Total pages in book: 19
Estimated words: 17988 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 90(@200wpm)___ 72(@250wpm)___ 60(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 17988 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 90(@200wpm)___ 72(@250wpm)___ 60(@300wpm)
"Not particularly, no."
We're just a few inches apart. My hands are fists at my sides because if they weren't, they'd be on her. In her hair, on her waist, pulling her closer. Tate's eyes flick to my mouth. Once. Quick. Then back to my eyes.
Her breathing changes. Shallower, faster. Pupils dilating. We're too close now. Close enough to see her pulse at her throat, fast and visible.
I'm losing control of this situation fast, real fast.
Just as I'm about to lean down to kiss her, Tate's eyes widen, and she yelps, backing away from me and looking down.
That fucking cat has just slithered in the space between our feet. It either has diabolical timing or it's the very spawn of the devil. Maybe even both.
"I should—" Tate's voice catches. She clears her throat and tries again. "Delivery coming. Books. For the cafe. They're coming at eight."
"Right."
Tate rushes upstairs to her apartment as if the devil is on her heels.
If I don't move, if I let her go inside and close that door, this moment ends, and I'll spend the rest of the day wondering what would've happened if I'd—
Fuck it.
4
TATE
I'm inside my apartment with the door closed, and my back pressed against it, my heart doing something that feels less like beating and more like trying to escape through my ribcage.
That was close. Tom just told his ex-girlfriend he likes me—likes me, present tense, a lot.
Thankfully, William Shakespurr saved me. So I ran. Like an adult. Like a reasonable person who makes good decisions. I ran away from the man I've been fighting with because I wanted to kiss him, climb him like a tree, and maybe see if his veiny hands actually know how to please a woman.
Oh God.
My brain keeps replaying the way his eyes dropped to my mouth, and how my core clenched in response. Even without checking, I know I'm wet, probably already dripping by now.
This is fine. I'm fine. I just need to calm down and think about this rationally.
But…
What would've happened if I hadn't run? If I let him kiss me? If I closed that last few inches myself?
Everything would've changed.
Two knocks on my door make me jump hard enough that I bite my tongue. You'd think I was in one of those horror movies where the serial killer is on the other side and carrying a machete.
But no.
It's just Tom.
I know it's him, and I know exactly what's going to happen when I open this door. Am I ready for that? Am I ready for him? Just yesterday, he was my enemy—at least in my head—and everything that happened in the past hour is still giving me whiplash.
Opening the door is the mother of all bad ideas. It means crossing a line I can never uncross.
I open it anyway.
Tom stands on my landing. I almost wish he looked smug—that familiar, infuriating arrogance. I know how to spar with that. I can handle sharp words. I can handle a smirk.
What I can't handle is this.
His gaze drags over me, slow and apologetic.
Heat crawls up my spine under the weight of it, and my fingers curl against the doorframe. His jaw tightens, throat shifting as he swallows. His eyes become darker, steadier, hungrier.
I almost whimper, and he hasn't even touched me yet.
"We're not done," he says.
His mouth is on mine before I can form a response. His lips are hot and demanding, stealing the air from my lungs, stealing the ground from under my feet. There's nothing careful about it. Nothing hesitant. It's all certainty. All heat.
I gasp against his mouth—a mistake, because he takes the opening, deepening the kiss with a low, frustrated sound that feels ripped out of him.
His hand tangles in my hair, yanking my head back, as he plunges his tongue to tangle it with mine. Oh, dear God. Tom knows how to kiss. Like, really, really knows.
I make a sound I've never made before, and I stand on my toes, sliding my hands across his chest and looping my arms around his neck. I meet him with equal force, my teeth catching his lower lip, pushing back as hard as he’s pulling.
"Fuck, Tate."
The door closes behind him—I don't remember moving, don't remember pulling him inside. Suddenly, we're in my apartment, his other hand’s on my waist.
His cock is against my stomach. Should I acknowledge it? Shit, I should know, but suddenly I realize how little my love life has actually prepped me for a moment like this. Out of the blue, I push in, and I rub against it, earning a satisfying groan from him. Tick! I guess?
The kiss only turns hotter and more demanding. It's as if we're both making up for lost time. Tom molds his lips to mine, and I suck on his bottom lip. That's when he grabs my ass and pulls me flush against him.