you want. I’m sure Cathy will show you how to use it, too. There’s a really specific ratio and measuring tool she uses, and this weird cup tipping technique she practically patented—”
I didn’t let him finish the thought. Dropping the letter, I rushed him, crashing into his lips with another kiss. This one was even more chaotic than before in the elevator, slipping into dangerous territory.
His hands curved around my ass, and before I knew it, my feet were off the floor and we were falling into his bed. My pants were off, and I kicked them away, tearing my shirt over my head as well. The soft bedspread pressed against my back, and I spread my legs as Tate leaned into the crook, fitting perfectly. His lips came to mine magnetically once more.
He paused, sitting back and examining me. Tingles shivered across my body and goose bumps prickled along my skin. He shook his head, looking away, and I sat up on my elbows. “What?” I swallowed, not exactly sure I wanted to know why he’d paused.
He tugged at his hair and lowered on top of me. Skin sizzled on skin, and his erection pressed against me just perfectly. But he ignored that—for the moment, at least—and gently brushed back my hair.
“I just didn’t know if I’d ever get to see you this way again. I didn’t know if I’d ever have you in my arms again, let alone my bed.” He brushed his lips across each of my eyes, then my cheeks, and then paused as my bangs flipped up past my scar. “I love you, Shelby.”
A terrified breath dragged through my lips. Yes, he knew about my scar now. But covering myself had become such a habit, I didn’t quite know how to react to someone examining it—examining me so closely.
A whimper escaped my parted lips as he gently kissed the length of my scar, finishing at the tip of my hairline.
“Tate.” His name was hoarse coming from me—more than usual—and I cleared my throat. “I lo—”
He pressed his mouth to mine, stopping the admission, and I gasped.
“What the hell?” I asked, half joking and half serious.
“Don’t say it yet.” His eyes flickered, and a jolt of sadness lapped at my heels. “Just—I want you to be absolutely certain when you say it. Not just because I’ve said it, or because you’re in my bed, or—”
“That’s not why I’m saying it,” I added quietly.
He closed his eyes, nodding. “Okay. Just…take your time, okay?”
I nodded and debated saying those three words despite his misgivings. I did love him, though that was terrifying.
“See?” he said quietly. “That. That’s what I want to avoid. That fear in your eyes when you say it.” He brushed the pad of his thumb over my cheekbone, a smile flickering at the corners of his mouth. “Because you will say it,” he added playfully, “I want you to do so without hesitation. I can wait.”
I nodded, at a loss for words.
“Now.” Tate wiggled his eyebrows then trailed his lips down my breasts and stomach, nibbling on the string of my panties. “We have some lost time to make up for.”
…
I stretched in Tate’s bed, and his Egyptian cotton sheets tangled around my shins. My God, that was amazing. Somewhere after the third time, we must have fallen asleep. A slice of warm sunlight slid between his curtains, and I glanced at the clock. Seven a.m.
I moaned, rolling on my side, and pressed my lips against Tate’s unshaven jaw. The stubble scraped the tender skin at my chin, and I nibbled down his neck.
“Woman,” he joked, his voice raspy with a case of the mornings. “You’re gonna wipe me out.”
I straddled his muscular thigh, and my dampness pressed into his bare skin. He, too, groaned, taking me in a kiss.
“It’s Saturday,” he grumbled. “Don’t you ever sleep?”
I sighed, turning away from him onto my back. “I have a paper to write.” I pushed off my elbows, sitting up. “I should get going.”
“Nuh-uh,” he grunted, wrapping an arm around my bare waist and tugging me back into bed. He rolled on top of me.
My hips bucked off the bed, and I yelped a pleasured cry, laughing immediately after. “Tate.”
“Write your paper here,” he said. “After.” He dragged his lips down to my nipples, and his tongue circled me there before he scraped his teeth across my sensitive skin. His fingers stroked my clit in slow, but rhythmic movements and—oh God—I was close. Again. Who knew that