Chapter 31

CHAPTER31

SCARLETT

During dinner, things shift between Tate and me, which has become a common theme with us. One I’m enjoying.

Appreciating.

I was infuriated, listening to that actress try to come for my boyfriend. I don’t care if he’s my fake boyfriend—the woman clearly had no boundaries and treated Tate like he was readily available.

Spying on their conversation, I also figured out that he definitely had a previous run-in with her before in his boy band days. A sexual encounter, from what I could tell. And while normally that would send me running away from him screaming, I don’t feel that way now.

I’ve learned a lot about Tate in the last few days while we’ve been in California. Some of it has been a struggle—he can be very frustrating. But some of it is also . . . enlightening.

Thrilling even.

There’s no way I can ignore that he has a past, and I accept it. What he did before me doesn’t matter. I can’t let it bother me, and I’m not thinking this way only because our relationship is supposedly fake.

The more time I spend with him, the more real everything feels.

It’s also so . . . sweet, how patient he is with me. He doesn’t push. Even when I can tell he wants to. He gets a certain look in his eyes, like he wants to pounce on me. Devour me. Every time I see that particular gleam in his gaze, my body responds.

I want to know what it’s like, to have him . . .

Consume me.

The food is delicious and the conversation interesting throughout dinner. Once Katrina returns to the table with her friend, they swap seats and ignore us for the rest of the meal, which is fine by me. Tate and I remain quiet, listening to a couple of the actors tell funny stories about their set experience. Some of them share how they got started in the business, and even Katrina tells a story about meeting a producer at the nightclub she used to work at, leaving out a few choice details.

Like how she slept with him. I only know this because I heard her say it to Tate point blank.

Spending time with all these people is making me think that this world isn’t as glamorous as it portrays itself to be. And if you’re young and don’t have a strong sense of self, I can see how you’d become easily influenced by everyone surrounding you. The good and the bad.

Mostly the bad, only because it’s always so tempting.

When we leave the restaurant, Tate keeps his hand on my lower back, just above my butt, as he guides me out of the building and toward our car. The moment we slide into the back seat, he pulls the door shut behind him and turns toward me, his expression full of relief.

“Thank God that’s over.”

I can’t help but laugh. “You were the one who wanted to do this.”

“Yeah, and it was torture.” He leans back against the seat, his hand darting out to grab me and pull me closer to him. “I thought it would be interesting.”

I go to him, resting my head against his muscular chest. “It was.”

“With the exception of Katrina.” When I glance up, I find he’s already watching me. “I’m sorry if she upset you.”

“You don’t have to apologize. You didn’t do anything.”

“But I did. I messed around with her a few years ago.” He grimaces. “And I barely remember it.”

Thank Godis what I want to say, but I remain quiet.

“I did a lot of shitty things, and getting back into the business is reminding me of all of those things I did. Stuff I’d rather forget.” He presses his head against the seat, taking a deep breath. “I wasn’t a good person.”

“You weren’t a bad person. You were just young and given way too much freedom,” I point out.

“And I handled it all wrong. Not everyone completely messed up their careers. But I did. I screwed it up royally, and I had so much regret. But I also believed it was all done to me. Sure, I was partially responsible, but I also blamed other people. Circumstances. It’s easy to point fingers when you don’t want to face where you went wrong,” he explains.

“A couple of years ago, I couldn’t take full responsibility for my actions. Hell, even a few months ago I probably couldn’t. But now? I see it. I see where I messed up. I see what could’ve been and how I threw it all away. I regret my choices,” he admits.

“You’ve been given a second chance, though,” I remind him, my voice soft. “And that’s a good thing.”

“I won’t screw it up this time.” His voice is fierce. The look on his face—determined. “Not after I lost everything before. I want to do this right. And while I regret what I did in the past, there’s one good thing that came out of it.”

“What’s that?” I ask, my gaze returning to his.

“I have this second chance because of you. I met you.” He reaches for me, his fingers streaking across my cheek, making me shiver. That and the sincerity glowing in his eyes. “And I’m not saying this because you’re pretending to be my girlfriend and it’s all helping out my career. I’m so damn grateful to you, Scarlett, for agreeing to this when you didn’t have to. It’s more that your dad sought me out and believed in me enough to hire me to perform at your party. Your family gave me an opportunity I would’ve never had otherwise, and I appreciate it. I appreciate you. For standing by my side. For believing in me.”

I part my lips, ready to speak, but he presses his index finger against my mouth, silencing me.

“Your belief in me and my career gives me the strength to keep going. I have some ideas for the songs, and I think they’re going to start coming together. We’re going to start laying down the tracks next week. This album is going to get finished in time, and I feel really good about it.”

I’m smiling when he removes his finger from my mouth. “That’s great, Tate. I’m so happy for you.”

“You’re a big part of this.” He cups the side of my face, his touch gentle, and I can’t help myself.

I turn toward his palm and kiss it.

Heat flares in his gaze, and he tilts my head back, his mouth landing on mine. His kiss is hungry, his tongue insistent as it slides into my mouth, and I respond in kind, kissing him back just as intensely. His hands wander, touching me everywhere but where I want him the most, and a low groan of frustration leaves me.

He breaks away first, his breaths coming harder, his lips damp and swollen from mine. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s this dress.” I tug on the slender column, showing him how fitted it is from the hips down. “The skirt is too tight.”

He’s smiling, looking rather pleased with himself. “What, you want to climb on top of me?”

“Well . . . yeah.” I don’t even bother trying to deny it.

Tate helps rectify the situation, gathering the skirt of my dress and helping me pull it up. Farther and farther until he can basically see my panties. Which I tell myself is no big deal, considering he’s seen me in a bikini. Has felt me up when I’m wearing a bikini even.

But I see the interest in his gaze. The way his eyes slide over me slowly, making my skin heat. Like he’s trying to figure out a way to get my clothes off while we’re in the back seat of this car.

Thank goodness he hit a button and slid the partition up so our driver can’t see us.

And why do so many moments happen between us while we’re in a car?

“Come here,” Tate murmurs, and I go to him, my dress carefully gathered just above my hips as I climb on top of his lap, straddling him. His hands slide beneath the bunched fabric of my dress, covering my ass, and a gasp leaves me when he yanks me closer.

I can feel his erection. Thick and heavy, pressing into my core, and I release a shuddery breath.

“See what you do to me?” He drifts one hand up my back, until his fingers are curled around my nape, pulling my head down so he can murmur against my lips, “I’ve been walking around like this for weeks.”

“Weeks?” I squeak. We haven’t even been here for that long.

“Feels like it.” He tilts my head back, his mouth on my throat. Delivering soft, wet kisses that have me straining closer. “You drive me fucking crazy. Your laugh. Your smile. The way you look at me.”

I tilt my head back, my eyelids falling closed as he kisses and licks his way down my neck. “H-how do I look at you?”

“Like you believe in me,” he whispers against my skin, pausing before he lifts his head.

I open my eyes, our gazes locking, and I see it then.

That’s all Tate has ever wanted. For someone to believe in him, especially during those moments when he doesn’t even trust himself.

“I believe in you,” I say, my voice firm. “You can do whatever you set your heart on. Conquer whatever challenge comes your way.”

His smile is faint. “Right now, all I can think about is conquering you.”

You’ve already got me, I think to myself as his mouth returns to mine, our tongues stroking, circling each other. I bury my hands in his soft hair, holding him close, letting him devour me. Enjoying every single second, despite the trickle of fear running through me.

I want this. I want him. But I’m still a little scared. I’ve never gone this far before, and there are all these expectations in my head.

He probably has expectations too. Ones I’m sure I can’t fulfill because I have zero experience and he’s done so much more. He’s lived a complete life before me, and what if⁠—

“Hey.” He ends the kiss, his deep voice making me open my eyes. “You’re thinking too much.”

I frown. “How did you⁠—”

“I know. Because of this.” He reaches toward me, lightly rubbing that crease between my eyebrows with his thumb. “I can feel you frowning, Scar. That brain is going into overdrive right now.”

A breath leaves me, and he drops his hand, pressing his forehead against mine. “I can’t help it. I’m a little . . . worried.”

“Why?” His fingers thread through my hair, stroking it, lulling me into a trance. “Don’t think too hard. Just . . . let it happen.”

“You make it sound so easy,” I whisper, envious of his experience. How he’s acting like this is no big deal.

Maybe it’s not a big deal to him, but this moment—as well as all the moments that have been leading up to it—feels life changing to me.

“It is. And then again, it’s not. Here.” He grabs my wrist and guides my hand so that it rests against his chest. “Feel that?”

His heart is pounding hard against my palm. I shift so I can stare into his eyes, and I see it. A hint of fear in his gaze. Maybe he’s trying to play this off to ease my worry, but he’s affected too.

Affected by me.

“Yes,” I whisper.

“You do that to me too, Scar. I don’t want to screw this up. I’ve messed everything else up in my life, and for once, I want to do it right. Everything. That includes you.”

His sincere words have me lunging for him, kissing him with all I’ve got. My arms are wrapped tight around his neck as I shift closer, practically sitting on top of his erection, and when it brushes a particular spot between my thighs, a gasp escapes me.

“Feels good?” His mouth moves against mine, his teeth finding my lower lip and giving it a tug.

Another gasp leaves me, and I tilt my hips, his dick hitting that same exact spot again.

Oh God.

Pretty sure I just saw stars.

His hands go to my hips as our mouths remain fused, guiding me as I start to rub against him. It’s like I can’t stop myself. He helps me shift up and down, pulling me closer. Holding me tighter. I’m panting into his mouth, my breaths hitching, my skin tightening. He lets go of my hip, his hand sneaking in between us, his fingers finding my damp panties, pressing directly upon my clit.

“Tate,” I moan, unable to kiss him any longer.

Only able to feel. The sensations racing through my blood, rolling over my skin. To focus on the throbbing between my thighs, the way he’s touching me. As if he knows what I need and he’s the only one who can take care of it.

“You’re so wet,” he murmurs, his fingers circling faster. “You’re already close, aren’t you.”

I think I am. I’ve tried touching myself before but could never manage to experience any type of feeling when I experimented. Plus, I always felt a little ashamed. Like I shouldn’t be doing it. Or a lot dumb because I seriously had no idea what I was doing.

Tate, though—he knows exactly what he’s doing, and God, it feels . . . incredible.

When his fingers shift to slip beneath my panties, I stiffen, nervous. He can sense it, his lips seeking mine once more, his kiss gentle.

Almost sweet.

“Relax,” he murmurs as his fingers work their way into my panties, lightly brushing against my sensitive flesh. I moan, clinging to him, angling my hips so he can touch me where I want him the most. “Oh fuck, Scar. You’re soaked.”

“Is—is that a bad thing?”

“Hell no,” he says just before he savagely kisses me. I drown in his taste, the assured strokes of his tongue, not even realizing they match his thrusting fingers until I find my hips are moving with his hand.

My thighs tremble, my stomach tightening. I’m straining toward his busy fingers, seeking more of those foreign yet delicious sensations currently running through me. He presses his thumb against my clit, rubbing in tight circles until I’m practically bouncing on his hand, my entire body going still before I fall completely apart.

I’m . . . I’m coming. My first orgasm. Shivers steal over me, my mind going completely blank, my body consumed. It’s like I’m floating, and I cling to him, as if I’ll slip away and disappear forever.

His fingers slow their insistent rubbing, his thumb easing off my clit, and when I collapse against him, he holds me tight, his mouth at my ear, murmuring soothing words as my body still trembles.

“You’re so pretty when you come, Scarlett.” He kisses my neck. “I think I tore your dress.”

“Wait, what?” I pull away from him slightly so I can look at the gathered fabric between us, spotting the tear in a seam immediately. “Oh no.”

We borrowed it. Simon sent it over so I could wear it for the night, and we go and tear it.

“I’ll pay for it,” he reassures me, sounding amused. “It was worth it.”

He’s so right.

I’m smiling. “Totally worth it. But I have a question.”

“What?” He kisses me, his lips lingering, and I nip at his lower lip with my teeth.

“Can we do it again? When we get home?”

He laughs, his hands gripping my butt once more, this time beneath my panties. “Did I create a monster just now?”

A sigh leaves me as I murmur, “I think so.”