Faker - Sarah Smith Page 0,111
“Um, Tate. You should—”
“No, no, no. No excuses. I need you in the shower ASAP.” He thuds down the stairs. When I see his lower half covered in a towel, I breathe a sigh of relief.
He halts dead in his tracks halfway down when he spots Natalie. “What are you doing here?” He tugs his towel tighter around his waist.
Natalie bursts out laughing. A second later I join her. Tate’s flushed cheeks make him appear annoyed and embarrassed at first, but then he’s grinning.
“That’s right. Laugh it up, ladies. Natalie, what can I help you with?” He raises an impatient eyebrow to her, his arm resting on the railing.
“Just wanted to make sure you were okay after last night, but you seem just dandy,” she says. “We’re visiting Nana at the home this afternoon, remember? Your turn to bring coffee cake. It’s her favorite, so don’t forget. And don’t be late. She hates that.”
She spins around and pulls me in for a tight hug. “I’m so glad to see you here. He’s crazy about you,” she whispers in my ear before letting go.
As I close the door behind her, I’m beaming from the inside out. His sister likes me. It makes everything feel more real, like I’m being welcomed into his private world.
Tate runs a hand through his hair. “Sorry, I didn’t know she’d be by.”
I bite back a grin. “It’s my fault. I let her in.”
“Yeah, about that.”
He drops down the final few stairs to me. He grabs me by the waist and pulls me against his soaking-wet torso. I want to lick all the droplets off him, but instead I focus on his eyes.
“Next time, let the door go. Shower is first priority.”
He leads me in a long, slow kiss. His breath is heated, and all I want to do is fog up the shower with him.
“I’d love for you to join me,” he says in a guttural whisper.
“I don’t want to make you late.” I claw against his soaked back.
“We’ve got time. Besides.” His tongue glides along his bottom lip. “I want to show you something upstairs.”
He guides me by the hand to his bathroom and gestures to the filled tub. “I’d like to try this again, this time the fun way.”
“You want to take a bath together?” I grin. “How romantic.”
“Nah.” He sits at the end of his tub, leaving me standing. “I want to watch you.”
My face heats. “You want to watch me take a bath?”
He pulls me so I’m standing between his legs. “That photo of your legs in the tub has been haunting me. I’m still kicking myself for not coming over to your place that night. And that time I sat next to you while you bathed . . .” He skims the surface of the water with his fingers. “Do you have any idea how worked up I was sitting next to you, hearing you splash around, picturing you touching your body?”
I laugh to myself. “Is that why it took you a minute to come out of the bathroom?”
“Indeed, it was. I was wondering if you’d be so kind as to re-create it for me.”
His hand glides up my thigh and under his boxers, his fingers wet with bathwater. Before he can graze any sensitive parts, he pulls away, resting his hand at the waistband.
“I’d love to,” I purr.
As I pull off his T-shirt and boxers, his eyes never leave my body. I tie my hair up in a topknot before lowering myself in the tub.
“Messy hair,” he mumbles. “I like.”
I flash what I hope is a sexy smile. Pressing against the back wall, I let my head and back rest against the cold tile.
My hands run across my stomach. “You want me to do exactly what I did to myself the night I talked to you from the bathtub?”
“Yes, please.” His eyebrows knit together, like he’s concentrating. His eyes run the length of me before ending at my face.
With wet hands, I massage my breasts and moan. The ache between my leg starts.
“Christ,” he mutters. “You were doing that on the phone too?”
I shake my head. “I’m freestyling a bit. Hope that’s okay.”
His eyebrows knit. That frown. I used to think it was always rooted in anger and frustration, but arousal seems to be a common culprit.
With closed eyes, I feel down my body. Using my fingertips, I draw a line down the side of my stomach. The tickle it causes makes me jerk. When my breath starts to quicken,