18. Tate

CHAPTER 18

TATE

I woke up to the promise of a slow fuck, Brooks’ weight above me, his hands against the small of my back pressing me into the mattress as he slid his hard cock up and down the crack of my ass. He was cool with slippery lube, and I arched my back, consenting. Behind me, he groaned and eased his length into my still tender body. I reached back and grabbed his thigh, steadying the both of us when he was seated fully.

“Good morning,” he whispered, falling forward and drawing lines through my hair with his nose. “How did you sleep?”

“Like I got fucked to within an inch of my life, then massaged and fucked again,” I said into the pillow, a yawn chasing after the answer.

Brooks hummed happily and wrapped his arms around me, rolling onto his back so I was straddling him. I took the change in position as an opportunity to stretch, then executed the most awkward turn so I was facing his head and not his feet. He threaded his fingers together behind his head, watching me with half-hooded eyes while I woke up enough to find a rhythm.

I circled my hips, fucking him slow and soft while the both of us woke up to meet the day. There were no tears to be found, just groans and gasps, and Brooks’ pleased little laugh when I came hard enough to fill the dip at the base of his throat with my release. He scooped it up and shoved his sticky fingers into his mouth before grabbing my hips and driving into me from the bottom until his cock thickened and pulsed, spilling into me.

It was the perfect way to wake up in the perfect penthouse with the perfect man. Even when he lifted me off of his cock to tuck me against his chest and pull the sheets back up to our waists, I would have been hard-pressed to find a better feeling in my memory.

“What time is it?” I asked, stretching my toes past his feet.

“Too early.” Brooks kissed the back of my neck. “Go back to sleep, Tate.”

So I did.

It was easy to lose track of time with Brooks because everything about him was so far beyond my normal scope of experience. I never knew what to expect with him because even though he’d been clear about his expectations in the bedroom, the sex we’d just had fell out of the scope of everything we’d done before. There weren’t any tears and it wasn’t part of aftercare. It was tender and lazy and the most intimate thing that I’d ever done.

When I woke up again, what could have been minutes or hours later, I was alone in bed, the sheets behind me warm, but far from being hot. He’d gotten up, but not for long. Stretching out and kicking the sheets down to the foot of the bed, I rolled and buried my face into Brooks’ pillow to breathe the scent of him in so deep I hoped it would embed itself in my lungs to hold me over after I left.

Downstairs a door opened and closed, and footsteps jogged up the stairs. Brooks appeared in the doorway wearing running shorts and a sweat damp t-shirt which was halfway over his head when he came around the corner. I sat up in bed, happy to watch him strip naked in front of me, but after the shirt was off, he saw I was awake and stopped dead in his tracks. A shy kind of smile spread across his face, completely counter to the way he shoved his shorts down to his ankles.

He wasn’t hard, but he was gorgeous just the same, sweaty and tanned and soft skin.

“You’re awake,” he said, tossing the dirty clothes into his closet.

“I’m glad I woke up in time to not miss the show.”

He rolled his eyes and padded barefoot and naked into the bathroom. Out of my line of sight, I heard the water turn on, and then Brooks called out, “Are you coming?”

I scrambled out of bed to join him in the shower, but the sight of him under the spray had my breath hitching in my throat. Bracing myself against the sink, I bit my lips together, admiring the slope of his throat as he tipped his head back to sluice the water through his hair, the way his balls hung between his legs, and the gentle ripple of muscles alongside his ribs.

Brooks was a god.

Mine .

“Come on, Tate,” he said, not turning his stare away from the ceiling.

The callout was enough to crash me back to reality, which wasn’t a horrible place to be, and the water against my shoulders was as warm and welcome as his fingers around my wrists. As soon as I was under the water, Brooks backed me against the wall, reaching down between my legs with his soapy fingers and testing the pressure against my hole. He growled into the corner of my neck, sinking his teeth gently into the muscle that stretched across the top of my shoulder.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get bored of feeling my cum leak out of your perfect little asshole,” he whispered.

A shiver ripped through my whole body, and I thumped my head against the wall with a moan.

“You like that, don’t you?” he asked, kissing the place he’d just bit.

“What part?”

“When I talk dirty.”

“The way you talk matches the way you fuck,” I told him, resting my hands on his hips. He pushed his body against mine, both of our cocks getting hard again.

“How’s that?”

“Rough.”

Brooks licked a hot stripe all the way up to the underside of my chin before sinking his teeth into my jaw.

“I like it,” I answered him finally.

He hummed, lips curving into a smile against my face that was so big and true I didn’t even need to see it to know it was there. As soon as it registered, it was gone, as was the rest of him. Brooks took a step back, using both of his hands to shove his hair away from his face.

“As much as it makes me happy to give you all the things you deserve, I’m going to leave you on your own for the rest of this shower. ”

I groaned, reaching down and stroking my cock in his direction.

Brooks gave me an apologetic—if not promising—look.

“I’m going to make coffee,” he said, stepping out of the shower and getting a towel out of the warmer. He ran it over the top half of his body before knotting it around his waist. “And breakfast.”

“I’m hungry for you,” I complained, stroking my cock twice more.

“I like to make you cry, Tate.” Brooks licked his lips, stare lingering on my shaft and how it peeked out from behind my fingers. “I don’t want to actually hurt you. You need some time.”

“I have other holes, Brooks.”

He bared his teeth, tracing his tongue along them as he narrowed his eyes and nodded at me. “Duly noted, Tate.”

Then he turned and was gone.

He took the air out of the room with him, and I sank down onto the bench, immediately falling forward and bracing my elbows on my knees. I caught my head in my hands and made the most pathetic noise, hoping the drain would swallow it before it reached Brooks’ ears.

I knew he was right.

My body needed a break, but when it came to him, I was beyond insatiable. I would have given him anything, but worse than that, I wanted to give him everything.

“Start by doing what you’re told,” I reminded myself, grabbing his soap and washing myself as much as I could manage. I knew I should have paid extra attention to my cock and my asshole, but I wanted to leave those parts of myself dirty with him .

I finished my shower and headed back into the bedroom, finding the bed made with a pair of basketball shorts and a clean t-shirt sitting on the pillow that I already considered to be mine. I noticed when I dressed myself that the clothes seemed to fit better than I would have expected Brooks’ to fit me, but there was no way he’d had the time or the inclination to buy clothes for me. Was there?

That was a lot.

Even for him.

Right?

From downstairs, I heard Brooks’ voice filter up. At first, I thought he was singing, but as I made my way down, I realized he was on the phone. He moved around the kitchen, which already smelled like coffee, his cell phone sitting on the counter, a call ticker flickering up toward the five minute mark. I didn’t recognize the voice of the man on the other line, not that I should have. I didn’t know any of Brooks’ friends. I’d met them all that very first night, but Ford wasn’t interested in me for anything beyond a decoy and the others had barely addressed me at all. Brooks had been the only one.

“I have to go, Kale,” Brooks said, pouring some coffee into a clean white mug and sliding it across the island and into my hands. He looked at me quickly, mouthing an apology.

“It’s fine,” I said back quietly.

“Why?” Kale asked, sounding put out.

“I have a guest.”

“A guest?”

“A guest,” Brooks repeated.

“What poor fool did you coax into bed this time?”

Brooks glanced at me, his expression tight and concerned. The implication in Kale’s line of questioning was clear. Brooks was not a relationship man and his bedroom might as well have had a revolving door. I knew that about him, and he also knew that about me.

“He’s been in my bed on and off for a couple weeks now.” Brooks picked a pan up from the stove and slid some fluffy looking scrambled eggs onto a plate, which he lined up with the coffee he’d just poured for me.

“A couple weeks ?”

“He’s my boyfriend, Kale.”

I bit the inside of my cheek, jealous that I wasn’t the only person Brooks made a habit of calling by name.

“Excuse me? First Beamer, and?—”

“And then you and Ford, now me. Yes, that does seem to be the way of it.” He handed me a fork and napkin, then made a plate for himself and walked around the island to sit beside me.

“Where did you meet him?”

“The Black Door.”

“Perfect.”

I didn’t know Kale, but I could hear the smile in his voice.

“When can I meet him?”

“You’ve met him. He’s the one who was with Ford.” Brooks sounded tentative as he said the last part, working his jaw back and forth.

“Oh.”

Brooks sucked in a breath. “I’ve got to go, Kale. Do you want to get lunch tomorrow?”

“Fine.”

“You can bring Christian.”

“Fine. ”

“Stop being sullen,” Brooks snapped. “You’re not a toddler.”

“Fine.” Kale sounded almost as sullen, but like he was amused at the callout.

“I’m going to invite the guys.”

“Fine,” Kale said again.

Brooks’ phone beeped, the call having been disconnected. He stared at it and sighed, picking up his fork and using the side of it to knife some of his eggs into manageable bite sizes.

“What was that about?” I asked. “Do I want to know?”

“Ford is dating Kale’s younger brother. It’s a sore spot.”

“They were together the night we met, right?” I asked, trying to piece the timeline of the chaos in his friend group together with nothing but breadcrumbs.

“It’s a sore spot for Kale. He’s getting over it, but it’s taking forever.”

“Why does he care?”

“Kale is a control freak,” Brooks said.

I snorted at the description, and he pretended to glare at me, reaching over to pinch my ribs.

“I’m glad the clothes fit.”

I looked down, unsure of how I felt that my guess was right. Plucking at the hem of the shirt, I tugged it down into my lap. “You didn’t need to buy me clothes.”

“I don’t need to do a lot of things, but I enjoy them, so I do them.” He squared his shoulders, half-angled away from me. “Is that going to be a problem, Tate.”

“Stop getting defensive with me.” I accidentally knocked our knees together as I turned to get his face into my hands. I needed him to look at me, to see me , and to believe that I wasn’t anything like his ex. “Do you remember before when you told me that you needed to trust your partners?”

“Of course.”

“Then trust me, Brooks.” I pulled our foreheads together. “Not just in bed, but out of it too.”

His exhale dusted over my face, smelling like mint and coffee.

“Right,” he said, nodding. “Thank you for the reminder, Tate.”

“Thank you for the orgasms,” I teased. Brooks smiled and laughed, the tension broken, and I slanted our mouths together, eager to taste the perfection of it.