Page 27 of Tate: Gemini King
“You have such big sexy lips.” There’s that shiver again. Straight between my thighs. Slickness follows right after and I am so damn grateful he can’t tell just from looking at my face.
There are definitely racial undertones to that little comment about my lips, but Tate runs his thumb over my lips and the shiver creeping down my spine distracts me from any response. Tate kisses me again. His warmth spreads through me and I let him put his tongue in my mouth. I let him kiss me back.
“You taste so fucking good,” he whispers. “I can’t wait to taste more…”
I squeal and press my hands to his chest so I can push him away and scold him for doing more dirty talk in front of Cormac. I have no power against Tate’s large, gigantic chest pressing into me, but luckily, Cormac drives like he’s out of his fucking mind, so we’re already back at our place.
Tate’s place.
He jumps out of the truck. I know he won’t hesitate to have that Bigfoot in the front seat hold a gun to my head, so I don’t fight. Terrorist barks excitedly, because he knows we’re home.
Cormac holds Terrorist and carries him out of the truck. I watch him carefully to make sure that brute doesn’t crush Terrorist in his ham-sized hands. Tate stays close to me and puts his arm around my shoulders.
“I’m serious, Natasha. I want to give us a shot.”
“Tate… Why?” I groan, squirming again and trying to force that feeling between my thighs somewhere else. All the rubbing just makes it worse.
“Because you’re fun. You’re sexy. I haven’t met a woman that makes me feel so alive…”
The irony doesn’t miss me there. That spell should have killed Tate, not made him feel more alive. But right now, I feel weird. It’s almost like I hope the spell doesn’t work. Like I want to just be here in the real world with Tate. Slightly cleaner, but still next to him. He has no right to be this attractive. I look away from his grey eyes in case it restores me to sanity.
“Tate…” I whisper as I glance down. Tate presses his finger beneath my chin and tilts my face up so my gaze meets his. The dominant gesture sends a throb straight between my legs again. I convinced myself I could run away from Tate. That I would never let him get close to me again, especially not without the influence of alcohol.
“No more rent,” he says as he holds me in place. “If you say yes, you live rent free. I’ll take care of you and if you want to leave… as long as you don’t ghost me… I’ll let you go.”
He holds onto my shoulders and makes me face him, like he wants me to see that he’s serious this time. Very serious.
“You make me act like a psychopath,” I point out. “How can you possibly want to date me?”
Reason might get us out of this. But it doesn’t feel likely. My heart keeps pounding. I don’t feel in control here. At all.
“I know,” he says. “It’s hot. It makes me want to fuck you even more…”
He runs his thumb over my lower lips and I don’t know what to say.
“Be my girlfriend,” Tate says. “Or I’ll tell Cormac to take Terrorist back to those sick Amish people…”
“Tate… This is a bad idea.”
His closeness is getting in my head.
“It’s getting me hard,” Tate replies, nearly killing my attraction, but then I glance between his legs and see that he is one hundred percent serious. “Doesn’t feel like a bad idea.”
“Life isn’t about what makes your dick hard,” I respond, making a desperate effort to put distance between me and Tate. He just smiles, like my hatred doesn’t even affect him.
“You make my heart a little hard too.”
“Tate… ew.”
He doesn’t stop touching me. It makes it hard for me to think straight. That must be it. Because I am not developing feelings for Tate Whitmarsh.
“Be my girlfriend, Natasha. Or I’ll say something much cornier. Much worse.”
I definitely believe him about that.
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twelve