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Not that I’m complaining.
He drops me onto the mattress close to the edge and settles on his knees on the floor, directly in front of me. I watch as he runs his hands up my bare legs, pressing them open with his palms on the insides of my thighs, spreading me wide. I move with him willingly, all shyness having left me long ago, replaced by eagerness. All I want is to be with him. In every way possible. It’s getting to the point that I can barely take it, I’m so completely taken with him. Obsessed with him, really.
Is there a girl-obsessed trope? Because I feel that way about Tate. Thoroughly obsessed with him in every way possible. Though I’m also fairly certain he feels the exact same way about me.
Tate stares at the spot between my legs before his smoldering gaze lifts to mine. “So pretty. And all mine.”
A shiver moves through me at the heat in his eyes. His possessive words. “I missed you today.”
“Did you?” He streaks his fingers across my thigh, making me jump in anticipation. “I didn’t peg you as so damn needy all the time, Scar, but you’ve surpassed all of my expectations.”
“I don’t think you mind me being needy.” Deep down, I think he loves it. He wants to be wanted, needed, appreciated.
But then again, don’t we all?
“I like it.” He rises up, kissing the inside of one knee, then the other. I’m already trembling, anticipating his mouth on me. I can’t get enough of it. The way he makes me come with his lips and tongue. His fingers.
I’m addicted to the feeling. To him.
He shifts up, trailing kisses along the inside of my thigh, drawing closer and closer to where I want him, before he shifts upward, his mouth on my stomach. My ribs. He shoves the T-shirt upward, chuckling at seeing his younger self on the front of it, before his lips wrap around my nipple and he sucks it into his mouth.
I bury my hands in his hair, holding him close, lost to the sensation of his warm mouth and lashing tongue. I spread my legs and he settles in between them, my hands shifting to slip beneath his shirt so I can touch the hot, smooth skin of his back. I can’t get enough of him. I want more.
I want all of him.
We kiss for what feels like hours, his shirt long gone, his jeans undone and my hand down the front, fingers curling around his erection. He’s so hard for me, throbbing in my palm. He finally breaks the kiss first, panting against my lips, “I want to be inside of you so fucking bad, Scar.”
I go still, my fingers slipping beneath his boxer briefs so I can touch his silky skin. My fingers trace down the length of him. “I want it too.”
His eyes light up, as if I just gave him the keys to the kingdom, and he glances toward the nightstand. “I’ve got condoms nearby.”
I almost want to laugh. “You were prepared for this moment?”
“I’d hoped it was coming,” he admits, dipping his head to kiss me, stealing my breath. My thoughts. My heart. “You’re all I can think about, Scar. You consume me. This album. I’m sure you already realize this, but... it’s all about you. You’re my muse. My inspiration.”
I blink up at him, trying to ignore the prick of threatening tears in the corners of my eyes. “Tate...”
“It’s true. Every song. Every lyric. Every word. It all has to do with you.” He glances down at the T-shirt that’s currently bunched above my breasts. “And then I come home and you’re wearing my face on your shirt, and that kind of blew my mind.”
“In a good way or a bad?” I rest my hand against his chest, right in the center, so I can feel his thundering heart.
“A good way. The best way. I think you’re just as obsessed as I am; you just show it in a different way.” He grins, kissing me, and I can’t help but think,Yes.
I’m completely obsessed with him. Just like he is with me.
“You should probably grab a condom,” I whisper, noting the way his eyes light up at my unspoken invitation.
I’m ready.
Without hesitation he’s scrambling, reaching over to throw the drawer open, his hand rustling around inside until he withdraws a condom packet. He leaves it on top of the nightstand and returns his attention to me, our mouths finding each other. Our hands wandering...
The T-shirt is eventually gone. As are his jeans and boxer briefs. Until the both of us are gloriously naked, our limbs entwined, his hands wandering, mapping every part of my skin he can touch.
“You’re so soft, Scar,” he murmurs at one point, running the back of his hand across my stomach. I’m trembling. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“It’s going to hurt no matter what,” I say, trying to remain logical.
“Well, yeah, but I can try and make it better for you.” He grins. “By giving you an orgasm. Or five.”
