Now
If I’d thought having Tate Durham as a friend was a life-changing experience, having him as a boyfriend blew my mind.
It wasn’t exactly that anything had changed between us . . . and yet, everything had. Tate was still the same funny, kind and straight-forward guy I’d come to appreciate over the past months. He still treated me with the same gentle respect. He still teased me with odd endearments and loved to make me roll my eyes.
But he also held my hand whenever we walked together or rode in his car. And when we stood waiting in line or for an elevator or to be seated at a restaurant, his hand was on my back, rubbing gently—not in a perverted or possessive way, but as though he simply wanted to remind me that he was there.
And he kissed me. Oh, did that man kiss me, and my God, could that man kiss! It seemed that in making the first move, I’d ignited a spark that gave both of us an insatiable need for the other. When we were alone, it seemed that making out was all we did. Well, making out, talking and eating, because the making out didn’t replace our long and involved conversations. The only difference was that now we had those talks wrapped in each other’s arms, between the long and involved kisses that left us both on fire.
I was impressed, if slightly frustrated, that Tate didn’t try to push my boundaries. When we were kissing, he always ran his hands down my back or my side, or cupped my face in his palm, but he hadn’t yet touched my boobs. It was becoming a game in my mind: I wore lower-cut shirts when we were together, and while we were lying down, I positioned myself so that he couldn’t help but notice the swell of my breasts. If I was on top with my head on his chest, I intentionally rubbed my tits against his hard pecs, hoping to tempt him into slipping his hand over the aching tips. But he didn’t, and I knew it was because I’d said from the beginning that I needed to move slow.
But as it turned out, slow just might kill me.
Our weekends-only rule was off the table now, though, and I realized I didn’t mind that at all. Before, I’d convinced myself that making Tate my reward for slogging through the weekdays would allow me to control the situation and my feelings toward him. But now with his team activities and off-season training underway, he was in the city every day, and on most of those days, he ended up at my apartment.
He’d greet me at the door with a long and heated kiss, and then sometimes, he’d produce some delicious takeout that he’d picked up on the way to see me. Or he’d sweet-talk me into going out, either to one of our favorite restaurants or to a new place he’d just discovered through a teammate.
He never stayed too late, though, and even though I’d told him that it was fine with me, he never spent the night.
“I can’t promise I could behave myself in your bed all night, sweetcakes,” he told me. “When we’re ready to take that next step, I promise, I’ll stay with you. You won’t be able to kick me out. But until then, this way is safer.”
We’d continued our TV-binging on some weekends, but sometimes, we went over to spend the day with Pops. I loved sitting on the porch with him, drinking coffee and chatting while Tate did yard work. Tate claimed that me being there kept the older man from grumbling so much about what he couldn’t do, and as for me, I got to watch Tate walk around the yard in shorts, pushing the mower, lifting potted plants and digging dirt. Sometimes, on particularly warm afternoons, he even shed his T-shirt.
Those were good days, indeed.
Tate had made some not-so-subtle inquiries about meeting my mom and dad, but I wasn’t anywhere near ready for that yet.
“I just had my semi-annual visit with my father, so you’ll have to wait for the holidays before I’ll see him again . . . and that’s only if I can’t figure out a way to avoid it,” I informed Tate. “As for my mother, she comes as a package deal with my sisters these days, and I like you too much to expose you to them.”
“Uh huh.” Tate ran his fingers down my spine, making me shiver. We were in my bed again at the end of a Saturday spent partly with Pops and partly here, watching a new British detective show Tate had wanted to see. “But I’d still like to meet them, babe. They’re your family. How bad can they be?”
I laughed. “That’s a loaded question, bud. Pretty damn bad. And it’s not that I don’t want them to know about you. It’s just that . . .” I hesitated. “I want to keep you to myself. If they know we’re together, they’ll start pushing, and they’ll ask all kinds of questions, and I’m not ready for that yet. I like how things are now.”
“So do I,” he agreed. “But we can’t be a secret forever. Not if we’re serious.”
I was quiet for a minute. I didn’t have any doubt that Tate was serious about me. He didn’t say it in so many words, but things he said about the future or references he made to us as a unit made it clear that he wasn’t just messing around here. I was pretty sure I felt the same, but I was still a little scared.
“I’ll set something up with my mother soon.” I rolled over so that I lay on top of Tate, my boobs practically in his face. He kept his eyes on mine. Damn him for the gentleman he was. “But right now, I’d really rather not talk about her. Or my sisters. Or my dad.”
“Hmmm?” He laid one large hand alongside my face, his thumb brushing my cheekbone. “Really? But hey, before you distract me with those lips—” He crunched up, kissing me lightly. “Tell me what kind of questions your mom would ask, and why you don’t want to answer them.”
I narrowed my eyes, pursing my lips. “Okay . . . well, they’d want to know how long we’ve known each other and how we met.”
“We’ve known each other since freshman year of college, even if you didn’t remember meeting me.” Tate pinched the end of my nose. “So that seems easy enough.”
“I do remember meeting you. I actually remembered it right away.” I shifted a little, and if in the process, my nipples brushed over Tate’s chest, what was a girl to do? “But I don’t want to tell them how we met again, in the grocery store, with me on the floor crying.”
“You don’t have to tell them everything. Just say we ran into each other while shopping and renewed our acquaintance.” He lifted one huge shoulder.
“Okay.” I squirmed a little, hoping to distract him. “But then they’ll want to know how serious we are and if we have plans for the future. All that kind of stuff.”
“Then I guess it depends on which one of us answers.” He traced the line of my cheekbone. “If it’s me, I’d say we’re very serious, and yes, we have plans for future. But we’re taking our time and enjoying each other for now.”
He took my breath away, and I wasn’t sure he even realized it. “I like the enjoying each other part. That sounds promising. Not sure I want to explain it to my mother, though.”
“Probably not in vivid detail,” Tate agreed. “So what if I asked you a question? Would you answer me?”
I pressed my lips together. “Maybe. Depends on the question.”
He smiled, his dimple deepening. “Are you happy? With us? With me? Am I pushing you too much? Am I moving too fast?”
These were easy ones. I grinned back at him. “Yes, and yes, and yes and no and no. I’m happy with us. With you. And you’re not pushing me or moving too fast.”
Tate turned, rolling us both over so that I lay beneath him. “Those are good answers. I like them.” He bent his head to kiss me, but I maneuvered away.
“Don’t I get to ask a question?”
A small line appeared between his eyebrows. “Okay. Go ahead.”
I took a deep breath. “Are you ever going to touch my boobs?”
The expression of surprise on his face nearly undid me. “Uhhh—what?”
I took his hand in both of mine, holding it suspended above me. “My boobs. I’m told I’ve got good ones, and in my experience, men like a nice pair of tits. Now don’t get me wrong—I love your kisses, and I’d kiss you for the rest of our lives if that was all we could do, but I really think your hands on my boobs would only enhance our kissing experience.” I brought his fingers to my mouth and kissed the tip of one. “I mean, if you’re interested.”
Tate looked a little like a fish out of water. “I thought you wanted to move slow. That’s the only reason . . . holy God, babe. I’ve been dying to touch you, but I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.” He finally looked down at the part of my anatomy in question, and his eyes took on a certain reverence. “Believe me, it’s not for lack of wanting or appreciating.”
“I’ve been doing everything but painting them red to let you know it was okay.” Watching him closely, I slowly lowered his hand so that his palm was on my left breast. “Save me the paint job, Tate. Cop a feel. You have my permission. Hell, you have my encouragement.”
The sound that came from his throat could only be called a growl. His fingers curled around my boob, and he lowered his mouth to mine, kissing me with a new abandon that sent shocks of pure heat to my core. I arched my back, urging him to take more of me. I felt an abandon within me that I hadn’t felt in . . . a very, very long time.
It was that new reckless headiness that let me slide my own hand underneath Tate’s shirt, reveling in the feel of his chest, so rock hard and smooth to my touch. I found the flat disc of his nipple and circled my finger around it, a thrill of power filling me when he hissed in a breath.
“God, Gia, you have no idea . . . how long I’ve wanted to touch you.” He was half-talking, half-kissing me, and I laughed out of the sheer joy of it.
“Take off your shirt. I need to get to more of you.” I shoved the material up, and Tate shifted to sit up a little bit more, crossing his arms over his middle and grasping the hem of the tee. He paused, his eyes molten.
“You take off yours, too. Fair play, right?”
“Oh, absolutely.” I sat up and stripped off my top without hesitating. “I’m all for keeping things even.”
Tate raised his arms and tossed the shirt onto the floor, and then for a long moment, he simply sat there, drinking me in while I did the same. I already knew he had a beautiful body; I could feel the hard planes through his clothes, and I’d seen him working without his shirt, but being here in my apartment, alone with him, close enough to reach out and touch . . . this was different. Now he belonged to me.
I sat still, aware that Tate was still staring at me. I rose up on my knees and reached behind me to unhook my bra, letting it fall down my arms before I shook it off. Tate’s mouth dropped open.
“Gia, you are . . . perfection.” He reached out one hand, tracing the slope of my breast. “I can’t believe that I’m sitting here with you like this. I’m almost afraid to move. What if this isn’t real?”
“If you don’t move, I’m going to feel pretty silly, kneeling in front of you.” I caught his hand in mine and pressed it against my boob again, my nipple drilling into his palm. “Please, Tate. Touch me. Let me touch you.”
“Babe, you can do whatever you want. Touch me . . . wherever you want.” He stretched his arms and pulled me up against him, skin to skin for the first time. Looking down into my eyes, he brushed his fingers through my hair. “Are you sure about this?”
“Yes.” I managed a smile, even though I was trembling with need. “I’m sure. I mean . . . I’m sure about this step. I’m not ready for sex yet. There’re things we need to talk about before we take that step. But I want to be with you as close as we can be. I want to make you feel good.” I ground myself against him. “And I sure as hell want you to make me feel good.”
“Tell me what to do.” He ran his lips down the side of my neck. “Tell me what you like.”
I hummed a little in anticipation. “You touching me, doing what you want to me—that’s what I like.”
“I can’t stop touching you. Maybe I’ll never be able to stop.” He palmed my breasts. “Look at you. You’re perfect.” His thumbs rubbed back and forth over the pink tips, and I moaned.
“That feels so good.” I guided his head lower. “Kiss me here. Suck them—and I like it hard there.”
“I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t ever want to hurt you.” Tate was mumbling as he licked at my nipple.
“You won’t. I’m not breakable, Tate. I promise. If you treat me like I’m made of glass, I’m not going to feel like you’re really here with me. I can’t feel like you don’t trust me to be strong.”
“Gia, you’re the strongest person I’ve ever met.” As if giving me proof, he scraped his teeth over my nipple, and it felt damn good.
“Just like that.” I held his arms, his biceps too big for me to wrap my fingers around. Tate lowered me slowly to the mattress and arranged his body alongside mine and resumed his ministrations. I watched, entranced by the erotic sight of Tate discovering how to pleasure me. His face was full of rapt attention, and his hands moved over me with a gentleness that belied their size.
“Is this good?” he murmured, one hand flattening against my stomach.
“So good.” I managed to wriggle my hand between us, feathering my fingers over Tate’s flat stomach until I reached the button of his jeans. His breath hitched a little when I slid lower still, under the jeans and into his boxers, not stopping until the tips of my fingers reached the hard length of his erection.
“Gia.” He sounded strangled.
“Mmmm.”
“Don’t—yet.” He grabbed my wrist and held it still. “I don’t want to get too excited too fast. I need to—let me make you feel good first.”
“I don’t mind.” Even as I said the words, I realized I was falling back into dangerous old habits, into the scenario where Matt’s needs and desires always came ahead of my own. I shivered.
As if he’d read my mind, Tate held me closer, tilting up my chin so that he could kiss me, his lips on mine erasing bad memories. “I don’t care that you don’t mind. I’ll enjoy myself more if your needs are met. If I’m making you feel good.” Even as he spoke, he moved lower to kiss my boobs again and to slide his hand between my legs.
I was wearing yoga pants, and I felt the pressure of Tate’s fingers right away. I rocked into him, sure he could feel how wet I was already. Every nerve ending was so sensitive and yearning that I knew it wouldn’t take much to make me explode. He rubbed me over the material for a few minutes and then tugged the pants just enough that he could touch me without any barriers.
My legs fell open as if I’d been waiting my entire life for Tate and his talented fingers. He was a little cautious at first, exploring me, and it was the most incredible feeling ever. He didn’t fumble; he was merely curious and attentive.
One large finger skimmed down to slide into me just a little. The intrusion was tantalizing and sweet, but before I could arch my hips up and persuade him to take it further, he withdrew and moved up to my clit.
“Ohhhhhhh.” I cried out. “Right there. My God, Tate. A little harder.”
“Like this?” He replaced his finger with his thumb.
“Yes . . .” My breath was coming in pants now. “And . . . and the other . . . your finger. Inside me. Inside. Me.”
Tate was a fast learner. He thrust his finger into me deep at the same time that he took my mouth yet again, his kiss aggressive and impatient. I rose higher and higher, everything in the world centered on where Tate touched me, every cell of my body in tune with him. He swallowed my cry of pleasure as the orgasm swelled over me, his fingers working me relentlessly until I pushed him away, my sensitivity off the chart after the climax.
“I could feel you.” He dropped a line of kisses down the column of my neck to the crook of my shoulder. “I could feel you come, against my fingers. It was incredible.”
“It felt pretty incredible on my end, too.” My body was languid, fluid. “You’re amazing. You made me feel . . .” I couldn’t think of words that captured the wonder of Tate’s hands on me. “Cherished. And so insanely turned on.”
“You know, this sex thing . . . I’m thinking I’ve been missing out.” He lifted my breast and planted a tender kiss just below the nipple. “It’s pretty cool.”
“Pretty cool?” I couldn’t help giggling. “Kind of nifty, is it? Gee whiz, Tate. You’re making me blush.”
He snickered. “Hey, don’t make fun of me. I was raised by a man who came of age in the mid-sixties and grew up on Leave it to Beaver. Leo says I’m the master of retro slang.”
“I’m not making fun of you. I think it’s adorable.” I pressed my mouth to his shoulder. “And if you think that was fun, just wait. I’m not finished with you yet. Not by a long shot.” I sat up, unbuttoned his jeans and tugged them from his hips. “Lift up, big guy. I want to see you all of you.”
“Okay, but if I’m going to do that, take these off, too.” He snapped the waistband of my yoga pants.
“If you insist.” I wriggled the pants down my legs and kicked them off and then sat back to watch Tate maneuver out of his jeans. Seeing him laid in front of me, completely nude . . . it was kind of like a religious experience.
The man was seriously built and seriously beautiful. I knew it was weird to talk about a guy in those terms, but in this case, it was absolutely true. I’d already appreciated the perfection that were his shoulders, his arms and his chest. But adding his legs, firm and roped with muscles, dusted with a sprinkling of light brown hair, and his rounded ass to the mix made my mouth go dry. And when I finally gave myself permission to get a good gander of his cock, dry mouth was no longer the problem. Now it was a matter of keeping it together so I didn’t drool.
He was long, thick and erect, rising from a thatch of hair at the juncture of his legs, and I would’ve sworn he grew even as I watched. I felt Tate’s eyes on me as I stared at his cock, and I wondered if I was making him nervous by my silent adoration. Just to ease his worries, I reached forward and wrapped my fingers around the base, and then worked my fist up and down a few times.
He groaned, his eyes closing. “God, Gia. You’re going to kill me.”
“Kill you? Nah.” I loosened my hold and trailed my nails down the underside. “Don’t die now. I’m only getting started.”
“Hey.” Tate’s voice was hoarse, and he brushed the back of his fingers over my cheek. “Gia . . . I want to tell you something, before I lose the power of speech. No one has ever touched me like this. Only . . .” He lifted his hand and flexed his fingers. “Only me. But in my head, when I was, uh, pleasuring myself, it was always you I imagined. I thought I had a pretty good imagination, but you’ve already blown away anything I pictured.”
I shot him a smoldering smile, complete with one raised eyebrow, using his favorite teasing endearment. “Honey pot, you need to be more adventurous in your fantasies. Because I haven’t even started to blow your mind.” I paused. “Or any other part of you. Hang onto your hat, baby.”
Before he could reply, I curled myself over him, taking as much of his length into my mouth as I could manage. When the head of his dick hit the back of my throat, I wrapped my hand around the rest of him. Hollowing my cheeks, I sucked, slowly raising my head until only the wide crown was between my lips. I swirled my tongue around him and dipped over the slit, where he was leaking salty precum.
“Mmmmmm.” I licked my lips. “You taste good.”
“Can’t be as good as you.” He was almost gasping now.
“I guess we’ll have to agree to disagree.” I swiped my tongue around him again before I drew him back in, pumping my hand and my mouth in unison. “Do you know how privileged I feel right now?” I sat back a little so I could see Tate’s face. “That my hands and mouth are the first to touch you this way? That I’m the first one to taste you?”
His eyes were hooded, but I couldn’t miss the desire burning there. “No more so than me, babe. I’m the lucky one here. You’re beyond my wildest dreams.”
Holding his gaze, making sure he was watching me, I bent again to take him into my mouth, this time with more intensity and increasing speed. My heart was beating fast, and I was keenly aware of every pulse point in my body, because making Tate feel good was igniting a blaze of want inside me all over again.
He buried his fingers in my hair, stroking me even as I brought him higher. His words were unintelligible now, but he never closed his eyes, never stopped drinking in the sight of me, milking him with my mouth. Emboldened by his stare, I slid the fingers of the hand not holding his cock between my own legs and rubbed my clit.
Tate’s eyes flared, and his groan rumbled through both of us. I hummed in answer and began to bob my head even faster.
“Gia . . . I’m going to come.” He gritted out the words.
“Me, too,” I gasped. “Do it. Give it all to me. Give me all of you.”
As if he couldn’t help himself, Tate roared and erupted, gripping the back of my neck as he spurted down my throat, doing exactly what I’d asked. He gave me everything, every last bit of his orgasm pulsing in my mouth. Feeling the power of his climax sent me over the edge, too, and my body bowed, rising to the summit for a second time.
Still breathing hard, Tate sat up and gathered me closer, pushing my hand away from my slick juncture.
“Let me,” he rasped. “Let me . . . feel it again.”
I could no more stop him than I could stop my heart beating. I relaxed against his chest as his fingers, still shaking from his own orgasm, took over, pressing into me relentlessly.
“Oh, God!” I cried out. “Tate . . . harder . . . make it harder.”
“Baby.” He crooked his neck down and took my mouth, mumbling against my lips. “Baby, come for me again. You feel so fucking good.”
And as though my pleasure was inextricably tied to his commands, yet another orgasm rocketed through me, leaving me nearly sobbing into him and begging him to never stop.
Once I was sagging into his arms, Tate laid me down next to him, stroking my body lightly as though he couldn’t make himself stop touching me.
“Gia,” he breathed out my name like a prayer. “This may have been a mistake.”
My eyes flew open. “What?”
“Nooooo,” he chuckled, dropping a kiss onto my forehead. “I mean, now that I’ve been here with you like this, I don’t think I’m going to ever want to leave you. Forget football. Forget Pops. Hell, even forget food. You’re all I’ll ever need.”
“Forget food?” I made my mouth round in feigned shock. “Now you’re talking crazy.”
“I know.” He nodded, his mouth curling into a half-smile. “But I’m serious. I think I’ve finally found something even better than eating.”
“And just think . . . this was only the beginning. An appetizer, so to speak. What will you do when we actually have sex?”
“Probably lose the capacity for breathing.” He sighed and pulled me closer. “Gia, you don’t know what this is for me. I’ve wanted you for so long. I can’t believe it’s really happening.”
A twinge of unease flittered through my chest. “It was wonderful for me, too, Tate. But remember, I’m still the same broken mess that I was before. Don’t put me on a pedestal. Don’t make me the center of your dreams. I’ll let you down, even if I don’t want to.”
“You’re healing, baby. I can see it.” He kissed me, his lips tender and lazy on mine. “We’ll be each other’s center. I know we’re not perfect, but when we’re together, it feels pretty damn close.”
I wanted to believe him. I wanted to be hopeful and giddy and full of promise for the future. But even as I let him hold me, I couldn’t forget that he didn’t really know all of me. Not yet.
But for now, I convinced myself that it was all right to live in the moment with this man who was getting dangerously close to making me fall for him.