Faker

by Sarah Smith

  I can’t scan the texts fast enough. It’s like reading a page-turner, and I want to know how it all ends as soon as my eyes hit the first letters of each word. Only this book is about me, and I have a one-sided view of all the major plot points.

  I get to the night of our first kiss.

  Natalie: Work happy hour tonight, right? Perfect time to reveal your feelings for a certain coworker. Sack up, Rasmussen. Do it!

  Tate: Shut up.

  Natalie: Don’t choke, bro. Take a risk. Tell this girl you’re into her.

  Tate: I’m turning my phone off now.

  Natalie: Don’t you dare.

  Natalie: So? How goes things with Emmie?

  Tate: I can’t handle this. It’s worse than I thought. She is . . . fucking hell, I don’t even know.

  Natalie: What do you mean?

  Tate: I took your advice. I bought her a drink. We’re playing a bar game. She’s fucking hilarious. Witty. Smart. Gorgeous. Fuck, I’m screwed.

  Natalie: I told you. You’re a lovesick puppy. Put yourself out of your misery. Tell her how you feel.

  Tate: Seriously? She’ll think I’m a psycho if I admit I’ve been nuts about her.

  Tate: I mean . . . I made up that work project just so I could spend time with her. She can’t stand me. She thinks I can’t stand her.

  Natalie: And whose fault is that?

  The next messages are from the weekend he took care of me in the hospital.

  Natalie: Cookout at Eli’s tonight at 6!

  Natalie: Hey, are you coming or not? Everyone’s asking where you are.

  Tate: Sorry, no. Emmie’s in the hospital. I’m going to stay with her so she’s not alone.

  Natalie: What?? Is she okay??? Are you okay?

  Tate: I’m fine. She fell at the worksite and got a minor concussion, but it looks like she’s got appendicitis too. Doctors have everything under control, though. She’s pretty scared so I want to stay with her.

  Natalie: Sure, of course. Wow. Poor girl. Let me know if you need anything.

  Tate: I’m fine now, but I’m sure I’ll need a chat later. Spending all this time with her . . . you were right. I’m a lost cause. I’m head over heels for her . . . I’ve been for a while. How the hell am I going to tell her?

  My chest aches with a new sensation. It’s numbness mixed with adrenaline and a bit of awe. There’s no way. He couldn’t possibly.

  I hear the clink of a metal spoon and shoot up. I spin around and see Tate stirring a cup of tea while leaning against the kitchen counter. He’s gazing at me expectantly.

  “I made you some tea.” He says it so calmly, like I haven’t just been reading all of his private texts about me over the past year.

  “You were head over heels for me? This whole time?” I catch my breath. I must have stopped breathing.

  He’s giving me the same wide-eyed stare I’m giving him. He nods. Neither of us blinks.

  “No. I need to hear you say it.”

  “I’m crazy about you, Emmie. I have been for quite some time.” He says it solemnly, like he’s confessing to a crime.

  Dizziness hits me, and I cradle the sides of my head with my hands. “Oh my God” is all I can say while swaying back and forth.

  Tate sets the mug on the counter and rushes over to me, steadying me in his arms like he did after I fell when I wobbled in pain. He lowers me carefully onto the couch and sits at one end. I rest my head on his lap, my legs stretched out.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” I sound like a wonder-stricken child who just learned that the universe is infinite. It’s too much to process, and my head feels heavy, weighed down with inconceivable facts that can’t possibly be true.

  He strokes my hair with such gentle care I could cry. “I was afraid you’d think I was a loser. I’m a grown man and I couldn’t muster the courage to tell you how I felt for so long. I made up a work project just so I could spend time with you. How uncool is that?”

  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 I make 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 o
f 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 building inside 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.

  “Do you live your entire life in neutral shades?” I ask, running my hand over the top bedsheet. It’s softer than it looks.

  “Not anymore.”

  He pushes me gently by the shoulders onto the bed until I’m sitting. Another nudge and I’m laid flat. He lowers himself onto me, then uses one arm to slide me up until my head reaches his pillow. His subtle show of strength gives me a full-body tremor.

  “You’re so strong. I love it,” I say, pulling his lips to mine.

  He leans up and tugs off his shirt. Lying underneath his chest is the absolute best way to view his immaculate torso, glistening in the lamplight. All the glimpses I’ve gotten of his bare body until this point have been short lived. Now that we have the time, I let my eyes wander across the solid ivory surface. He’s physically flawless, and I can’t take him in fast enough. I pause at his pectorals, then move on to the toned lines of his thickly muscled stomach. I count his abs and get to six. One by one, I touch them. Everything is firm. Back, stomach, ass, thighs. There’s no give or chubbiness anywhere. His entire body is wrapped in silky skin.

  “All your rock climbing has paid off. You are exquisite.” I catch him blushing as he sits on his knees, straddling me. “I’m jealous of every woman who got to see you up close before I did.”

  “Don’t be. It’s been a while.”

  “How long?” I lean up and press a featherlight kiss to his oblique. He lets out a soft groan.

  “A little over a year.”

  “A year? Seriously?” I’m wide eyed with disbelief. How does a guy as sexy as Tate go a year without sex? “Women must throw themselves at you. How did you fight them all off?”

  “It’s easy when you’re carrying a torch for someone else.”

  My cheeks heat. Instead of lowering back down onto me, he moves between my legs, his face at my thighs.

  Soft kisses trail up my right thigh, then back down my left. With his head still lowered, he slides his hand to my stomach, pressing me down flat on the bed.

  I bite my lip to ward off the excited giggles bubbling at the base of my throat.

  “What about you?” I say through a shaky breath.

  “I told you.” His lips graze the hem of my lace panties. “I’m taking care of you tonight.”

  With the hook of his finger, my panties move to the side. His face disappears under my dress, and I gasp. He’s wasting no time at all, it seems. His tongue finds me again, and the pleasure is immediate. The way his tongue slides against my most sensitive spot, it’s as if we’ve been at it together for years.

  Again with the slow circles, again with the even pace. Just like the first time, he takes his cues from me well, then tailors his technique to my reactions. After every sharp breath and moan comes another measured, delicious lick. The pressure is perfect, heavenly. Both of my hands dig into his curls, but not to lead or adjust. To hold on for dear life because this sublime friction is going to send me over the edge soon.

  “Tate,” I cry.

  He hums a response but doesn’t stop. Another half dozen swirls, and my body winds tighter. Another hum, then lightning strikes. Waves thrash through me, but he holds me steady with his face and hands. I open my eyes and see double. When my vision focuses a few seconds later, Tate is standing over me. He pulls me to the edge of the bed.

  “You are way too good at that,” I pant.

  I gaze up and take in the visual of his bare, sweaty chest as he heaves. Aftershocks pound through my legs, and I watch intently as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Damn, those lips. Those lips that kiss me like no one else can. Those lips that now own me.

  “No such thing,” he says. “And I’m nowhere near finished with you.”

  He pulls my dress over my head, then peels off my underwear and bra. They land in a small pile on the wood floor, as do my heels once I sit up and kick them off. He drinks in the sight of my naked body with eager eyes. His gaze stops at all my naughty places first, then skims over every other part, ending at my face. Wide eyes and a tense jaw indicate an expression somewhere between lust and awe. I cross my arms when I notice he’s still got his pants on and I’m the naked one.

  “Shy all of a sudden?” he asks.

  Even though it pains me, I let my arms fall to my sides. “Kind of. It’s difficult not to be when the only hard body in the room still has his pants on.”

  I hope my joke conceals my dash of insecurity. My physique is a poor companion to his chiseled glory. I’m healthy for sure from consistent jogging, but I’m nowhere near as defined.

  He frowns with renewed intensity. “Hey.” He grabs my chin gently, tilting my head up to look up at him. “Knock it off. You’re beautiful.”

  The soft kiss he presses to my lips squashes all lingering self-doubt. I’m vibrating with lust and confidence now. I yank his belt buckle loose and unbutton his trousers. He takes over and unzips, giving me a chance to slide back up the bed. I bite my lip, eagerly awaiting his big reveal. When he lowers his gray boxer briefs, my jaw drops. All those times I pressed against his erection while we fooled around fully clothed did not prepare me. As impressive as he felt under fabric, it was nothing compared to what’s in front of my face right now.

  “Wow.” My mouth stays open even after I finish speaking.

  He smiles slightly, and a tiny bit of pink makes it onto his cheeks. Quickly, I grip his hand. I don’t want him to lose his nerve.

  “Well, don’t just stand there.�
�� I pull him to the bed.

  He chuckles and lands on top of me, propping himself on his elbows. He reaches over my head and opens the drawer of his nightstand for a condom. When he’s ready, he slides in.

  I gasp and my eyes widen. He seems to know I want to take this slow, because he inches into me with measured control. When I feel the full length of him, I have to take a handful of deep breaths. No man has delivered this much pleasure to my body at the mere point of entry. Normally, there are kinks to work out the first few times I’m with someone, but Tate is a master. Or an anomaly.

  He begins a series of slow thrusts, and my breathing becomes desperate. I bite my lower lip to keep from yelling.

  “Enjoying yourself?” He manages to sound professional and in control. If we weren’t naked in his bed, I’d assume he was making small talk in the Nuts & Bolts break room.

  I nod frantically. He picks up the speed, then slows down. He switches rhythm again and again until I’m yelping.

  “Tell me what you want,” he says with a grunt. Not so in control anymore. I moan with satisfaction.

  “This. Keep doing this. Please.” I claw my nails into his shoulders to demonstrate just how much I’m enjoying the present activities. His fingers slide against my scalp and fist my hair in response.

  Sweat beads dot the top of his forehead. Just the sight of him causes me to tighten around him. He’s hitting something inside of me no one has before. I don’t know if it’s his size, girth, or technique, and I don’t particularly care. I’m just ecstatic it’s happening. It’s raw and severe and makes me cry out.

  He pauses the heavenly thrusting to sit up, and I whine. But then he hooks both of my legs over his shoulders and resumes the pace.

  “Holy God,” I slur.

  This is heavenly. This is otherworldly. This is all the adjectives I can’t think of because my mind is a pleasure-filled balloon ready to burst. I’ve done this position in the past, but it’s never, ever felt like this. Tate has mastered it. His heroic stamina puts to shame all the men I’ve been with previously. No man should ever attempt this move without consulting him first so he can tell them how to do it correctly.