“Shh,” he whispers, breath hot against my ear. “You’ll wake Carter.”
I squirm, warmth flooding my face, my chest, everywhere but I don’t stop him. Tate’s fingers are rougher, meaner. Perfect.
He strokes me in tight circles, slow enough to make me whimper, fast enough to keep me trembling. I’m already close. I was halfway there when I woke up. But with him, god it’s dangerous.
His lips graze the top of my ear. “You wanted me to catch you.”
I shake my head.
He chuckles. “Such a bad liar.” He presses two fingers lower, slipping them inside, the stretch makes me gasp louder. “Fuck,you’re soaked,” he groans. “You were gonna come all over your own hand without even waking me up?” He thrusts deeper and crooks his fingers just right, making my back arches off the bed. “You’re mine right now,” he whispers. “You don’t come without me. Got it?”
I nod desperately. My whole body goes rigid.
He grins against my neck. “Oh,” he murmurs. “You like that.”
He curls his fingers again, he knows exactly what he’s doing, knows the exact pressure, the pace, the way my hips jerk the moment he adds just enough intensity to ruin me. My orgasm hits like lightning, silent but devastating.
I clutch the sheets, my breath caught in my throat, every muscle tight as I fall apart under him. He doesn’t say anything when I collapse against the pillow, shaking. Just kisses my jaw then slides his hand back up to my waist and pulls me in closer.
“You’re dangerous,” I whisper.
His breath is warm on my neck. “So are you.”
12
Haven
The light when I wake up is stupidly soft. Like, unnecessarily perfect. No alarms blaring. No chaos waiting to pounce. Just a golden slant of sun creeping across my sheets, warm on my skin, like it’s trying to convince me the world isn’t a mess. Nice try. I blink slowly, taking a second to realize where I am.
Last night with Tate felt like a dream, but the heavy arm locked around my waist is a pretty convincing reality check along with his breath warm against the back of my neck.
He’s still out cold, uncharacteristically still, his face relaxed in a way I almost never see.
Cute.Irritatingly cute, actually, considering how he usually looks like he’s trying to pick a fight with the devil himself. I slip out from under his arm carefully, which is about as graceful as escaping a bear trap. My knee almost lands on his thigh, but somehow he doesn’t budge.
I grab one of his hoodies off the chair and tug it over my head. It swallows me whole.
The apartment is quiet. Carter’s curled up on the couch, limbs tangled in my throw blanket, his mouth slightly parted like he fell asleep mid-sentence. I need coffee.
I scribble a note on a sticky and slap it to the fridge:Coffee run. Don’t start shit without me. —H
Twenty minutes later I’m balancing three drinks in a cardboard tray and a bag of breakfast muffins when I unlock the front door and step back inside.
“—she always gets oat milk, dumb ass. You should’ve told me she likes that.”
Tate’s voice follows “You think I remember milk orders before noon?”
“You two bonding over my coffee order?” I tease, holding up the tray. “That’s hot.”
Both heads snap toward me. Tate grins like he’s been caught doing something illegal while Carter immediately reaches for the drink tray.
“You are a saint,” he says, handing Tate his before grabbing his own.
When the last of the muffin crumbs have been claimed, the coffee’s half gone, and the kitchen’s radiating lazy warmth. I hover there for a second, just watching them.
Tate’s half-sprawled in one of the bar stools. Carter’s rinsing out cups at the sink.
He’s basically adopted the kitchen as his personal chore since they showed up, like he can’t stand to see a single dish left behind. They’re not messy people, Tate’s probably the neatest chaotic man I’ve ever met. Everywhere else? That’s on me, and I’ve let it slide. I’ve even told them don’t worry about messes but it’s now eating away at me.
