17. Mallory

I’m naked in Tate Garrison’s bed. He’s kneeling between my brazenly open legs, concentrating on rolling the condom down his very hard cock. The duvet and blankets are bunched up behind him, the light in the bathroom is on and bathes us in a dim glow, highlighting all his hard muscles and smooth curves. His head is tipped down, hair dangling in front of his forehead and he isn’t looking at me so I take the time to soak in the image in front of me. Odds are this isn’t a big deal to him, but it is to me and I don’t want to forget it, ever.

Once the condom is on he looks at me again, shoving his hair back out of his eyes with one hand and grazing the other down my body. It starts at my neck and pauses on my left nipple, which is still damp from his mouth.

We burst our way into his room and immediately pulled off each other’s clothes and then he threw me down on his bed and climbed on top of me and licked and sucked his way across my body. I was seconds from climaxing again from his tongue on my clit but he pulled away and went to the bathroom, returning with the condom.

His fingers dance over my belly button and stop at my neatly trimmed pubic hair. His eyes move down and then back to my face. “Are you sure, Mallory?”

“Yes.”

His fingers slip lower, sliding between my damp folds, and he slips two into me and I arch my back. “I am not going to hold back, baby girl. I have wanted this longer than I think I even realized so if I get to fuck you I’m going to give it my all.”

”I”d expect and want, nothing less,” I promise, and the next thing I know his body is hovering over me as his fingers fuck me at a steady, hard pace. I grip his shoulders and push my head back into the pillow. ”Where”s that cock you promised?”

“Impatient girl,” he chuckles against my neck. And then I feel the mood shift. All the energy between us intensifies as he removes his hand and I feel the tip of his long, thick cock against my entrance.

I feel one of his hands grab one of my thighs and then he cups my head with the other and somehow, some way, he manages to tilt us both so we”re on our sides facing each other. He moves his hand to the back of my knee and hooks my leg over his hip. And then he tilts his hips and starts to slide into me. It”s a crazy angle and not at all easy to get traction, but he has his feet against the footboard of the bed and uses it as leverage to push up into me over and over, gently, until I”ve managed to take all of him.

He stops moving, and kisses me deep, his tongue sliding over mine possessively. I pull back, panting. ”I should be on top.”

“You will be, eventually.” He slides out of me slightly, and back in. It feels good, but not good enough.

“I won’t be able to come like this.”

His grin is feral. “Challenge accepted, baby girl.”

And his hands grab my ass as he holds me close and pivots his hips again. And again. And he”s grinding right against me with every swing of his cock inside me and it starts to feel not just good but absolutely magical. I wrap my arms around his broad shoulders and he kisses my head and my lips and my ear and whispers, ”Your pussy is so perfect, baby girl. You feel so good on my dick. I want to lick you again once you come, taste you again. I can”t get enough.”

“Tate, oh God…” I arch into him.

The sheets twist and pull under us. I tug on his hair, and he holds my ass so tight I swear he’s going to leave handprints. Although rationally I know he has no intention of stopping, I find myself begging him not to. The bed is rocking, the headboard tapping the wall with every thrust of Tate’s hips and we’ll probably wake up Dylan but I can’t bring myself to stop. I’m soclose.

“Come baby girl,” he grunts. “Come all over my dick and kiss me while you do it.”

His mouth covers mine, which is perfect timing because the orgasm ripping through me would have me screaming if he wasn”t kissing me and would most definitely wake up Dylan. And everyone in Venice. As I finally start to come down, he flips me over onto my stomach, pulls me up onto wobbling knees, and slips back into me. I arch my back and he grunts approval and tugs on my hair and then with a smack to my left butt cheek, Tate comes. Hard. Collapsing onto my back and moaning into my shoulder.

My knees give out and we collapse onto the bed together. He gently rolls off of me, and out of me, and I feel his strong hands at my hips flipping me over again so I’m on my back this time and then before I can fully comprehend what’s happening, his hands are pushing my thighs apart and his head is between my legs.

”Tate, wait. I…” I don”t finish that sentence because his tongue is dragging slowly across my clit. I”m literally still quivering from my orgasm but he doesn”t care. In fact, as he groans against my sensitive flesh and slowly licks my folds I realize he fucking loves it.

I sigh and sift my fingers into his hair spread my legs more and enjoy every pass of his talented tongue. Then the impossible happens. I come again. This one is crazy soft yet intense, rolling through me like a wave with a shocking hidden riptide.

I swear I almost pass out but then I feel his lips on my belly and he grumbles, “Shh… Dylan is going to wake up.”

“Sor… sorry,” I pant back and he kisses the curve of my left breast, my shoulder, the column of my neck, and finally my cheek as he settles in beside me.

“So… what were you saying about having trouble coming?” Tate asks, his tone mockingly serious.

I stare at him. He grins so damn proud of himself, and winks. I laugh and shove him. He grabs me and pulls me in for a scorching kiss before he rolls himself off the bed. He points to the condom still around his cock. “Gotta take care of business.”

I nod and watch him disappear into the bathroom, closing the door behind him and leaving me with nothing but the faint street light breaking through a gap in the curtains. His bed is warm and so damn soft. Just as soft as that bed at the Beverly Wilshire from that night I refuse to think about. And now I don’t have to think about it. I have new, better, wilder memories of Tate to replay in my mind whenever I want.

I reach for my pajamas and wiggle into them without really getting up and then I burrow under the blankets again and inhale the scent of him—of us—on the sheets. I smile as my lids grow heavy. This can’t be wrong. We can’t be making a terrible mistake here. Maybe this is the start of something right. Something good and genuine and meant to be. I deserve that. So does Tate and especially Dylan.

That’s my last coherent thought as sleep pulls me under.

When I wake up, it”s to the sound of a seagull mewing outside the half-opened window and Dylan whining. I stretch. The opposite side of the bed feels awfully cold and Dylan”s whines are awfully close. My eyes open slowly and with everything I see my heart sinks. Because it”s my night table beside me. My light gray sheets, not Tate’s charcoal ones. At the foot of the bed is Dylan’s sleeping pod, not the old steamer trunk Tate has at the foot of his bed. The bed I fell asleep in.

He must have moved me back into my bed when he came out of the bathroom. Or I sleep-walked here, which is highly unlikely. I don’t think I’ve ever sleep-walked a day in my life but maybe there’s a first time for everything? I sit up, pull back the covers, and walk over to get Dylan out of his crib.

The door swings open slowly and Tate’s head pops in. He’s got the cutest bed head and it makes me smile. “Morning, baby girl.”

That makes me smile bigger. “Morning.”

“I heard him stirring,” Tate says as I pull Dylan out of his crib. “Thought I would grab him so you could sleep more if you want. You were pretty exhausted. Didn’t even wake when I carried you to your bed.”

”Yeah, I was a bit confused when I woke up,” I regret saying it as soon as I do because I already know the answer. I”ve watched his M.O. with Diana, up close and personal.

On that trip where Dylan was conceived, Diana and I were sharing this very room. When we were done for the night, they would slink off into his room, or she would sneak off to his room as I got ready for bed, and I would fall asleep alone. But every morning when I woke up she was back in the bed with me.

I asked about it once and she explained it with one phrase and a shrug. “He doesn’t do sleepovers.”

I’m not special or different. He never said I was. This is the same as all his other hookups.

“Mal? You cool?”

He’s looking at me curiously. I nod and smile.

“Yep.” I hand him Dylan, who immediately starts to whimper. “Don’t take it personally, he is not a morning person.”

Tate looks slightly crestfallen but he nods. I motion to the door. “Go downstairs and put him in his pack-n-play while you make him a smoothie with pineapple, mango, and the sugar-free vanilla oat milk. I”ll be down in a sec.”

“Okay,” Tate says and disappears out the door, closing it behind him. I head to the bathroom and take a quick shower. When I get out I wipe the steam off the mirror and stare at myself in it.

Tate has never been anything but Tate. I knew that but deep inside me, I hoped that this… that I… was different. I’m not.

So far… my heart whispers.

I glare at my own reflection, but I know it’s useless. As wrong as it is, as stupid and reckless as it is, and even if I’m dooming myself to heartbreak—the heartbreak I’ve purposely avoided my whole life by keeping Tate firmly in the friends zone—I’m going to keep being with him. For as long as he wants me. Because I want him and I’m going to hope against hope that somehow he starts to see me as more than just a bed buddy.

Yeah. I’m an idiot. But at least I’m honest with myself about it.