She fumbled to open her room door, and he pushed them through it, yanking her up against him. She pressed her hands to his chest, not knowing how far she wanted things to go between them. Kissing was fine. Sex? Hmmm ..., she didn't know if she was willing to test that theory quite yet.
How far down the rabbit hole are you going to go, baby girl?
“We're good together,” Nick whispered, his lips wandering down her chin as he shrugged out of his jacket.
“That doesn't necessarily mean we'll make a good couple,” Tate whispered back, as he pushed her jacket away from her shoulders.
“We were good together once before,” he reminded her. She laughed.
“That was a whole lifetime ago. A whole different girl,” she warned him. His hands ran down her body.
“Then let me get to know this girl,” he pressed, his hands sliding over her hips.
“She might not like you, either,” she warned him.
“She might love me.”
“Nick, I don't want to hurt you,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around his neck.
“No expectations, Tate. No pressure. Just give me a chance,” he said softly, squeezing her butt and lifting her up, walking her backwards.
“You say that, but what about tomorrow? I don't want you to hate me,” she told him, wrapping her legs around his waist.
I don't want to hate myself.
“I won't hate you, no matter what.”
You need to do this. You need to get over him. You need to at least try.
He laid them on the bed, put his weight onto her. Tate always loved that, feeling a heavy frame pressing down on her own. He bit his teeth into her bottom lip, pulled on it, and she loved that, too; loved it when he nipped at her ear lobe. Loved his hands, running over her breasts, clenching, massaging.
Nick peeled her clothes off, kissed his way down her body. She lost herself in the feel of his skin, the movements of his muscles. He rolled them around on the bed. His arms were so strong, she felt like he could just throw her around. But of course, he didn't. His touch was gentle, his words kind. He worked above her, pressed his lips to her ears, whispered sweet things to her. His body felt amazing, his skin hot to the touch, and his hips were pounding her straight towards an orgasm. What wasn't there to like?
It feels wrong, and you know it. But get used to this, cause it's your future. Settling for not quite what you want, but definitely what you need.
Nick came right after she did, stiffening on top of her, then collapsing. Tate took deep breaths, staring up at the ceiling. She wondered if this was going to be forever. Wondered what Sanders would think if he knew. Wondered what Jameson would think. She felt like he was in the room, sitting in a dark corner, watching her.
“Is that the best you could do, baby girl?” he would've laughed.
I gave it all I got.
“You gave me so much more,” he would add.
I gave you everything.
“Well, it's only fair – it all belongs to me,” he would remind her.
I know. It always has.
“Good. Remember that. And next time, ask him to talk dirty to you. It'll remind you of me.”
Everything always does.
Tate apologized. Nick said it was okay. She told him that she liked him, and that she really wanted to be in love with him. Said she could try. He said he wasn't asking her for anything. She said she would try. He told her to calm down, then he carried her into the shower, left her alone with her thoughts.
She turned the water scalding hot, wanting to feel the burn and sting against her skin. Wanting to be punished. Wanting to be absolved.
The sex hadn't been bad. It had been great – Nick was no slouch. But Tate was no nice, normal girl. The whole time he'd been inside of her, she was thinking of someone else. Someone with sharp claws and sharper words.
This is it. This is your choice. I hope you're happy with it.
~14~
“Mr. Hollingsworth,” Sanders' cool voice cut through the din in the cafe.
Ang stood up, held out his hand to the quiet man. Sanders had always made Ang a little uncomfortable. He rarely made eye contact, and then when he did, it was a very direct stare. He was also a lot shorter than Ang, easily six or more inches, so that added to the awkward feeling. But he cared a great deal for Tatum, Ang knew, so he couldn't be a bad guy.
And after almost three weeks of Tatum playing house in Arizona, Ang figured it was time to cut the shit.
“Hey, thanks for meeting me,” Ang said. Sanders barely shook his hand before taking a seat at the table. Then he stared at the wall behind Ang.
“It's no trouble. How have you been?” the other man asked. Tate had said Sanders had spent most of his life in London, but his accent sounded different to Ang. Sharper.
“Good. Okay. Working on a new movie. Helping Ellie with the baby,” he replied.
“Are you and Mrs. Carmichael an item again?”
“No,” Ang laughed. “That was a mistake.”
“A pretty large mistake, if you don't mind my saying.”
“Are you always this blunt?”
“Yes.”
“Whatever. How is Satan?” Ang asked, leaning back in his chair and sipping at his coffee.
“If you are referring to Mr. Kane, he is well,” Sanders replied, not touching the coffee Ang had ordered for him.
“Really? Moved onto the next woman already?” Ang pressed. Sanders finally looked at him.
“If you would like to talk about her, please, don't waste anymore time,” he stated. Ang nodded.