Corin

---

Cane and Aerie were finishing their breakfast when we finally made it down to the lobby, and their hidden smirks told me they knew we’d been up to something. And, judging by the footsie they were playing under the table, and the way Canaan was toying obsessively with the envelope containing their key card, they were desperately anticipating their own time alone.

Aerie filled us in: they’d arranged a new king bedroom for themselves, and Corin and I could keep the one we had or change to a different one. They announced, after a few minutes of stilted, desultory conversation, that Aerie needed a shower, and they left together in a hurry, holding hands.

Which left Tate and me to ourselves for breakfast.

Which was a slow, lazy, relaxed process. We sipped endless cups of coffee, ate a bunch of unhealthy hotel buffet food—waffles, scrambled eggs, toast, sausage and bacon, a bowl of sugary cereal, more coffee…

We were still sitting at our little table hours later when the staff came around to clear the buffet away. We talked about…god, everything. Her mom, her career as a model, how she missed using her creativity, photography especially. We talked about my memories of my mother, and how hard it was to break our contract and kill our European tour to come back, and how it was actually turning out to be the best thing that could have happened.

We had been starting to get lost in the fame and bustle of being international rock stars, I told her. We were losing ourselves to the hype. Being back home had grounded us, returned us to our love of music rather than the scene. Being moderately famous had been fun, and I even admitted that the groupies had been fun, too, but even before coming back here, I’d started to feel a niggling little seed of doubt about the whole famous rock star thing. It wasn’t worth it if I lost sight of the music.

Which made being back in Alaska such a good thing. It forced Cane and me to focus on the music, to hone our talents, and expand our sound and such.

We talked about Tate’s dreams, how she wanted to pursue music in some way, and how she really loved photography, and how she’d always harbored a dream of learning to combine painting and photography and multimedia art, making pieces out of a photograph, and paint, and other media.

We talked the morning away, and into the afternoon—the hotel had a bar, and at some point a server came by and we realized we’d talked past lunch, so we ordered more food and a bottle of wine, and kept on talking.

Eventually, Canaan and Aerie came down, hand in hand again, but their bodies were much closer together, and they walked in a synch that they hadn’t had before, with a glow and a quiet contentment to their expressions. Which…told me more than I needed to know.

“I got us tickets to a Mitochondria show tonight,” Canaan said, as they sat down. He glanced at the remains of our lunch, the empty bottle of wine, and the fact that we were still at the table we’d been at when they left. “Damn, you guys are still here? Like, you haven’t left, have you?”

Tate and I both shrugged.

“Meh, yeah. I guess so,” I said.

“Who is Mitochondria?” Tate asked. “Is it more music like that Nitro Punch group? Nice guys, but their music sounds like someone is choking a demon with a chainsaw.”

I chortled. “You’re funny, honeypot.”

Canaan quirked an eyebrow at me. “Didn’t you say last night that honeypot means vagina?”

Tate snickered. “Um, yeah. Never mind about that, though.”

Canaan waved a hand. “Well, whatever. No, Mitochondria is progressive metal. More melodic and instrumental, not so grindy and hard. No demons choking on chainsaws. Which, by the way, would make a great cover image.”

So, after Tate and I took separate, nonsexual, totally perfunctory and quick showers, and changed clothes, the four of us headed out to downtown Anchorage, taking a Lyft from our hotel. We shopped a little, had some pre-dinner drinks, then dinner, then post-dinner drinks at a different bar.

None of us were drunk, or even close; after last night, I think we were all very aware of the need to stay in some kind of control.

I know I, for one, wanted to stay sober, since Tate and I finally had a hotel room to ourselves.

As weird as it is for me to say this…I was ready for more than blowjobs and eating her out. I mean, I’m a guy—getting my dick sucked is, like, the best thing ever. Can’t ever be too much. But…there can, can’t there? It’s not…emotionally satisfying. It’s not…I don’t know how to put it.

I want more.

More than the eroticism of it. More than the blissful rush of orgasm, of feeling her mouth on me. I want to feel her. I need to feel her; I need to have a sense of connection.

Which is scary as fuck because, until Tate, I never gave a shit about connection. It was just about sex. Getting off. If I was with a girl and all she ever wanted to do was oral, I’d have been fine with it. Shit, it un-complicates things, in some ways.

With Tate, though?

It’s not about sex.

I wanted the complicated. I wanted intimacy.

As the night progressed, I kept thinking about that, over and over. Like, trying to picture finally being alone with Tate, getting naked together in privacy, taking our time…and I’d have to push my thoughts elsewhere or risk an embarrassing erection. Or also risk getting embarrassingly emotional. Not like I was gonna cry, just…

This was Tate.

The hours we spent talking today were the best hours I’d ever spent talking to anyone. It was just so easy to talk to her. I’d told her things I’d never told anyone—not that they were secret, just because conversations with other people, with other women, never went that deep, never went to a place where such soul-deep admissions even became a possibility.

The concert was amazing. We had front row seats—we knew the bassist, and he’d hooked us up. I stood with Tate in front of me, my arms around her front, our hands tangled together, moving to the music. Casual, comfortable, affectionate. Her butt slid against my front, and she allowed my hands to roam up her front, even occasionally letting me get a quick handful of her boobs before playfully moving my hands elsewhere. She seemed to enjoy the music, this time, whereas I’d known she hated the Nitro Punch stuff.

When they finally ended after an extended second encore, it was past two in the morning. Canaan and I spent a few minutes talking to Jase, the bassist, and then thankfully Canaan had ended the conversation for us before Jase invited us out with them. I would have turned him down, but it would have been rude, because if your boys from another band invite you to their after-party, you should at least make a quick appearance.

Finally, well after three in the morning, we managed to catch a ride back to the hotel.

We trudged sleepily to our separate rooms, and when Tate and I were finally alone, Tate slumped back against the closed hotel room door, rubbing her eyes.

“Shit, I’m tired.”

“Yeah, we didn’t sleep much last night.”

She gazed at the bed, and then flicked her eyes to me. “Cor, I know we’ve been talking for a while about finally being alone, but—”

I took her hand and guided her to the bed. “You don’t even need to finish, honeypot. Time to sleep. We’ll have all morning.”

She stopped as we reached the bed, and gazed up at me. “I don’t want you to think—”

“Tate, I’m fucking exhausted. Let’s just go to sleep.”

She sighed in relief. “All the way up here I was panicking, because I’m so tired I can’t even keep my eyes open, but I want you, and I want this, and I don’t know when we’ll get privacy like this again.”

I palmed her cheeks. “I’m in no rush, Tate. I mean, yeah, I’m desperate to really, truly be with you. But I want it to be right. And just with you, in general, I’m not in a rush. I’m not going anywhere. Neither are you, right?”

She sagged against me, forehead on my chest. “God, thank you.”

“I’d never pressure you, Tate. Don’t ever feel like that, okay? Promise me?”

“There’s just been so much foreplay and build up, I feel like this whole thing between us is…like…” she trailed off, shrugging.

“A powder keg ready to blow?” I finished.

“Yeah.” She blinked up sleepily at me. “Can I borrow your T-shirt to sleep in?”

“Of course.”

I stripped out of my T-shirt and handed it to her, and she shucked out of her skirt and blouse, unhooked her bra without any fanfare, and tugged on my T-shirt. And just like that, she was just…my girl. In my shirt, sleepy, ready to nuzzle into my arms.

My girl.

My heart squeezed and thudded until my pulse thundered in my ears.

Tate was my girl.

I slipped out of my clothes, stripping down to my boxer-briefs. I made sure the door was locked, the privacy latch attached, and the do not disturb sign out while Tate folded back the comforter, and then we turned off the lights and got in bed together.

I was anticipating a moment or two of awkwardness or weirdness as we tried to just sleep together with the sexual tension raging between us despite our utter exhaustion. Instead, Tate snuggled her head into the nook of my arm, and I curled my hand around her waist and turned toward her just so…

And within half a dozen breaths, I was fast asleep, with Tate already snoring in my arms.

---

I’ve had this fantasy so many times.

It’s never featured Tate Kingsley, though.

In this fantasy, one I didn’t have the guts to tell her about, I simply woke up with her.

Before Tate, the fantasy was excruciatingly normal—and normal is something I’ve never really been too great at. This wasn’t a fantasy I jerked off to; this was a fantasy I played in my head as I fell asleep. It was a constant comfort to me on tour buses and in strange hotel rooms.

In this fantasy, I woke up with a woman in my arms. The sun was bright, and she was warm. We were sleepy, happy. Nothing happened—we just woke up together. The fantasy was always the feeling of utter happiness, feeling like this woman in my arms was mine, and I was hers, and we didn’t need to be awake until we wanted to, and when we did finally wake up, it was slowly and lazily, with happy smiles at each other, sleepy hellos, kisses, nuzzling noses into necks, sinking deliriously back in the blankets together.

I had the woman in my arms—Tate. She felt so real, so warm, so solid, so soft. I didn’t want to wake up; I wanted to keep dreaming this dream.

I sighed happily as I tightened my arms around her, my heart expanding in my chest, swelling, tightening. She wiggled against me, sighing. She was facing away, the little spoon to my larger one. And then, as she sighed, she twisted to face me, snugging her head onto my chest, her palm trailing warm onto my stomach. Her knee was draped over my thigh, and I could feel her other arm trapped between us. I had one arm around her shoulders, the other hand resting on her hip.

God, this dream is amazing. That it’s Tate makes it even better. I mean, it’s Tate. My best friend, a woman who just knows me. If I were to be able to have this in real life, I would actually just shatter from delirious happiness.

She wiggles again, and I relish the feel of her body in my arms, her hair on my bare chest. She shifts upward, so her head is on the pillow next to me, and I feel her breath on my cheek. I could turn my head and kiss her.

I don’t want to wake up. I feel myself waking, though, and try to cling to sleep.

I can feel sunshine on my face.

Tate murmurs, a wordless noise as she fumbles to wakefulness herself.

There’s never been this much detail to the fantasy before.

I feel so content, so happy. I have Tate in my arms, and she’s waking up. I’ll have to remember this dream and try to recreate it.

I felt her breath on my cheek, warm and sour, but not in a bad way. Sweet, and familiar. She wiggled against me, hand curling into a fist on my stomach and then releasing. My hand tightened on her waist, and my other hand slid along her hip to caress her thigh. I suck in a deep breath, and let it out slowly.

Was I awake?

Was this real?

I tried blinking my eyes open—the curtains were open, and the sun was bright, high in the sky, bathing me in golden yellow light of late morning. I turned my head, and saw Tate.

Real.

In my arms.

Her eyes fluttered open.

“Hi,” she murmured.

“Hi there, honeypot,” I mumbled back.

This was real.

Holy fuck.

“Can I admit something, right now, before I’m really awake?” Tate mumbled. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this content in my life. This happy.”

I nuzzled my face into hers, breathing her scent deeply. “I was thinking it was a dream.” I buried my nose in her throat, my hands now caressing her silky skin wherever I could reach. “I’ve had this…fantasy, I guess. Since I was, like, fourteen or fifteen. Not a sexual fantasy, though…just a simple fantasy of waking up with someone, and just being…happy. It was something I would run through in my head as I fell asleep while we were on tour, and I was alone after the lights were off and the concert was over and Cane was gone and I was alone, I would fantasize about waking up with someone.”

Tate cupped my cheek, turning my face to hers so we could lock gazes. “Kinda like this, huh?” she murmured, with an adorable little smirk on her lips.

“This, with you, Tate?” I said. “This is that fantasy come true, and it’s even better than I could have even fantasized.”

Tate’s lips were softer than silk on mine, warm, damp, and firm. Her body was pressed against mine, and her hand was on my cheek, her fingers skritching across the stubble as she palmed my jaw.

It was just a kiss, at first.

And then…it became so much more than a kiss.

I felt her shudder, trembling. Backed away from the kiss, meeting her eyes. She had a tear running down her cheek. I wiped it away, the question in my eyes.

She sniffled, nuzzling my face with hers. “Just…overwhelmed.”

“I know the feeling.”

“Kiss me again, Corin,” she breathed.

And so the kiss blossomed into a wildfire of sighs, of a thousand kisses, of breathing each other’s breath, of discovering the vulnerability of knowing we were both so overwhelmed by this. My heart couldn’t contain how much this was, with her. It couldn’t contain the depth, the power of my feelings, my emotions.

We let it conflagrate into an inferno. Our skin burned, our hands searched. Our mouths met, crashing, lips locking, tongues tangling. I pushed the thin cotton of the T-shirt up and she ripped it away, desperate as I was to feel her skin against mine. We writhed together, lips scouring and devouring, tongues slashing and tasting. I felt her hands shoving away my underwear, and somehow hers were already gone.

She buried her hands in my hair, clutching me fiercely, moaning into the kiss. Demanding more from me, from the kiss. I gave her more.

Kissed her harder. Palmed her cheek and inhaled her scent and gave her my breath and groaned low in my chest.

“Corin…I need you.”

“I’m here, Tate.”

She rolled to her back, and I was above her. Tate’s hands carved over my shoulders and down my spine, and then cupped my ass, pulling at me eagerly. “No, Corin…I need you.”

I delved my face down between her breasts, nuzzling, and then lapped at her nipples, sucked one into my mouth, tongue flicking against it, and she threw her head back, spine arching, hips thrusting, a shriek escaping her mouth. I pressed my knees between her thighs, and she let her legs fall apart, and I feathered my fingers against her clitoris, circling gently, nudging, tweaking, and my mouth passed from breast to breast, nibbling, teeth sawing against her nipples, tongue flitting and circling until she was gyrating against my fingers, her hands on my head, pulling at me so I couldn’t stop paying worship to her breasts with my mouth.

“Corin! Corin…god, Corin!” she panted, whimpering my name over and over again as she came. “Please, Corin, please, fuck…please, I need you so bad.”

She reached between our bodies and clutched my cock, wrapping her thighs around my back, and I felt her shuddering through her orgasm even as she guided me to her opening.

“I’m here, Tate. I’m here.”

“I need you inside me.”

“Take me there, baby.”

She stared up at me, mouth open, lips trembling, brows furrowed. I felt her slit welcoming my cock, tight and soaked. “You feel me, Corin?”

I pressed a fist into the pillow beside her face and slowly sank into her. “I feel you.”

She cried out as I entered her. “Oh—oh…oh fuck, Corin. You feel so fucking huge.”

“Am I hurting you?”

“No, god no—it’s perfect.” She clutched my ass with one hand and gripped my loose hair with the other. “More, Corin. Give me more. Give me all of you.”

I was going slowly, excruciatingly, so I didn’t hurt her, so she had time to relax around me. I moaned as I filled her, my forehead against hers, our breathing synched. Inch by inch, I slid in, until our hips met.

“There, Tate. You have every inch of me.”

She was breathless, panting, moaning. “I’ve…I’ve never felt anything like this. Like you.”

“Me neither.”

“I need you to move now, Corin.” She palmed my ass with both hands and pulled at me. “Please. Just you being inside me feels so good I could come.”

“I know, god, I know.”

“Don’t come yet, Corin. I want us to come together.”

“I’ve never come at the same time as anyone before.”

She pushed her hips against me. “Neither have I,” she murmured. “So…wait for me, okay?”

I pulled back, hesitated, and then pushed back in, and Tate threw her head back, spine arched, crying out.

“Again!” she demanded.

I thrust into her again, and she hooked her heels behind my thighs and met my thrust with one of her own, and then neither of us could hold back, neither of us could stop ourselves. We moved in unison, thrust for thrust. Gasping together, our eyes locked, lips meeting in stuttering, helpless kisses now and then.

I felt her tighten around me, felt her begin to quake. “You’re coming, aren’t you, Tate?”

“Yes, god yes Corin, I’m coming.” She wrapped her hand into my hair and clutched my ass with the other. “Come with me now, Corin. Come with me!”

I stopped trying to hold it back, and let loose. I crashed into her, hard and fast, and she cried out, shrieking wildly, deafeningly each time our hips met, screaming with each thrust. She was screaming my name, over and over, and I was growling hers.

“Now, Corin—” I felt her vaginal walls spasm and lock around mine, and her hips flexed upward as her spine bowed. “Fuck—now! Come with me now!”

“Tate, Jesus…I’m coming!” I shouted, grinding into her as I unleashed my orgasm inside her.

We came together, heat and ecstasy crashing through us, sending us into paroxysms of delirium. It was an eternity, us climaxing together.

And when it ended, we were tangled up together, panting, sweaty.

And we fell asleep like that.

---

I woke up to find Tate above me.

On top of me.

Her thighs were on either side of my hips, her shins beside my thighs. She was everywhere; she was everything. Her breasts draped against my face, soft and warm and heavy, and I nuzzled them as she dragged their tips down my face, down my chest, my stomach. I watched her clutch them and squeeze them around my cock, and then she slid her body back up mine. I felt her slit dragging over my cock. Her hands were everywhere too, clutching my erection, palming my abs, my hips, digging into my hair, cupping my face. The touching and rubbing turned to gyrating, which turned to grinding.

I palmed her ass as she moved on top of me, and then she pinioned my wrists over my head with one of her hands, using my wrists as a point of leverage so she could reach between our bodies. She grinned at me, her face inches from mine, as she guided me into her.

Nudging the tip of my cock between the tight lips of her pussy, she hesitated. Waiting.

I leaned up, kissing her. “You’re my every fantasy, Tate.”

“I know.” She smirked. “That’s not what I want to hear, though.”

My mouth and my heart conspired together, and ran away from my brain.

“I love you, Tate Kingsley,” I said, shocking myself.

She blinked down at me, shock on her face, and then, in that moment of surprise, she sank down onto me, taking me all the way into her until I was bottomed out inside her, our hipbones bumping, a cry of shocked bliss ripping from her lips, a grunt from me.

She grabbed both of my wrists with her hands, staring down at me. “Say that again, Corin.”

Her pussy tightened around me, hot and wet and pulsing.

“I love you, Tate Kingsley.”

She cried out again, and I thrust up into her, grinding deeper. “No, let me,” she murmured. “Let me.”

She guided my hands to her breasts, and planted one hand on my stomach while she used the other to circle her two middle fingers against her clit. I held still and let her move, let her do everything. I just massaged and caressed her tits as she began to rise up on her knees so my cock slid out of her with a wet sucking noise, and then she sat down on me, hard, so I drilled into her with another wet squishing sound.

“You hear us?” I asked.

“I love the sounds we make.” She bent over me, kissed me. Stayed like that, my cock thrust deep, crushing her breasts against my chest, kissing me with trembling lips. Her eyes were wide and amber-green and wet with unshed tears. “I love you, Corin Badd.”

I don’t mind admitting my throat closed, and my heart stopped beating for a minute, and I had to blink away emotion-fraught haziness from my eyes. I mean, I know my brothers love me, and I know my parents loved me—but…Mom died when I was young so I don’t really remember her, and Dad wasn’t super vocal about it, and as brothers we’re not into being all I love you, man all the time, so that’s not a phrase I’ve heard a lot.

It’s meaningful to me.

Hearing Tate say it to me, knowing she meant it, knowing she wasn’t just saying it back…

Fuck it—I got a little emotional, okay? Sue me.

Tate laughed through a sob, her thumb brushing at my eyes. “Really?”

“One time only thing, honeypot, don’t get used to it.”

Our fingers tangled, over my head. Tate pressed her mouth to mine, gasping, kissing.

“I’m gonna make you come, now,” she said. “Don’t hold it back. Just give it to me.”

“Okay.”

“And when you come, say my name, and tell me you love me.”

She started moving, and buried deep like this, all she had to do was roll her hips, slapping her ass down against my thighs, and I started to lose it within seconds.

“Jesus, Tate,” I gasped. “I’m already fighting it.”

She bit my lower lip and rolled her hips faster, making that beautiful ass of hers smack even harder, even louder. “Don’t fight. Just come, Corin.”

“It’s gonna be fast,” I breathed.

“Good.”

“Like…holy fuck—like right now!” I lost myself to grunting wordlessly as the orgasm ripped through me. “Tate! Oh god, Tate…I love you, I love you, god I fucking love you, Tate.”

She stared down at me, watching me as I came, and she rode me until I started softening inside her. When I was finally finished, she collapsed onto me, still straddling me, her pussy dripping and smearing messily. “Was that your fantasy, Corin?”

“So much more than just my fantasy,” I said, caressing her everywhere I could reach.

“Am I too heavy for you, like this?”

“Not even close.”

“So I could fall asleep right now, and you wouldn’t mind?”

I feathered my hands into her hair. “Nothing could make me happier.”