“No, just hopeful.” His voice is tense, and I love how I do that to him.
In the hope of sending him over the edge, I lick from the base of him to the tip. It works and suddenly I’m being pulled up and rolled over as Tate lies on top of me.
“No more, baby. It’s my turn to play with you, and I’m not leaving any part of you untouched.”
He slowly peels my singlet and panties off, and I close my eyes as he shows my body the same attention I showed his.
“I love you, Daisy,” he whispers against my skin, and then spends most of the night showing me exactly how much he does.
Thankfully, today I am running on pure happiness and adrenaline, because I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night. I only passed out in the early hours of the morning when Tate realised my body couldn’t take any more. I had lost count of the number of orgasms he’d given me.
I stroll into the gallery, singing under my breath as I go.
“Someone’s in a good mood,” Saxon says. I didn’t even notice him sitting behind Ruth’s desk. “So, you sorted out your drama from lunch?”
Great, Brooke told him. Of course, she did. It’s what engaged couples do. Maybe one day, I too, will have that. Tate’s face pops up in my mind, and I can’t help but smile. If I’m going to have it with anyone, it’s going to be with Tate Washington.
“Yeah, all sorted. Just a misunderstanding,” I tell him, trying not to smile too brightly.
“Brooke thought that’s all it was. Do me a favour and go fill her in on all the details.” He gestures to the back office. “She hasn’t stopped worrying and going on about it since yesterday.”
“Sorry.” I smile sheepishly. I probably should’ve text her last night to let her know what had happened.
“Just go and put her out of her misery.”
“And you?” I ask. He grins at me, and I head back down the hallway.
“Morning, Harper.”
“Morning, Ruth,” I say as I pass her in the hall, probably heading to her desk.
“Knock, knock,” I announce myself as I enter Brooke’s office.
“You’re here,” she squeals as she jumps up from her desk. “I wasn’t sure if you were coming in today.” She places her hands on either side of my face. “You are here, though, and you’re smiling. So, you’re okay? Things went well?” Her eyes narrow as she searches my face, and concern laces her voice.
“Things went well. Well . . . eventually.”
“Who was the girl?”
“His ex-girlfriend.”
“Oh, my God, really?”
“Yeah, but it wasn’t what I thought.”
“I thought as much. He seemed pretty upset when he came back in. I actually think the poor girl copped the brunt of it. Wait . . . Are we calling her a poor girl?” Brooke, such a loyal friend.
“Well, let me tell you everything, and you can decide.”
I give Brooke all the details Tate gave me. I tell her about their relationship, the cheating, and what’s happened since. I tell her what we discussed, what was said, and how things ended. Of course, I don’t give her all the finer details. A lady has to have some secrets.
“I’m so happy for you, Harper. I really like Tate, and besides the small misunderstanding, things seem to be going really well.”
“They are.” I sigh, happily.
“You should bring him to the gallery opening on Saturday night.”
“Is it really appropriate? Aren’t I meant to be working?”
“Not really. Sax and I will greet and schmooze the guests, and the rest is general mingling and showing off some of the pieces.”
“I’d love for you to meet him.”
“Well, officially meet him as your boyfriend.”
I nod, even though I don’t quite understand her meaning. “Yeah.” My boyfriend. Tate Washington is officially my boyfriend. God, I love the sound of that.
The day goes by quickly as we finalise many of the details for the gallery opening. I feel terrible for skipping yesterday, knowing how busy we are this week, so I work my bum off all day and even stay two hours late to make up for it.
When I finally leave the gallery, I’m exhausted. Today’s busy day and yesterday’s draining drama have finally caught up to me. I decide to catch a taxi to the café instead of walking like I normally would.
When I arrive only a few minutes later, I stroll into the café and immediately search out Tate. My eyes meet his straight away and I’m sure his bright smile matches my own. I plonk down into a stool at the counter as he leans over and gives me a kiss.
“You’re late. Have a long day?”
“Yeah.” I sigh. “Thought I better try and make up for flaking yesterday.”
“Fair enough.”
“Daisy,” Maurice’s loud voice bellows as he comes through the kitchen door. I smile at the nickname he has taken to using now. “Are you hungry? I’ll get you some dinner before I go.”
“No, Maurice, I have dinner keeping warm upstairs,” Tate tells him.
“I’m sorry; if I’d known, I wouldn’t have worked late. Have you been waiting for me?” I ask, feeling terrible for being so thoughtless and not even calling.
“It’s fine, baby. You get here whenever you get here. It’s not like I don’t have a ton of stuff to do while I wait for you.” He gives me a sweet smile and a wink. Seriously, the best boyfriend ever. “See, I told you it was handy living above the café.” He smirks.
“Yeah, I guess you did.”
“I’m going to take my girl home. She’s had a long day,” Tate tells Maurice as he makes his way around the counter.
“Okay, okay. I’m sure I’m going to be seeing a lot of you from now on anyway. I can give you all this guy’s secrets another time.” He gestures to Tate with a mocking tone.
“I look forward to it,” I say to Maurice before I wink at Tate and he slaps my ass.
Giggling as he takes my hand, I wave to Maurice as we leave the café.
“You look tired,” Tate says as we make our way up the stairs.
“Yeah, I’m beat,” I yawn.
“We’ll have an early night tonight. Just means we’ll need to hurry through dinner so I can have my way with you sooner.” I chuckle and shake my head at him as he unlocks the door and lets us inside.
“God, it smells good in here.” The rich aromas of garlic and herbs float through the apartment and cause my mouth to water. I didn’t realise how hungry I was.
“I made a beef and red wine stew with mashed potatoes and green beans.”
“Yum, that sounds perfect.”
“Take a seat; I’ll just serve it all up.” He gestures to the stools by the breakfast bar and I go take a seat as he moves around the kitchen, doing his thing.
“Brooke asked if you’d like to come to the gallery opening on Saturday night.”
“Oh, yeah . . .”
“Yeah, so . . . did you want to?” I ask, suddenly nervous from his weird response.
“Well, is Brooke asking or are you?”
“Me, I guess?” It comes out more like a question.
“You guess?”
“Tate Washington, would you please accompany me to my work function on Saturday night? It will be a boring, stuffy event, and you’ll need a suit,” I say in mock annoyance.
“Of course, baby.” He turns and gives me a mischievous grin, and I roll my eyes as he returns to the food.
Standing up off my stool, I make my way around the kitchen to him and wrap my arms around his waist, laying my face between his strong shoulder blades.
“Thank you,” I whisper against his back.
Tate drops the utensils that he was holding and places his hands over the top of mine, which are resting against his stomach.
“Anything for you, Daisy. There’s no place else I’d rather be.”
I nuzzle my nose into his back and leave a light kiss. Tate turns around and gathers me in his arms. “I love you, Harper. I’ll go to as many boring and stuffy e
vents as you want me to.”
“You may regret saying that.” I smile up at him.
Tate leans down and takes my mouth in the most devastatingly sweet kiss. He runs his tongue along my bottom lip. I open up for him and our tongues meet. The kiss is so overpowering and when we pull apart, we are breathing heavy, despite the kiss being soft and slow.
He swiftly lifts me and I wrap my legs around his waist. Carrying me over to the breakfast bar, he places me on the counter but stays between my legs. He kisses me again, but this time he deepens the kiss, and it’s harder, faster, and more intense.
His hands leave my waist and slowly travel down my hips and legs until they pause on my calves. He rubs them tenderly before dragging his hands back up my thighs, taking my knee-length grey skirt as he goes.
Pushing it higher and higher, he moans as my thigh-high stockings come into view. He runs his finger underneath the lace, lightly tickling my skin. It’s my turn to moan, and this causes him to kiss me harder. “God, I love these,” he says against my mouth.
He pushes my skirt higher until it’s up around my waist and I shiver as he runs his finger slowly up and down over my black lace thong. “Jesus, Harper, you need to tone down the underwear. I can’t control myself when you’re covered in this lace all the time. Now we’re official, shouldn’t you be wearing granny panties or something?”
I laugh at his ridiculous joke but am soon distracted as he pushes over my thong and slips a finger underneath. My arousal is obvious as he drags his finger through my folds before pushing it inside me, his finger slipping in easily.
He moves in and out of me and I moan at him finding that perfect spot and playing it like an expert musician. Tate leans forward and places small kisses underneath my ear. My head falls back, allowing him room as he trails his lips down my collarbone and to the base of my neck.
He never loses rhythm, and my body builds until my toes are curling and I’m finding my release, screaming out his name. His movements are slow but he doesn’t pull his fingers out of me, pushing out every last wave of my orgasm.
Coming down from my high, I lean my head against his chest and try to catch my breath.
“Jesus, Daisy.” His voice is strained and tense. “We need to eat before I bend you over this counter and have you for dessert.”
“I’d be okay with that.” I giggle against him.
Before I can open my eyes to see his reaction, I am being turned around and bent over the kitchen counter with my skirt hiked up over my ass.
We had been flat out at work this week getting ready for the gallery opening. It had been so wonderful coming home to Tate every night with dinner and a glass of wine waiting. I had never had someone take care of me like that before.
Tate made sure I was fed, bathed, sexed, and still in bed early every night. I had fallen head over heels in love and had become dependent on him way too quickly. It was as if we had been together for years, considering we were practically living together, but we still had the excitement and rush of a new relationship.
“You nearly ready? The car is waiting.” Tate is standing in the doorway to his bedroom, hands in his pockets and looking relaxed. He is wearing a finely made-to-fit suit, which thankfully he already had in his wardrobe. The all-black ensemble with vest and fitted shirt looks absolutely stunning on him. With his hair combed over to the side, he looks dashing with a pinch of naughty as his tattoos poke out from the sleeves and collar of the shirt.
“I’m just packing my clutch.”
“Well, maybe you should actually be packing your clutch.” He gives me a lopsided grin, and I look down to my hands, which are holding my clutch. I’m not packing; I’m just standing here ogling him.
When I look back up, he is standing only inches from me, smiling wide. “So, you approve?” He holds his arms out wide, gesturing to his suit.
“I still can’t believe you’re mine,” I whisper, thinking out loud. His cocky smile softens into a sweet one and he wraps his arms around my waist, leaning down and giving me a chaste kiss.
“You couldn’t get rid of me, even if you wanted to.”
“I’m sure it’ll be you wanting to get rid of me,” I tell him seriously.
“Daisy, you have no idea what you do to me. How I feel for you . . . I love you; just doesn’t seem enough.” His stare is fierce and burns into me, warming me from the inside.
“I love you, Tate.”
He kisses me long and slow. So loving and tender. “Now we better go; the car is waiting.”
Acknowledging the taxi is waiting, I nod, coming back to earth, and pull out of his grip as I hastily throw my small items into my clutch.
Waiting on the step as Tate locks his apartment, I wrap my arms around myself to ward off the cool breeze. He turns to me, bends down, and picks me up in one swift motion.
“What are you doing?” I screech.
“What does it look like? I’m carrying you down the stairs so you don’t trip and fall in these ridiculously high heels.” I grab onto his shoulders and hold on. My gold stiletto heels poke out from the long, flowing lavender silk of my dress.
I want to tell him off, tell him I’m a grown adult and can walk, put my foot down and stand up for myself. But I don’t. I love it. I love feeling so cared for and loved, and Tate makes me feel that way like no one has before. So instead, I nuzzle my head into his shoulder and enjoy the ride.
As we descend to the bottom of the stairs, I spot a long black sleek limousine waiting by the curb, a tall skinny man in a suit standing by the back door. Surely not. “That’s not ours, is it?”
“Yes.” He chuckles. “I wanted to make it special. I don’t know about you, but it’s not often I get to dress up like this. You know, coffee house conferences just aren’t so suave.”
I laugh as he puts me down and takes my hand, leading me to the limo.
“I’ve never been in a limo before,” I say in awe as the driver opens the door for me and I peek inside.
“Well, I’m glad to be your first limo companion.”
Climbing inside, I scoot over to the corner of the bench seat, straightening my dress and securing my seatbelt tightly. My body thrums with excitement as I watch Tate climb in after me. He moves to the long bench seat running along the windows and picks up two glasses and a bottle of champagne.
“Do you want a drink?”
“No thanks. I wouldn’t want to spill it,” I answer, holding my clutch tightly on my lap.
He turns to look at me for the first time since getting into the limo, and a huge smile takes over his face.
“Harper?”
“Yeah?”
“What are you doing?”
“What?” I look myself up and down, wondering what he’s talking about.
“Why are you so stiff and acting kind of . . . nervous?”
“I’m not,” I refute, looking myself up and down again. What is he talking about?
“Come here,” he orders as he pours a glass of champagne.
“Tate,” I warn.
“Harper, come here.” He puts the glass on a small shelf and stares at me, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Sighing, I undo my seatbelt and scoot my way over, plonking down next to him, immediately searching for a seatbelt.
He laughs and picks me up, sitting me on his lap so I’m straddling him.
“Tate,” I warn again. “The driver.” I nod sharply in the direction of the front seat.
Tate pushes a button behind him and a dark tinted window slides up, giving us instant privacy. God, it’s like something from a movie.
“That’s better,” he whispers, leaning forward and taking my mouth. He gives me another painstakingly slow kiss, and I wonder what has gotten into him tonight. He pulls away only to reach for the champagne and holds it up to my mouth.
I don’t question it as I lean forward and place my lips to the edge of the glass, Tate controlling the flow of liquid. The champagne is a perfect mixture of sweet and bitter, and
I swallow it down greedily.
Tate takes the cup from my lips and leans forward, his lips only millimetres from my own. “Good?” he asks.
“Yes,” I breathe, barely able to speak under the trance that is his lustful stare.
“Let me see.” He leans in for another devastating kiss, tasting every inch of me as he licks, nibbles, and sucks my lips before sliding his tongue inside, his hands roaming all over me.
My fingers delve into his hair and I return his kiss with more passion, emotion, and love than ever before. God, I love this man.
We pull up to the gallery what feels like half an hour later. Tate pulls back, breathing heavy. “We’re here.”
“Did that take extra long, or did I lose myself in you again?”
Tate laughs. “I told the driver to take us on a scenic route.”
“Mmmmm, shame we missed it.”
“I didn’t miss it,” he says seriously, his striking blue eyes moving up and down my body and setting it on fire.
Running my fingers over Tate’s hair, I try to return it to some resemblance of what it was. After doing the same to my own, I hop off him, collect my clutch, and take his hand as he leads me out of the limo.
We’re fashionably late to the opening, and the gallery is already full of people when we enter. Brooke and Saxon aren’t far from the door and head straight over to greet us.
“Oh, I see why you’re late,” Brooke says, looking between Tate and me.
“What?” As I look between Saxon and Brooke, I notice Sax holding back laughter, running his finger over his bottom lip.
I look to Tate in confusion and instantly see what the problem is. Tate has smudged hot pink lipstick all over his face, smooshed all over his mouth, and down his neck. Oh, my God, how do we kiss? Saxon’s laughter is loud and rambunctious, and causes others standing around to look over.
“Jesus,” I mutter, rifling through my clutch for a tissue.
“Here,” Brooke says, handing a tissue from her clutch to Tate and one to me. My eyes go wide at the realisation I must look eerily similar.
Whatever You Do Page 18