Faker - Sarah Smith Page 0,79
not a smart man.”
Again he captures me in a kiss that leaves me breathless. When I come up for air, he’s gasping as well.
“Did you make yourself come again after we hung up?”
I shake my head, too dizzy to speak.
“Why not?” He studies me with pleasure-drunk eyes, his lids halfway closed.
I lean into the hard bulge at the front of his pants. With my hand over his chest, I steady myself. If I weren’t holding on to him, I’d be a puddle on the ground. The truth dances on the tip of my tongue, waiting for me to be brave enough to say it.
“I wanted you instead.”
One of his hands stays at my waist; the other glides up my arm and stops on my face. His forehead falls against mine. Our stares lock. In an instant, my throat dries up.
“I’d love to make you come, Emmie.”
He presses his lips to mine but leaves out his tongue. I miss the soft, clean wetness already. Even without the kiss, I’m rendered weak. How he manages to constantly floor me with sexy comments, I’ll never know.
“You only want me for my body? How shallow.”
His hands tighten around my waist. It almost feels like he’s holding me steady just so he can hypnotize me with the storm brewing in his stare. There’s no way I’ll ever tire of looking into those eyes.
“Hardly. I want you for so many other reasons. Your smile, your laugh, your thoughtfulness. Your strength and sweetness. The way you make me feel at ease every single time I’m around you. You tick all my boxes. There’s no one in the world like you, Emmie.”
I breathe, but it doesn’t feel like any oxygen is making it inside my body. I’m floored once more, but this time it’s the obvious affection in his face, the way it laces all the words he speaks.
“We’d better head back,” he says.
We join the rest of the Nuts & Bolts crew. Lynn lends a few final remarks, and the crowd disperses. I mill around the house snapping progress photos for another press package I’m working on. When I near the far edge, I hear Kip’s laughter echoing around the corner.
“I hear ya, Tate. Good luck at the rugby game tonight.”
With Kip’s perfectly timed words, the most brilliant idea pops into my head.
twenty
Images of Tate from earlier today bounce around my head while I walk along my evening jogging route. The way he played and joked with those kids all the while decked out in sexy contractor cosplay gave me a whole new fantasy to obsess over.
But it’s his words doing me in. Maybe he missed a chance to surprise me last night, but I’m not missing my chance to surprise him. Six words loop inside my head, making it impossible to focus on anything else.
I’d love to make you come.
It’s so Neanderthal of me, but I can’t help it. Tate brings out both the sentimental part of me and the cavewoman part that wants to be taken against a wall. Every time his low, velvety voice repeats those words in the privacy of my mind, there’s a starburst at the bottom of my gut. Fire engulfs my cheeks.
Every minute spent with Tate makes me want a hundred more. Every time he says something sweet, I want to hear it over and over. I’ve never been this level of smitten in any prior relationship.
Each footstep is a struggle to stay on course. I want to sprint instead, but I manage to keep walking until I reach the end of the street. My brain orders me to keep a slow pace, but my legs tell it to go to hell. I blame restless leg syndrome. I blame the boredom brought on by doctor’s orders to take it easy. I blame Tate’s pillowy lips that must be laced with crack.
I continue speed walking, take a hard left, and pick up the pace. The end of my route is only a mile from where his game is. I’ll surprise him with a hello, a hug, maybe a kiss, and then be on my way.
In exactly fourteen minutes and forty-seven seconds, I reach Memorial Park and spot a group of men milling around a huge field. I discreetly mosey around the edge of what I assume is the perimeter of their game. There are no markings, just plain grass. When I’m about twenty feet away, I stop and watch.
Even in the chaotic crowd of rugby players, it’s easy to spot Tate.