Tate, Wood and Neeta.
Tate, Wood and Neeta.
I looked down to the next one and saw the three kids, the two dirt bikes and a man I didn’t know. His arm was slung around Tate’s shoulders and he resembled the man Tate was now. Tall, handsome but in a different way, less edgy, his face more open, his smile so warm I felt it coming from the picture.
The next one down again had the three kids and the dirt bikes but a younger Pop was standing between the boys, his arm wrapped around Neeta’s chest, holding her back to his front. His smile was open and warm too.
Happy times.
Happy times with Tate, Wood and Neeta.
What was that all about?
I heard and smelled bacon frying and dazedly meandered back to the kitchen.
There was a loaf of bread by the range and the toaster had been pulled out. Tate was at the skillet. Buster and I surveyed him.
“There’s pictures of you and Wood on the wall in your living room,” I stated, Tate turned toward me, his gaze swept down to Buster, upside down in my arms, her feet dangling in the air, my fingers scratching her ruff, she was still purring but otherwise motionless in my arms. His gaze lifted and he caught my eyes.
“Yeah,” he replied.
“You were young,” I went on.
“Yeah,” he repeated and turned back to the stove.
I saw there were low stools on the opposite end to the island from him and I walked to one, pulled it out and sat on it.
“Um… Captain,” I started, “you didn’t mention –”
He twisted to me again. “Wood mention it?”
I shook my head.
He went back to the skillet and said no more.
“Tate –”
He sighed and the toast popped up in the toaster. He reached up, opened a cupboard and brought down a plate.
“We grew up together,” he said while he was doing this.
“Yeah?” I prompted when he said no more.
He put the toast on the plate and put more bread in the toaster, saying only, “Yeah.”
“Were you friends?” I asked.
His eyes cut to me then he went back to the skillet.
“Yeah,” he repeated.
“You aren’t friends now,” I noted.
“Nope,” he agreed.
“Neeta?” I asked softly as to the reason they weren’t friends now and Tate turned fully to me.
“Neeta, Bethany and Wood bein’ an ass**le,” Tate answered.
“Maybe you should explain about Wood,” I suggested hesitantly, feeling some disquiet because he wasn’t being very forthcoming.
He turned away from the skillet again and his eyes locked on mine. We both stayed that way for awhile before he spoke.
“I get that you’re curious, baby,” he said quietly. “And I get why. But I just got back from bein’ on the road, you been on your feet all day, shit has been intense and we’ve never had this.” He lifted a hand to indicate “this” being us in his house doing normal stuff like having dinner and spending the night together. “Let’s have this and not f**k it up. We’ll talk about Wood later. Yeah?”
I wasn’t certain if he was actually asking for my opinion, if he wanted me to agree that we shouldn’t talk about it now or he was telling me and expecting me to agree we shouldn’t talk about it now.
On the one hand, he was right. Since the minute we met it had been a rocky road and not just your normal, average rocky road but it included rape, murder and parental heart attacks. We should have “this”.
On the other hand, I just got out of a relationship where my husband lied to me, not only about Hayley but, I suspected, well before Hayley he lied about Tina Blackstone which made me wonder how many Hayleys and Tinas there were for Brad. Tate wasn’t being open, it seemed like he was guarding something, something he even said would f**k this up and after I went through what I went through with Brad I shouldn’t put up with guarded. I should demand openness.
But I was sitting in the kitchen of Tate’s house in the hills, a house which was kind of a mess but could be fabulous, snuggling and stroking his beautiful, dainty cat and staring into eyes that were in the most handsome face I’d ever seen, the face of the most exciting man I’d ever met. I figured demanding openness at that juncture might be me messing things up. And I really didn’t want to do that. As in, really.
So even though I wanted to know, had this niggling, somewhat alarming feeling that whatever it was I needed to know, I pushed that down and agreed with a soft, “Yeah.”
My agreement was rewarded with a smile and an equally soft, “Come here, Laurie.”
I got up, stooped, dropped Buster to her feet and made my way to him.
He still had the bacon fork in his hand but, when I got close, he nabbed me with an arm curled around my neck and pulled me to him. I tipped my head back and the second I did I felt his lips brush mine which was an even better reward.
He lifted away a scant inch and whispered, “Get your ketchup.”
* * * * *
“Tate.”
“Stay on your belly, baby.”
“Please.”
It was a whimper. I couldn’t help it. I was naked, on my belly, in his big bed. I’d been this way awhile. Tate was at my side. His bearded lips were lazily travelling the skin of my back and his fingers were lazily whispering through the wet folds between my legs. Just when I thought I could take no more, they’d disappear and glide across the skin of my bottom, a worse tease because that felt nice, all the skin of my back from shoulders to behind was sensitized by what felt like years of his gentle play, but I wanted his hand back between my legs.
Where it was now.
I lifted my behind an inch and repeated, “Tate.”
His thumb tweaked my clit, sheer, blissful sensations ripped through me, my breath audibly hitched, my h*ps jerked and I felt his body move up.
“That’s it, Laurie,” he murmured into my ear. My head was turned away from him, my cheek to the pillow, my fingers clutching the case. “Lift your ass and spread your legs more for me.”
I did as I was told. I thought I’d get rewarded but his touch stayed feather light and it was driving me mad.
“Honey,” I begged.
One of his fingers entered me and I held my breath but it didn’t go very far before it moved out again. Another tease.
I squirmed. “Tate.”
“Stay still,” he ordered.
I stayed still, it was killing me, I thought I’d explode, but I stayed still.
Tate teased then his thumb flicked my cl*t again and my h*ps again jerked.