’re even sexier than I imagined.”
I’m intoxicated, high on hits of dopamine.
I somehow forgot that I could elicit this type of reaction from a man. I’d gotten comfortable with the idea of being forty, and that no man would find me young and beautiful. It never crossed my mind that someone would ever still see me like the twentysomething I feel I am on the inside.
Until now.
“My God,” he says, licking his bottom lip. His eyes finally lift to mine, and they’re hooded. The corner of his lips curls into a devious grin as he takes a few steps back. “We’re going to have so much fun tonight.”
I swallow through the constriction in my throat and take one step toward him. Then another, bolstered by his reaction. Each movement is deliberate—the click of my heel, shift of my weight, jiggle of my breasts. He watches me with rapt attention, his eyes never leaving my body.
My hands skim beneath his shirt and discover a wall of muscle. They roam up to his chest and over his shoulders, appreciating every ridge and valley of his chiseled physique. He flexes against my touch, sending a shiver down my spine.
Tugging the shirt over his head, I expose his body inch by delicious inch, causing me to squeeze my thighs together as I witness, for the first time, the epitome of male perfection.Damn.
