I surveyed his couch. Tate was right. It was shit. It was beat up to the point of tatty and needed to be replaced. You wouldn’t think twice if you spilled grape Kool-Aid on it. Even so, it still looked comfortable in a cozy, sit down, stay awhile kind of way.
There was no décor, no candles, no knick knacks, no toss pillows, no pictures on the walls. The dining room table was covered with what looked like mail. Some envelopes open, their contents in disarray, some not, magazines, catalogues. There was a blanket on the couch, part of it scrunched up on the seat, a wide drape over the back. Someone had been resting under it and threw it wide when they got up and left it there.
I spied some frames on a wall, the only ones in the room, in the area tucked back behind the kitchen where the counters fed into a wall that on one side held the fridge and a big pantry unit, on the other side was Tate’s living room. There were three of them, all the same size, stacked.
I walked to them, stopped and Buster and I studied them (well, perhaps Buster didn’t – she’d probably seen them before and she was again purring loudly so I didn’t think she was experiencing much but my cuddle).
When I saw what they contained, I stopped studying and started staring.
The top one had two boys, probably fifteen or so, standing next to dirt bikes – a younger, perhaps twelve, thirteen year-old girl standing between them. They were all smiling. No, the boys were smiling, the girl was caught in mid-laugh.
Tate, Wood and Neeta.
Tate, Wood and Neeta.
I looked down to the next one and saw the three kids, the two dirt bikes and a man I didn’t know. His arm was slung around Tate’s shoulders and he resembled the man Tate was now. Tall, handsome but in a different way, less edgy, his face more open, his smile so warm I felt it coming from the picture.
The next one down again had the three kids and the dirt bikes but a younger Pop was standing between the boys, his arm wrapped around Neeta’s chest, holding her back to his front. His smile was open and warm too.
Happy times.
Happy times with Tate, Wood and Neeta.
What was that all about?
I heard and smelled bacon frying and dazedly meandered back to the kitchen.
There was a loaf of bread by the range and the toaster had been pulled out. Tate was at the skillet. Buster and I surveyed him.
“There’s pictures of you and Wood on the wall in your living room,” I stated, Tate turned toward me, his gaze swept down to Buster, upside down in my arms, her feet dangling in the air, my fingers scratching her ruff, she was still purring but otherwise motionless in my arms. His gaze lifted and he caught my eyes.
“Yeah,” he replied.
“You were young,” I went on.
“Yeah,” he repeated and turned back to the stove.
I saw there were low stools on the opposite end to the island from him and I walked to one, pulled it out and sat on it.
“Um… Captain,” I started, “you didn’t mention –”
He twisted to me again. “Wood mention it?”
I shook my head.
He went back to the skillet and said no more.
“Tate –”
He sighed and the toast popped up in the toaster. He reached up, opened a cupboard and brought down a plate.
“We grew up together,” he said while he was doing this.
“Yeah?” I prompted when he said no more.
He put the toast on the plate and put more bread in the toaster, saying only, “Yeah.”
“Were you friends?” I asked.
His eyes cut to me then he went back to the skillet.
“Yeah,” he repeated.
“You aren’t friends now,” I noted.
“Nope,” he agreed.
“Neeta?” I asked softly as to the reason they weren’t friends now and Tate turned fully to me.
“Neeta, Bethany and Wood bein’ an asshole,” Tate answered.
“Maybe you should explain about Wood,” I suggested hesitantly, feeling some disquiet because he wasn’t being very forthcoming.
He turned away from the skillet again and his eyes locked on mine. We both stayed that way for awhile before he spoke.
“I get that you’re curious, baby,” he said quietly. “And I get why. But I just got back from bein’ on the road, you been on your feet all day, shit has been intense and we’ve never had this.” He lifted a hand to indicate “this” being us in his house doing normal stuff like having dinner and spending the night together. “Let’s have this and not fuck it up. We’ll talk about Wood later. Yeah?”
I wasn’t certain if he was actually asking for my opinion, if he wanted me to agree that we shouldn’t talk about it now or he was telling me and expecting me to agree we shouldn’t talk about it now.
On the one hand, he was right. Since the minute we met it had been a rocky road and not just your normal, average rocky road but it included rape, murder and parental heart attacks. We should have “this”.
On the other hand, I just got out of a relationship where my husband lied to me, not only about Hayley but, I suspected, well before Hayley he lied about Tina Blackstone which made me wonder how many Hayleys and Tinas there were for Brad. Tate wasn’t being open, it seemed like he was guarding something, something he even said would fuck this up and after I went through what I went through with Brad I shouldn’t put up with guarded. I should demand openness.
But I was sitting in the kitchen of Tate’s house in the hills, a house which was kind of a mess but could be fabulous, snuggling and stroking his beautiful, dainty cat and staring into eyes that were in the most handsome face I’d ever seen, the face of the most exciting man I’d ever met. I figured demanding openness at that juncture might be me messing things up. And I really didn’t want to do that. As in, really.
So even though I wanted to know, had this niggling, somewhat alarming feeling that whatever it was I needed to know, I pushed that down and agreed with a soft, “Yeah.”
My agreement was rewarded with a smile and an equally soft, “Come here, Laurie.”
I got up, stooped, dropped Buster to her feet and made my way to him.
He still had the bacon fork in his hand but, when I got close, he nabbed me with an arm curled around my neck and pulled me to him. I tipped my head back and the second I did I felt his lips brush mine which was an even better reward.
He lifted away a scant inch and whispered, “Get your ketchup.”
* * * * *
“Tate.”
“Stay on your belly, baby.”
“Please.”
It was a whimper. I couldn’t help it. I was naked, on my belly, in his big bed. I’d been this way awhile. Tate was at my side. His bearded lips were lazily travelling the skin of my back and his fingers were lazily whispering through the wet folds between my legs. Just when I thought I could take no more, they’d disappear and glide across the skin of my bottom, a worse tease because that felt nice, all the skin of my back from shoulders to behind was sensitized by what felt like years of his gentle play, but I wanted his hand back between my legs.
Where it was now.
I lifted my behind an inch and repeated, “Tate.”
His thumb tweaked my clit, sheer, blissful sensations ripped through me, my breath audibly hitched, my hips jerked and I felt his body move up.
“That’s it, Laurie,” he murmured into my ear. My head was turned away from him, my cheek to the pillow, my fingers clutching the case. “Lift your ass and spread your legs more for me.”
I did as I was told. I thought I’d get rewarded but his touch stayed feather light and it was driving me mad.
“Honey,” I begged.
One of his fingers entered me and I held my breath but it didn’t go very far before it moved out again. Another tease.
I squirmed. “Tate.”
“Stay still,” he ordered.
I stayed still, it was killing me, I thought I’d explode, but I stayed still.
Tate teas
ed then his thumb flicked my clit again and my hips again jerked.
“Baby,” I whispered my plea, nearly at my end but staying put.
“That’s my good girl,” he growled in my ear.
And there it was.
His good girl? Why did I always have to be the good girl?
Fuck that.
I whipped my head around, turned my body, dislodging his hand and I attacked. I got him on his back, my hand pushing him down to the bed, my mouth in his neck, my tongue tasting his skin and my other hand wrapped around his hard cock as I moved astride him. I guided the tip inside and then I ground down, impaling myself. When I was filled with Tate, my upper body shot up, my back arched and my head flew back.
“Yes,” I breathed as I ground down further then started to move, riding him hard.
He knifed up and one of his arms wound around me, his other hand slid into my hair, fisted and forced my head down.
I was still riding him and loving every stroke, so caught up in the feeling I didn’t notice he was smiling huge before he forced my mouth to his and kissed me deep.
I was close, pounding down harder, faster and losing my breath. His lips let mine go when my breath started coming in deep hitches but he didn’t take his fist out of my hair or his mouth from mine.
“Fuck me, baby,” he muttered as his arm came from around me and his hand went between us.
“Unh-hunh,” I mumbled, incapable of speech, entirely focused on something else.
I felt his lips move under mine and didn’t process his grin because his finger hit the spot. My hips bucked and I went faster, both my hands fisting in his hair as I breathed and whimpered in his mouth.
“Christ, Laurie, you’re fuckin’ magnificent,” he growled and it started.
“I’m coming, baby,” I whispered.
“I feel it,” he muttered. “Let go, Ace.”
I let go, grinding down, my back arching but I couldn’t escape his fist in my hair and he forced my mouth back to his and absorbed my moan.
Mid-orgasm I found myself on my back and he was pounding into me, harder than I could ever manage while riding him and it felt brilliant. His hands behind my knees yanked them up high then swung my calves in to curve around his back. I tightened and held on with all my limbs as his hand slid down to my hips, lifted them up and he thrust harder and faster, his grunts vibrating against my mouth.
“Fuck me, baby,” I whispered his words in the waning throes of my orgasm and as my teeth bit his bottom lip, he slammed into me and groaned low.
It took us both awhile to recover and when Tate did, his head lifted and he took some of his weight on a forearm but he stayed rooted inside me. His hand came up and his fingers sifted into the hair at the side of my head while he watched. His fingers came out and glided aimlessly along my hairline as his eyes came to mine.
“It’ll be interesting…” he said softly.
“What?” I asked when he didn’t continue.
His lips twitched. “How you’ll be after I give it to you regular.”
“Tate,” I warned. I was feeling supremely mellow, since he made bacon and ketchup sandwiches stuffed full of crisp bacon and loaded with ketchup, not to mention the after dinner orgasm. I didn’t need him to be annoying.
His mouth moved to touch mine where he spoke. “I find out you ignite like that normally, Laurie… damn. Gonna chain you to the bed, babe.”
I felt his mouth smile against mine.
Arrogance.
“Tate.”
“Can’t blame it on a long abstinence this time.”
“Tate –”
“You attacked me again,” he informed me, his head moving away half an inch.
“Well you instigated it!” I shot back. “All that…” I hesitated, “before stuff.”
“All that before stuff?” he repeated and I saw close up his eyes were dancing.
My eyes narrowed.
“You’re a tease, Tatum Jackson,” I accused.
He threw back his head and laughed at the same time he rolled us, his arms going around me, his shaft sliding out of me and he settled on his back, me at his side.
I got up on an elbow, put a hand to his chest and glared down at him.
“I think you just might be arrogant,” I declared and he focused on me through his fading laughter, his hand coming up to sift in my hair, fingers curling around and putting pressure there to pull me closer to him.
“You light up like that for your asshole ex?” he asked.
“I don’t wish to discuss my sex life with Brad while I’m naked in bed with you,” I snapped.
He grinned. “You didn’t.”
“Arrogant.” I was still snapping but he started chuckling.
“Hard not to be when my old lady keeps attacking me. Jesus, Ace, no woman has ever fucked me that hard.”
Oh God. I was not doing well with being cool and harder to get. I was also not doing well with not acting like a shrew.
I pulled away from his hand at my head and dropped to my back, reaching out to yank the sheet over my body.
Tate rolled into me and got up on an elbow, his hand sliding to become an arm wrapped around my be-sheeted belly.
I stared at the ceiling and tried to get my wits about me.
I heard his voice even though I was ignoring his presence (kind of, it was hard to ignore, I was really just not looking at him).
“I like it, baby.”
“Unh-hunh,” I said to the ceiling.
I felt his beard against my jaw, his nose flicking my ear. “It’s hot.”
“Mm,” I mumbled.
“Never had better,” he muttered in my ear, my head jerked from his and twisted so I could look at him.
“Never?” I whispered.
“Nope,” he answered, his arm curving more fully around me, he pulled me to my side and into his body. “Woman detonates like that for man, fuck, Ace.” His mouth touched mine before he pulled away. “That’s how I know you didn’t give it to that asshole the way you give it me. You did, no way in hell he’d ever…”
He stopped speaking, his head came up and it tilted.
“No way he’d ever what?” I prompted.
Tate’s chin jerked and his eyes narrowed.
I wasn’t paying much attention to what Tate was doing. I was intent. I wanted an answer because that answer was important. Almost as important as me finding out he’d never had better, not with Neeta, not with anyone.
“Tate, no way he’d ever what?”
“Shit,” he clipped suddenly and rolled off the bed. “Stay there,” he ordered as he grabbed his jeans and started dragging them on and I sat up, holding the sheet to my chest. “Don’t move, I’ll be back.”
“What?” I asked, looking around the room. “Tate –”
But he was exiting the room still buttoning his jeans.
“What on earth?” I asked the door he’d shut behind him.
I sat there, staring at the door and wondering what just happened.
Then I heard the voices. Tate had company. He must have heard them approach the house. I’d only been to his house once, I didn’t know the noises and I was focused on what he was saying. I hadn’t heard a thing.
Then I heard the voices get louder, they were male, one Tate’s and one…
Then I heard Wood shout, “You are fuckin’ shitting me!”
Then I heard a loud crash.
Without thinking, I threw the sheet back and jumped from the bed. As alarming noises came from the living room, I searched frantically for anything to cover me. I grabbed Tate’s t-shirt and pulled it on. I found my undies and stepped into them, hopping, skipping and running while I tugged them up on my way to the door.
I ran down the hall (three bedrooms, one bath, Tate’s room had a master bath, none of which I’d had time to explore) and hit the living room to see Tate and Wood locked in mortal combat and the living room had been turned into a warzone.
Until that moment, I had never in my life
seen two men fighting, not even pansy-assed ones.
But neither Tate nor Wood were pansy-assed and neither of them, from my unpracticed eye, were holding back.
There were grunts of effort and there was blood.
“Stop it!” I shrieked, Tate connected with Wood’s jaw and blood flew from his cut lip, turning my stomach with nausea at the same time my lungs froze. I sucked in oxygen and repeated a screeched, “Stop!” when Wood connected with Tate’s bared ribs, Tate’s body jerking from the blow.
Again without thinking, I ran into the fray just as Wood swung wide, Tate ducked and Wood’s blow landed on my temple.
I saw stars, the pain radiated throughout my skull and I fell straight to my hands and knees on the floor. My head was swimming so much, I had to go down to my forearms and I rested my head on the back of my hands which were palms down on the floor.
“Laurie,” I heard Wood say from far away, his voice barely penetrating the fog which formed around the acute pain.
“Get her ice,” Tate ordered.
“Baby –” Wood said gently.
“Ice!” Tate bit out.
Then there was a hand on my back and I felt fingers pulling my hair away from my face, sweeping it across my neck.
“Ace,” Tate called.
I didn’t answer, I was busy blinking.
“Babe, sit up,” Tate demanded quietly.
“Um…” I mumbled just to be nice and let him know I was alive.
“Laurie, baby, do me a favor and sit up,” Tate insisted.
I pulled in breath and sat up, settling my behind on my calves as my left hand went up to cradle my temple.
I saw Tate’s face in mine.
“Take your hand away.”
“Um…” I mumbled again, confused even though the fog was lifting and the pain was dulling.
“Laurie, I gotta see.”
I dropped my hand. His came to my cheek and carefully tilted my head to the side. His hand slid up and his thumb probed my temple gently.
I winced at his touch because it darn well hurt. Outside of the pain, all I could think was that those two taking repeated blows with that kind of power behind them and staying standing was a fucking miracle.
“Ice,” I heard Wood say and I tilted my head back and blinked at him.
Sweet Dreams Page 25