Unscripted

by Swallow, Lisa

  On that night, Tate kissed me as if he’d never have the chance again; already aware I’d never yield to what he wanted. I gripped onto the tiny rational piece drowned out by my heart’s awareness I’d found another that fitted mine.

  But I never believed his words about love.

  “That night...” I begin and the thickening emotion pushes tears to my eyes. “You walked away.”

  He strokes my hair, alarm in his face at my tearing eyes. “You told me to.”

  I have no more words. No resolve. I’m stripped bare, unable to deny the reason he affects me this way isn’t frustration or dislike, but fear. He terrifies me. If I allow myself to feel half what I already do for this man, I could end up in ruins—again.

  “About what happened in the hotel room,” he whispers. “When I said stupid shit. Please believe me that I want you. Fate brought the girl back around to me a second time.” He strokes my face with the back of his hand, and I catch it. He grips my fingers. “I know you’re not ready for a full-on relationship with somebody after what happened with the asshole, but at least let me show you how fucking awesome I think you are.”

  “Tate...”

  He rests his forehead against mine again, his hair touching my face. His scent engulfs me, the warmth and spiced cologne drawing me in to the guy I want him to be. “I want you in my life. I won’t walk away.”

  I place a hand on his cheek, and move my face so the space between our lips closes. We hesitate—both of us—because this moment makes or breaks everything we’ve said.

  “I don’t want you to walk away this time.”

  Tate hits me with a kiss to match the intensity of our last one, like a wall of water, drowning out the fears he’ll crush my heart and soul. Instead, Tate’s mouth on mine circles my heart with his. And I let go.

  The years shudder through me, the truth spoken by his lips on mine as I lose myself.. I was wrong. Always wrong. This isn’t purely physical. Something deeper ties us, our lives circling back and fate throwing us together for a second chance. Tate and I belong, but I was walled up behind fear the connection would be broken by reality.

  This is the reality. Tate charges everything in my life to a hundred percent: my desire, my passion, and my determination. His unwavering belief in himself rubbed off on me years ago. I watched him from a distance and saw how talent and determination led to success and I swore I’d do the same. Could we have forged a path together back then? With Tate now, I could take on the world because I’m where I should be.

  I pull my mouth away. “But if you screw me around, I’m selling my story,” I say.

  He frowns. “Is that right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, then.”

  I blink in surprise as he releases me and turns on his heel to leave the room. Trembling, confused, I watch him go. “Tate?”

  25

  No response. I follow him from the room. Did I say the wrong thing? He grabs my suitcase from near the front door and without a word begins walking up the stairs.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “I’m taking your suitcase upstairs since it looks like you’re staying for the weekend,” he calls back. “Y’know, so I can make sure you have something worth talking about to sell.”

  “I was joking!” I call after him.

  I rush up the stairs. He can’t think I was serious. Tate rounds a corner and walks into a room, my suitcase still in his hand.

  As I reach the room, he drops the suitcase in a corner and laughs at me. “Of course I know you were joking, but I’m not.”

  I glance around the room and only catch a glimpse of enough to tell me this is his bedroom before Tate’s lips meet mine again. He holds me in the small of my back and pulls me close; the soft kiss surprises me, his mouth moving over mine in a gentle way I don’t expect.

  But we both know months of restraint, partly unleashed the other night, isn’t about to end in tenderness.

  Grabbing the collar of his shirt, I drag his mouth harder against mine and throw myself into the kiss that started everything two days ago. In response, his grip tightens, and mouth hardens, switching to harsh kisses.

  I’m backed against a wall, his hands holding me roughly around the waist as he pins me there. I can hardly breathe beneath his weight and the kiss weakening me. His hands skim my sides, close to my aching breasts but don't touch. I groan and press myself against him.

  “Bring back memories?” he says, voice rough as he nips my neck.

  “A few,” I whisper.

  The hesitance I held back in London doesn’t exist anymore. I push my hands beneath his shirt and run my fingers along the defined muscle of his abs. Tate’s breath comes fast and shallow as his hands continue to stroke my skin too, featherlight and torturous until I’m ready to pull my clothes off and start on his.

  Ah, why the hell not? I pull my shirt over my head and tug at his. Tate grabs my arm, eyes reflecting my desire. His mouth tips into the Tate smile as he pulls at my jeans. “The rest of yours first.”

  He steps back and focuses on my unbuttoning and sliding out of them. “You, stripping for me is one hell of a fantasy I’ve had for a lot of years.”

  Tate sits on the edge of the king size bed and pulls his shirt over his head, the muscles in his shoulders flexing as he does. My body takes over as I straddle Tate’s lap, pushing myself against him as the ache between my legs intensifies. He’s hard beneath his jeans, and my thin lace panties aren’t much of a barrier between us. He makes a low noise in his throat as I nip at his neck, and reach behind to unhook my bra.

  Tate’s fingers dig into my backside, as he explores my breasts, drawing his tongue from the edge and circling the nipple. The sensation fills everywhere, from my scalp to my toes. I arch towards him, and fumble between us for the button to his jeans.

  Tate flips me over onto the bed, and I land on the soft sheets. He props himself up on one arm, holding his weight away as he slides a hand along my thigh, pushing my legs apart. His fingers stroke my sex through the lace, and my breath picks up to match his.

  “You know what my biggest fantasy is?” he says, voice hoarse.

  I shake my head.

  “Looking into your eyes and watching you lose yourself to me.” He pulls my panties to one side, and his eyes glint as he glides a finger along my sex. “You forgot to takes these off.”

  I move, and he pulls the lace away before standing back and dragging a hungry gaze across my naked body. Tate Daniels straight from the screen, half-naked, jeans low on his hips, the ‘v’ shape pointing down to temptation. I moisten my lips as I snapshot the image. This man’s body’s enough to trigger unclean thoughts in most women, but his eyes... Captivating? No. Mesmerising in the true sense of the word, I can’t move when he looks at me this way. I’d probably do anything he told me.

  Without speaking, he runs his fingers across my skin, from my belly to my breasts. Tate traces each inch in a slow, teasing motion before leaning closer and pulling a nipple into his mouth. I gasp at the sudden buzz this sends through me, and at Tate’s large hand pushing my legs apart.

  I close my eyes, anticipating his touch, as his teasing fingers move along my inner thigh. He reaches the apex, brushes my most sensitive spot once, and stops. “Open your eyes, Myf.”

  The want in his steady gaze is unmistakable, and when I do as he says, he strokes me again, slipping a wet finger inside me, his thumb against my clit. In my mind, I’m back in the hotel room with him, but this time everything feels more intense; I’m less aware of my surroundings, of anything but the pleasure building. I half-moan as he pushes in another finger and watches my reaction.

  I want more than this, but as the pressure builds inside at the movement, another part of me doesn’t want him to stop. I’m close, slick with wet heat as his eyes hold me in place, his mouth parted with the pleasure of seeing me falling apart. If he can make me feel like this with just his hands, I’m desperate to find out what else he can do... But the higher I c
limb, the more difficult it is to ask him to stop this.

  “I want to see your eyes when you come.” Tate’s voice is harsh with lust as he works me higher. “You have no fucking idea how much I want to see that.”

  His words undo me. I’ve waited as long as Tate, shared the unfinished need from the other night and the suddenness of the orgasm blackens my vision, dizzying me with each ecstatic pulse. I push at his hand as he continues to move his fingers, unable to cope with the intensity but not wanting it to stop.

  I’d sit, pull at his jeans, have him inside me but I’m helpless, trembling beneath the power he has over me at this moment. Slowly he withdraws his fingers, slipping them into his mouth as the intense look continues. Without a word, but just a smug smile, he lowers his body against me, smooth skin over hard muscle brushing my peaked nipples and triggering more sensation.

  “You closed your eyes, Myf. I’m going to need to do that again,” he whispers, forehead touching mine.

  I clench my thighs together as his hand slides up my inner thigh. “No. Not your fingers.”

  I watch as he moves back and runs a hand through his hair, face flushed. “No? What do you want?”

  I move to unbutton his jeans. “You.”

  “You need to be more specific,” he says, grasping my wrist. “Tell me exactly what you want.”

  I take a shaky breath, heart hammering in my chest. “You.”

  “Me?” How does this man control himself? His hair tickles my face as his hot breath touches my ear. “Tell me.”

  When I don’t respond with anything but shallow breaths, Tate pushes my legs apart with his knee, and my body reignites. I hear his zip, feel the heat and length of him against me.

  Oh hell, my body can’t take any more of this. The need courses red-hot through my veins as expectation hangs in the air between us and the frustration bursts out. “Tate! Make love to me, screw me, fuck me, whatever you want me to say.”

  He smirks at my frustrated reply. He actually bloody smirks as he slides himself along me. “Are you sure?”

  I swear going to explode. “Yes, bloody hell, Tate! I won’t get pregnant, just do it.”

  As soon as the last word is out, Tate thrusts hard into me, and I gasp. Him filling me, connected on this level, feels so right – so bloody good. Tate brushes hair from my face with one hand as he grips my ass with the other, tipping me against him. The position allows him to hit another toe-curling spot, and I match his movements, chasing another high.

  Our bodies slick against each other, the pleasure builds again, shared by Tate this time as he rocks against me, our heavy breath matching. The movement of his hips bump my sensitive clit, and I grip his waist with my legs as I watch him. Now I understand his desire to watch, to see somebody else lose themselves. But I see more behind the uncontrolled lust on his face. Everything we’ve spoken about today is true. We’re in tune in a way I’ve never felt before; the physical effect turned up a thousand watts higher than with any man.

  We’re meant to be.

  Tate’s movement becomes harsher, and he looks down as my breasts move, reaching out to rub fingers across my nipples. I spiral back into the place I went minutes ago; I crave more, for the waves to never stop pulsing through my body. I hold his gaze despite my desire to close my eyes and Tate looks back, and lets go of his control as I swear at the intensity soaring through. His swearing matches mine, louder and more primal as he pushes himself to the hilt and he loses himself too.

  Tate falls forward and showers my damp face with kisses, and I hold his head, kissing him too.

  “Wow,” I mumble, unsure whether I’ll ever come down from this high.

  Tate rolls over and pulls me onto his chest, then rests his chin on my head. I press my ear against him; his breathing and heart rate fast against my cheek. “You know when you wait and wait for something, and you’re worried the reality won’t match the anticipation?”

  My stomach flips. So not ‘wow’ for him? “Like now?” I whisper, preparing to move away.

  He chuckles. “Is that what you think? Are you seriously telling me after all these years that was a let-down? Because it didn’t seem that way from where I was.”

  “I mean you,” I mumble into his chest. “Your expectations and I’m not enough.”

  Tate shifts and moves down the bed, so we’re nose to nose and traces the contours of my face. His eyes hold a mixture I’ve seen before, long ago and forgotten. There’s a tenderness and confusion. “Not sure what words to use here but wow doesn’t cut it. Because this is you. Different, you know?”

  “How so?” I touch his face in return, and he grabs my hand and turns it over, kissing my palm.

  “Because it’s us. Should always have been us. I don’t think there’d be any going back from this, even then. I can’t explain it.” He squeezes my hand.

  “Our relationship has pretty much changed forever. That’s a given.” I laugh. “Could be a big mistake I guess, but I uh... enjoyed it.”

  “A mistake?” he whispers. “Not a mistake. A start.”

  I chew the corner of my mouth, desperate to believe he means his words and isn’t speaking in the post-sex high. “I hope so.”

  “Myf...” He rolls onto me and props himself up, arms either side of his head, holding his weight away. I run my fingers along his back, across the knotted muscle I dug my hands into. “You’re fucking amazing, and I intend to make sure you know that.”

  Tate kisses me softly, lips lingering on mine as he inhales as if taking more of me into him, then looks back into my eyes.

  “I’ve waited too long, and I’m not about to fuck this up if I can help it.”

  My heart swells at his words and look, the way he looks at me with a vulnerable fear I’ll leave him at this moment.

  “One day at a time,” I say.

  I reach out and stroke his mouth, unable to lose anything but the awareness of his body on mine, in his words. I’m convinced I’m wrapped around his heart the way my legs wrap around his because Tate’s encircles mine.

  “And every one with you.” He nudges my nose. “Besides, I still need to give you plenty more to tell everybody about when you sell your story.”

  I laugh and grip his hair, pulling his face to mine. “I definitely think that’s needed.”

  26

  Tate isn’t around when I wake the next morning, confused where I am for a few seconds. The thin curtains are drawn across the balcony doors, but the bed’s far enough away to stop the sunshine waking me. I roll over and hug the pillow, burying my face into the cool cotton. The pillow smells of Tate, of last night, and arousal triggers at the memory.

  Have I done the right thing? I shouldn’t think this, but I can’t help one question in my mind. How many others girls has he had in this bed? Recently? A few minutes lying and staring at the ceiling debating what to do next, and I pull my tired body up to sit. My suitcase is propped against the wall at the far end of the room, and I smile at the situation. I never expected to wake up in his bed, or with a suitcase packed with enough clothes to spend a weekend here.

  Where is he?

  I pull my suitcase into the vast ensuite and open up to find my toiletries. My tangled-haired self looks back from the mirror, and I stroke my neck, paranoid his nipping was harder than I thought. Nothing.

  In the shower, I wash away yesterday, each touch of my body reminding me of his hands on me. Beats the state I was in last time I showered with Tate close by anyway.

  “Myf?”

  Ah. Close by again.

  There’s no disguising I’m in here as the water runs over my body; the double shower screen misted, soap bubbles streaking the glass.

  I state the obvious anyway. “I’m in the shower.”

  “I can see,” he replies. “Well, I can’t and that’s a problem.”

  “Ha ha. What did you want?”

  “I was looking for you. I brought you breakfast.”

  Four words from Tate’s mouth I never expected to hear.
“That’s thoughtful.”

  Our conversation continues through the glass barrier, and my awareness I’m naked increases when Tate remains in the bathroom.

  “I’ll be out in a few minutes,” I say. “I’m almost done.”

  The shower door opens and Tate stands, in his jeans and barefoot. He rakes a gaze across my body. “You’re clean then? Not the dirty girl you were last night?”

  Last night. It’s a wonder I’m standing at all. There’s nothing like making up for lost time, but all six years in one night...?

  Tate manages to tear his eyes away from my breasts to my mouth. Ordinarily, if a guy burst in on me in the shower I’d screech at him to get out but the way he looks at me freezes all thoughts of that. The dilated pupils in his hooded eyes trigger desire again, nipples hardening as he continues his slow steady look.

  “Fuck, you’re beautiful, Myf.”

  The water continues to run and I stare back, lips parted. At least he’s only semi-naked and unlikely to... Tate steps into the shower and winds an arm around my waist, drawing me against him. Water splashes across his head too as he slams me back against the tiles, mouth closing over mine.

  Whoa.

  My soapy body slides against his chest, the damp denim rubbing against my legs as his jeans soak. His tongue invades my mouth with the rough passion from last night, my face smarting as his growth scrapes across my face again. He lifts me and pushes one of his legs between mine, brushing against my centre already sensitive and growing hotter by the second. I grasp his neck and dig my fingers into his hair, running them along the nape of his neck.

  As he presses me harder against the wall, he circles his thumbs around my breasts, teasing my already peaked nipples. Water drips from his flattening hair, and touches his lips.

  “Good morning, Myf.” His low voice is the same one whispering dirty things in my ear last night. He licks the drops away and moves in for another kiss, switching to my neck and downwards.