Faker - Sarah Smith Page 0,82
Never in a million years would I have pegged Tate as the type of person who’s too insecure to go to a high school reunion. He seems ruthlessly confident. I assumed being nervous was beneath him.
“What if I go with you?”
He squints at me. “You’d do that for me?”
I run my fingers through his soft curls. He closes his eyes and moans.
“Absolutely. That way you won’t be alone, and you’ll be doing something nice for your sister and Brendan. Think of it as a date, if it makes things more enticing.” With both hands on my waist, he pulls me against him. “We’re a couple now. We should be there to support each other.”
He pecks me on the lips, then leans back to gaze at me. His mouth is a flawless line of pink. “No one’s ever gone out of their way for me like this.”
He gives me a proper kiss this time. Pulling away, he types a text on his phone.
“Don’t make plans for Saturday evening because you’ll be my date to the reunion.”
His hand falls to my waist, and he runs his thumb along my stomach. It causes the most divine shiver. He pulls me closer.
“Watching you play a full game of rugby would have been a fun date.”
He swallows, his Adam’s apple moving slowly along his neck, daring me to lick it.
“I’m covered in sweat and dirt, crashing into a bunch of dudes. We’re all grunting and shouting. Sometimes we fight. That would be the worst date ever.”
“You are sorely mistaken about what I like to do on dates.”
Now his gaze holds me hostage. The fronts of our bodies are still pressed together, but I want to press something else. I nibble his bottom lip, and it’s like a match falling in gasoline.
He grabs me by the sides of my face and pulls me in for a deeper kiss. Instantly, we sink into each other. My arms are wrapped around his neck. His hands wander all over my body. First my waist, then my hips, then my ass, then up my back. My fingers are tangled in his curls by the time he reaches my breasts. When his mouth reaches mine, I bite his lip playfully and he backs off, leaving his hands to set up camp at my waist. I want to give him all the hard and soft stuff that he wants.
Minutes pass as we kiss. I bite again, he nips me back. I slurp, he sucks. Every morsel of contact I have with Tate’s lips and tongue is heaven. His mouth is the best taste I’ve ever known, and I can never get enough. I want more, as much as he’s willing to give me.
When his hand wanders to my right lower abdomen, there’s a squeeze. I squeal at the sharp pain.
“Shit, sorry!” he cries out.
“It’s fine.” My pained tone is not convincing. I’m leaning over, holding the side of my stomach. “It’s still a little tender. Hard pressure aggravates it.”
He kneels down and looks at my stomach. He’s eye level with my navel, pulling up my tank top to examine me. My breath catches. This is an interesting position. The flesh between my thighs aches again when his exhale bounces off my stomach.
He presses a featherlight kiss against the tiny incision before standing back up to face me. I almost choke.
“I guess I got a little carried away.” He blushes, and it’s adorable.
I clear my throat. “I like how carried away you get around me.”
“Can I make it up to you?”
“How would do you that?”
He leads me by the hand to his sectional, and I take a seat. When he kneels on the floor in front of me, my breath catches.
“I know you’ve still got a couple days left until you hit four weeks, but you feel good, right? As long as there’s no hard pressure on your abdomen, you’re okay?”
“That’s exactly right,” I answer too quickly with a smile that’s probably too wide for my face.
“I’d like to make good on my comment from earlier today.”
Goose bumps flash across my skin. I hope that he’s talking about those six words that propelled me to sneak to his rugby game this evening.
He asks if I’m okay lying down on the couch. Instead of answering, I fall flat on my back. Slowly, his hand glides up my thigh to the hem of my leggings, then the waistband.
“Okay if these come off?”
I moan an “mmmhmm.”
Lycra fabric soon pools at my ankles, and the hot moisture