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“A few months ago. I keep forgetting to bring them with me to set.”
“Is that why you’re constantly squinting at the script? I thought you were contemplating the scene. You know, thinking hard about your character’s motivation.”
“Hardly thinking is more like it,” Tate quipped and lowered his black-frame glasses.
“I doubt that,” I chuckled. “And by the way, you’re sexy as fuck in those glasses.”
He gave me a wicked grin and my cock took notice.
Closing the laptop, he placed it on the nightstand and then crooked a finger at me.
“Come here,” he commanded.
Then I remembered his call. “Did you talk to your sponsor?”
“I did. I told him all about me and you, about my anxiety today, and what’s ahead. It’s almost painful for me to talk about my feelings but once it’s done, I always feel calmer. The urge subsides.”
“I’m so fucking proud of you.”
Tate’s face flushed and it looked so good on him.
“I want to be a better man,” he confessed. “For me. And for you.”
“It works both ways. I want to be that for you, too.”
I undid my bathrobe and let it slide to the floor. My skin was burning up, my dick now rock hard.
“Christ, Reed. I’m going to tell you this every goddamn day: you are so fucking beautiful.”
God, my heart nearly stopped when he talked to me like that. “No, love. That’s you.”
“I’m not just talking about the outside. I’m talking about everything.”
I stalked over to the bed and slid onto it, straddling his waist. Tate was still dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. Judging by the bulge in his pants, he was as far gone as I was.
“Take your clothes off,” I demanded. “But leave the glasses.”
“You got a Clark Kent thing?” he smirked.
“I got a you thing,” I whispered and leaned down to give him a devouring kiss. “Less talking, more fucking.”
Tate flipped me over and my back hit the mattress.
Yes. Finally.
This time, he straddled me.
He set his glasses aside, removed his shirt, then slid the frames back on his face.
I reached for his jeans, popping open the top button. Taking my time, teasing him, I slowly opened one button after the other, revealing the hairy trail that disappeared into his navy briefs. My eyes caught on the four-leaf clover tattoo, the one that matched mine, sitting low on his hip. I traced my finger over it, then glanced up at him.
“You didn’t consider getting rid of it?” I asked.
“I did, but I couldn’t do it. Never.”
“Same.”
Tate pushed my hands away and shoved his jeans and underwear down. His cock was already hard and furiously leaking precum.
