Total pages in book: 18
Estimated words: 15998 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 80(@200wpm)___ 64(@250wpm)___ 53(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 15998 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 80(@200wpm)___ 64(@250wpm)___ 53(@300wpm)
“We’ll have to go back to Pinball Pizza soon. I want to challenge you to that rare street fighting game they’ve got in.” After parking the truck, Tate led the way back to my house. “But right now, I’d rather wrestle you for fun, not points.”
He laughed, and so did I, but my stomach also quivered. Tate undoubtedly had way more experience than me, and while I was desperate for whatever we were about to do, I was also a little nervous.
Okay. A lot nervous.
“You’re probably way better than me at…wrestling,” I murmured.
“What? No way. You never met a video game you couldn’t best me at. You’re the strategy king.” Completely missing my attempt at innuendo, Tate waited for me to unlock the front door, then my apartment door. Thankfully, neither of the upstairs units had lights on. A little auditory privacy might be nice if I could ever get a handle on my nerves and racing pulse.
But then again, if I had a cardiac event, I did have a trained EMT to give me mouth-to-mouth. The thought allowed me to relax while we removed our coats and shoes and made our way into my living room.
“Aww. Look.” Tate stopped in front of my couch. Unlike most canines, Mouse had stayed on the couch rather than greeting us. Clifford had joined her in her blanket nest, spooning behind the small dog. He opened an eye, daring us to disturb their domestic harmony. “They’re cuddling.”
“They are. I like it.”
“Hate to kick them off the couch.” Tate winked at me. Couch. The spot where one might reasonably assume we could make out. Or more.
“I…um…” I glanced over at the hallway. Maybe more kissing and making out was too juvenile anyway. If Tate were truly my boyfriend now, he didn’t need me all Muppet-flail at the thought of sex. Which I did want, especially with Tate, as opposed to some random hookup, which had never once interested me. But the gulf between wanting sex and doing sex was relatively unchartered territory for me. “We can…that is, I have a bed.”
“I’m sure you do.” Tate chuckled and stretched to give me a fast kiss. He was shorter, a fact I kept forgetting because he was far broader and more muscular. And commanding. Few people I’d met could take up space like Tate did, which threatened to overwhelm me every time we touched or kissed. “We’ll get there as far as bed, but remember what I said. There’s no rush.”
And with that, he backed me against the wall near the door, more barely there soft kisses and touches on my neck, shoulders, and upper arms. Like me, he was limited by the cast on his other arm, but unlike me, it barely seemed to hamper him. In fact, his left hand was so talented that I found myself relaxing way more than I’d thought possible.
I was dangerously close to purring like Clifford simply from Tate petting me, and like a cat, I stretched into the contact, inviting more. Tate seemed to instinctively know that light touches and kisses worked far better for me than groping and intense tongue action.
“This is nice.” I sighed happily, sagging against the wall. My knees were deliciously rubbery, brain cells all muddled, and I barely registered Tate steering us over to my Swedish chair. As competently as he did everything else, Tate managed to arrange us both in the chair with no one landing on the floor. I reclined as Tate straddled me, a predatory gleam in his eyes.
“See? No need to rush to bed.” He grinned down at me. “This is cozy, and the pets don’t have to move.”
“True.” I smiled back until the chair gave an ominous squeak. “This isn’t exactly designed for two…”
“Relax.” Tate cupped my face in his hands. I loved how he made me feel precious and fragile yet strong. “I’m an EMT. If it dumps us on the floor, I know first aid.”
“Kiss it and make it better?”
“Exactly.” He proceeded to do exactly that, kissing me until I was certain there wasn’t much better on earth.
And then he moved.
Subtly at first, little shifts as he ducked his head to kiss my neck or stretched to lick my ear. Then more deliberate rocking against me, the sort of rhythm I couldn’t help but mimic. We might well break the chair, but hell if I could be bothered to care. Two broken wrists? A minor price to pay for how amazing this felt.
Heat bloomed all over my skin, every nerve ending on red alert. I was achingly hard, and being able to feel his erection against mine, even through our jeans, was almost unbearably erotic. My breath came in little pants. I could come only too easily from this kissing and friction combo, but I wanted more.