Faker - Sarah Smith Page 0,86

the nerves wreaking havoc on my system.

He follows me to the kitchen and sets the fruit on the counter. Normally, I’d squeal at the sight of my favorite brooding pale hunk delivering more delicious tropical fruit, but all I can do is stand across from him and bite my tongue to keep from babbling like a nervous nitwit.

He peers at the pansit. “Yum.”

“Are you hungry?” When he shakes his head no, I grab a handful of plastic containers and pack up the mound of fried noodles with pork and veggies.

“I already ate dinner, though I’m regretting it now. Pansit is my favorite.”

“You’ll be taking most of that home with you.”

He pumps a fist in the air. “My college roommate would always get on my case about how I would eat half of the pansit his mom cooked whenever she visited.”

“My sister and I used to have pansit-eating contests when we were little.”

His mouth quirks up. “Really? Who won?”

“It was about fifty-fifty.” The casual chitchat eases me slightly. I wonder if suggesting a pansit-eating contest right now would help him forget my faux pas from last night.

“We should chat, don’t you think?”

His words send me into a low-key tizzy. I guess not. Here it comes. The talk I’ve been dreading.

I turn back to him. Keeping my breathing even seems to help. The hay bale of nerves simmering in my gut is now fist sized. “About last night, I didn’t mean to—”

Before I can finish, he closes the gap between us in a single wide step. With both hands around my waist, he hauls me up onto the counter. Our faces are barely an inch apart. I can taste the heat of his breath, and I could swear I hear his heart beating. Or maybe that pounding in my ears is the sound of my own heart. When his lips crash against mine, it’s heated, wet, desperate, and everything good.

He leans away, then pulls a folded-up piece of paper from his pocket. “I was afraid you threw your copy away yesterday, so I got another one today. We can fill it out together.” The smile he flashes me is practically a smirk. “But first I want to take my girlfriend upstairs to her bedroom, if she’s up for it.”

The wide grin that splits my face is equal parts ecstatic and relieved. Tate Rasmussen is a commitment-obsessed freak, too, and I couldn’t be happier.

“So no more taking it slow, then?” I tease.

“I’m done with taking it slow.” He skims his palm over my stomach so that he’s barely touching the fabric of my top. “If you feel up for it. I know tomorrow is technically the day that marks four weeks since your surgery. If you want to wait, just to be sure, I completely understand . . .”

Nearly four weeks since surgery. Five weeks since our first kiss in his car. A month and a half since we started working one-on-one. It’s all more than enough time.

I cup my hand over his. “I don’t want to wait. I feel perfect. And I want you right now.”

I hop off the counter and lead him by the arm up the stairs to my bedroom. My fingers dig into dense flesh. It’s like his cotton T-shirt isn’t even there. When I spin around after closing the door, he’s sitting at the foot of my bed. He scoots up and nods his head for me to follow his lead before lying down. I do the same. With his head propped up on his right hand, he gazes down at me.

He places his hand gently on my stomach. Like a Pavlovian dog, my body is at his beck and call. I’m back to swallowing desperate pants, doing my damnedest to stabilize my ragged breathing. I’ve reached the point where a simple touch from him leaves me hot and aching.

His face is stern with a hint of aroused urgency. A flush fills his cheeks, and his eyes are hazy. I recognize that look. Every man I’ve ever been with has attempted that take-control attitude, but none has done it while looking as delicious as Tate.

Off his T-shirt goes, falling to the floor. I’m sure I have the cheesiest grin on my face, but I can’t help it. He’s cut like a brick wall. Hard, bulging muscle peeks through milky skin. There are lines everywhere. I want to bite, suck, and lick everything. My hands drag across his flawless torso; I can’t help but inhale sharply.

“Holy hell. Look at

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