And then, as he became a man, the feelings became stronger. So much stronger.
I sat there and ground my ass in a small circle, giving myself the pleasure of the friction from my shorts and thong against my skin.
He texted again, and I gave in, reading his words.
I loved the skin on the curve of your thigh, Tate. The part where your leg met your hip. It was heaven, and even now, I can still taste it.
My eyes fluttered, and I let my body fall back onto the bed as I grazed the part of my thigh that he loved.
You used to grip my hair so hard that you were damn near riding my face. Your dad never knew how bad you really were.
I ran the heel of my palm over my clit through my pajama shorts and moaned, thinking about his covert morning visits before school. He’d sneak in, bury his head between my legs, and go so hard he’d have to put a hand over my mouth so we weren’t overheard.
Sophomore year when you started track . . . your legs got so toned. I thought you were trying to drive me crazy on purpose.
I slid my middle finger between my folds over my thin shorts, and I couldn’t help it.
I craved his rough hands on me again.
I tensed every muscle in my chest, bringing my breasts higher, and I imagined his long fingers sliding under my hoodie, because he could never keep his damn hands off my chest.
You always fit so perfectly, Tate. The way you’d arch your hips back into me when I fucked you from behind.
“Fuck,” I groaned at the memory, rolling my hips into my hand and closing my eyes.
That was your favorite position, wasn’t it?
I didn’t answer, because he already knew. Ever since the kitchen table, I always loved it when he had me on my hands and knees.
You never melted underneath me, either, he continued. Every time I pushed, you pushed back. I’d thrust my cock inside of you, and you’d push your fucking back up off the bed, rubbing your nipples against my lips and begging for my tongue. You always liked it hard.
The ache at my entrance was so hot and sweet. I needed him so bad. No one drove me wild like he did. The rush of need flooded me, and I felt the wetness through my shorts as I rubbed the nub harder.
I closed my eyes, imagining him flipping me onto my stomach and sliding into me. Sweat covered my brow as I remembered, just like it was yesterday, that fucking fantastic pain I always felt when he entered me. It was a small hurt, but I loved it. He’d hit so deep inside, and the stretch and pressure were sweet.
I brought up the phone to see his new message.
Do you remember graduation night? In my car, out by the lake? It was so hot. Your dress was torn and on the floor of the car, and you put on my necktie. It was the only thing you were wearing.
I remembered. I’d straddled him in the backseat with his tie lying between my breasts. He couldn’t take it. He’d attacked like a wild dog, nearly eating me alive.
Tate, you don’t know what you do to me. You drive me out of my mind. Your words, your laughter, your tears, your eyes . . . everything about you owns me.
“Me, too,” I whispered, a tear spilling out of the corner of my eye and dripping down my temple.
I swallowed, rubbing my legs together to get rid of the ache.
I’m a better man, but there’s never been a better woman for me. There’s never been anyone like you, he texted.
I fisted my hands, needing to come. I gasped, wanting him to make me come, but I crashed my fist to the bed, refusing to give him the satisfaction.
He’d hurt me too much, and no matter the physical attraction that still existed between us, that hadn’t changed. I needed to remember that.
I want to crush his fucking hands when he touches you.
But honestly . . . , he continued, it’s a hell of a turn-on watching another man have what I want.
Yeah, just like me seeing him with another woman. I hated it, and it hurt, but it made me feel possessive, too. It made me want to fight.
In fact, I’m steel-rod straight right now.
My lungs emptied, and I dragged my bottom lip through my teeth, almost smiling, but I stopped myself. Jared—hard and ready—was a sight that never failed to make my mouth water. I pictured him holding himself right now, even though I was lying down and I couldn’t see him.
It was another minute before he texted again.
You look hot. You should take off that sweatshirt before you go to bed.
My eyes rounded, and I shot off the bed, gaping out my French doors. He didn’t see me, did he? It was dark in here. Light over there. I ran my hand though my hair, shame heating my face.
Peeking to get my line of sight out the doors, I saw Jared still standing in the golden glow of the lamp that he’d turned on before. Even through the tree and the darkness, I could see the self-satisfied look in his eyes before he looked down and texted once more.
I remember everything, Tate, he texted. And I know you do, too.
I let phone drop to the bed, seeing the amusement in his eyes turn to a dark threat as he pulled the drapes closed and disappeared.
Fuck.
Chapter 8
Tate
I pounded along the sidewalk, sneakers cushioning the impact as I leaped over the curb and across the street. Three Days Grace’s “I Hate Everything About You” blared through my earbuds, and I was covered in sweat from my stomach up to my head.
I was in good shape, and I normally didn’t push for speed on my runs, but the fact that I was gulping in air let me know that I’d gone too far and hard. I never got out of breath on my regular morning jogs.
Slowing to a walk as I stepped onto the sidewalk on my side of the street, I pulled up the hem of my black tank top and wiped off my face.
I sat there and ground my ass in a small circle, giving myself the pleasure of the friction from my shorts and thong against my skin.
He texted again, and I gave in, reading his words.
I loved the skin on the curve of your thigh, Tate. The part where your leg met your hip. It was heaven, and even now, I can still taste it.
My eyes fluttered, and I let my body fall back onto the bed as I grazed the part of my thigh that he loved.
You used to grip my hair so hard that you were damn near riding my face. Your dad never knew how bad you really were.
I ran the heel of my palm over my clit through my pajama shorts and moaned, thinking about his covert morning visits before school. He’d sneak in, bury his head between my legs, and go so hard he’d have to put a hand over my mouth so we weren’t overheard.
Sophomore year when you started track . . . your legs got so toned. I thought you were trying to drive me crazy on purpose.
I slid my middle finger between my folds over my thin shorts, and I couldn’t help it.
I craved his rough hands on me again.
I tensed every muscle in my chest, bringing my breasts higher, and I imagined his long fingers sliding under my hoodie, because he could never keep his damn hands off my chest.
You always fit so perfectly, Tate. The way you’d arch your hips back into me when I fucked you from behind.
“Fuck,” I groaned at the memory, rolling my hips into my hand and closing my eyes.
That was your favorite position, wasn’t it?
I didn’t answer, because he already knew. Ever since the kitchen table, I always loved it when he had me on my hands and knees.
You never melted underneath me, either, he continued. Every time I pushed, you pushed back. I’d thrust my cock inside of you, and you’d push your fucking back up off the bed, rubbing your nipples against my lips and begging for my tongue. You always liked it hard.
The ache at my entrance was so hot and sweet. I needed him so bad. No one drove me wild like he did. The rush of need flooded me, and I felt the wetness through my shorts as I rubbed the nub harder.
I closed my eyes, imagining him flipping me onto my stomach and sliding into me. Sweat covered my brow as I remembered, just like it was yesterday, that fucking fantastic pain I always felt when he entered me. It was a small hurt, but I loved it. He’d hit so deep inside, and the stretch and pressure were sweet.
I brought up the phone to see his new message.
Do you remember graduation night? In my car, out by the lake? It was so hot. Your dress was torn and on the floor of the car, and you put on my necktie. It was the only thing you were wearing.
I remembered. I’d straddled him in the backseat with his tie lying between my breasts. He couldn’t take it. He’d attacked like a wild dog, nearly eating me alive.
Tate, you don’t know what you do to me. You drive me out of my mind. Your words, your laughter, your tears, your eyes . . . everything about you owns me.
“Me, too,” I whispered, a tear spilling out of the corner of my eye and dripping down my temple.
I swallowed, rubbing my legs together to get rid of the ache.
I’m a better man, but there’s never been a better woman for me. There’s never been anyone like you, he texted.
I fisted my hands, needing to come. I gasped, wanting him to make me come, but I crashed my fist to the bed, refusing to give him the satisfaction.
He’d hurt me too much, and no matter the physical attraction that still existed between us, that hadn’t changed. I needed to remember that.
I want to crush his fucking hands when he touches you.
But honestly . . . , he continued, it’s a hell of a turn-on watching another man have what I want.
Yeah, just like me seeing him with another woman. I hated it, and it hurt, but it made me feel possessive, too. It made me want to fight.
In fact, I’m steel-rod straight right now.
My lungs emptied, and I dragged my bottom lip through my teeth, almost smiling, but I stopped myself. Jared—hard and ready—was a sight that never failed to make my mouth water. I pictured him holding himself right now, even though I was lying down and I couldn’t see him.
It was another minute before he texted again.
You look hot. You should take off that sweatshirt before you go to bed.
My eyes rounded, and I shot off the bed, gaping out my French doors. He didn’t see me, did he? It was dark in here. Light over there. I ran my hand though my hair, shame heating my face.
Peeking to get my line of sight out the doors, I saw Jared still standing in the golden glow of the lamp that he’d turned on before. Even through the tree and the darkness, I could see the self-satisfied look in his eyes before he looked down and texted once more.
I remember everything, Tate, he texted. And I know you do, too.
I let phone drop to the bed, seeing the amusement in his eyes turn to a dark threat as he pulled the drapes closed and disappeared.
Fuck.
Chapter 8
Tate
I pounded along the sidewalk, sneakers cushioning the impact as I leaped over the curb and across the street. Three Days Grace’s “I Hate Everything About You” blared through my earbuds, and I was covered in sweat from my stomach up to my head.
I was in good shape, and I normally didn’t push for speed on my runs, but the fact that I was gulping in air let me know that I’d gone too far and hard. I never got out of breath on my regular morning jogs.
Slowing to a walk as I stepped onto the sidewalk on my side of the street, I pulled up the hem of my black tank top and wiped off my face.
