Page 90 of Then You Happened
“Look at me, Tate.” As sex-drugged eyes hold mine.
Until it’s her panted cry as the orgasm slams into her and my own release hits me so goddamn hard I almost black out.
Instead of moving, we slide down the wall, my jeans still around my ankles, and her legs still wrapped around my waist.
We don’t speak as our hearts decelerate. We don’t acknowledge we had sex two nights in a row when technically this isn’t really a thing. In fact, we don’t do anything other than sit with her forehead resting on my shoulder and my dick softening inside her.
“We have to move at some point,” I finally mutter as her skin begins to cool beneath my lips.
She chuckles. “You mean we have to do the unsexy part of sex?” she asks as she slides her hand between her thighs and cups herself as I slip out of her.
“The unsexy part?” I ask, knowing full well what she means but loving that she’s talking about it. Loving that this woman is comfortable enough with me to.
“Yeah,” she jokes. “The duckwalk to the bathroom part for me. The wash your dick off in the sink part for you.”
“Well,” I say through a laugh as she rises and I watch her head down the hall. “I guess I need to find that sink then.”
“You probably should,” she says over her shoulder looking to where I’m sitting. Her eyes roam to my dick, still semi-hard against my thigh, still coated in both of us. Her smile is shy when, after what she just did, there’s no way in hell she’s shy. “We’ll need to use that again later.”
And just like that, I’m left speechless for the second time tonight.
29
TATE
“Holy shit.”
It’s my first and only thought as I look in my mirror above the sink in my bathroom.
My cheeks are flushed. My neck has red marks from where his goatee scraped against it. My eyes . . . my eyes are alive with excitement and pleasure.
And I initiated it.
Not only did I initiate it but I also told
Jack Sutton that I freaking wanted to do it again.
My hands go over my face as I die of embarrassment, questioning what had emboldened me all of a sudden.
But I know what it was.
It was picking up the pieces of my old life off the floor. It was realizing each memory felt manufactured. Each one was hiding a lie I never knew about. Every piece held love, but it was deceptive and duplicitous. Yes, Fletcher and I loved hard, but he also lied harder.
It was as I was sorting the mess that I realized just how strong I am and how I don’t recognize the woman I was back then.
It was hearing that knock on the door and knowing who it was and what I wanted, to lose myself in Jack for a while. To forget to remember, to bury the past, and to see that I have a future as Tate Knox, not Fletcher’s wife.
It was hiding behind the realization of what I had done by using humor to do the walk of shame, only to find there isn’t shame. There is only freedom in knowing what I want and not being afraid to express it.
That’s all new for me.
I run a hand down my chest, over my breasts that Fletcher teased were too small but that Jack seems to have absolutely no problem with. To my hips that swell out. To the apex of my thighs still throbbing from the pounding he just gave it.
And I feel alive—scream-from-the-rooftops, dance-in-the-rain, flip-off-all-my-haters alive.
A giggle bubbles up in my throat as I try to figure out what in the hell to do next.
“You okay in there?” Jack calls out with a laugh as I hear a faucet turn on in the bathroom down the hall as he cleans up.
