Though one little word was more than enough.
“Tate,” she said, and after that the game was pretty much up. That was gratitude in her voice and pleasure in the sigh behind it, and all wrapped in the neat little bow of his name. There was no more pretending that it wasn’t him who had made her feel this way, or suggesting that all of this was just a game.
And he knew it immediately.
“Holy shit, holy shit,” he said, as though she’d cried out the filthiest thing on the face of the earth. And he didn’t stop there. She could hear him fumbling with the waistband of his sweatpants already—though she tried to turn it into something else in her head. He was just pulling them up, she thought. They had slid down as he serviced her, that was all.
Only it wasn’t all.
When she made the mistake of glancing his way, she saw so much more than she was ready for. It was supposed to be over now, completely over, but he’d shoved everything down to midthigh and his cock was in his hand again andgod god godwhy was it so arousing? She’d had one orgasm already. He’d had one orgasm already, and now he was being so fucking filthy.
Yet somehow the filthiness only made it worse.
She came searingly close to telling himyes.
Andgo on.
Andcome all over me—just like she’d imagined.
For one wild second, it even seemed like he might. He was groaning and panting and he kept saying things, incredible things likedo you see what you do to me do you get how fucking horny you make me oh fuck just hearing you moan my name.His hand was heavy on her shoulder, and she knew he was close. He was going to yank her top down any second now.
Any second, she thought.
Though she didn’t realize how much she wanted it until the first thick burst slid over his fist.
Didn’t know how little control she had over herself until he grunted her name and shuddered violently, that slick fluid easing over his still-pumping fist. After all, if she’d had any she would have stayed right where she was, content to just watch.
Instead of leaning forward to take that heavy, swollen, slippery head in her mouth, to catch the last ribbons of his salt-sweet come all over her eager tongue.
Chapter 14
The first she thing she wanted to do when she saw Lydia the next morning in the cafeteria was confess. But that was the whole problem: it felt like confessing, rather than just plain old telling. As if she had committed a terrible crime, and once it was out her beautiful, bright, funny, awesome friend would have to demote her to casual acquaintance or even mortal enemy. At the very least, Lydia was going to find her insufferably stupid. There was nothing clever about letting your high school bully come in your mouth.
Or rub you between your legs.
Or make you feel so good you still had an echo of that pleasure thrumming through your body the next day. She took her seat at the cafeteria table and got a sudden flash of it all behind her eyes. The way he had looked when he came; the feel of him all slick and hard in her mouth. And though her first response was to squeeze her eyes shut and wince, her second was more like a sort of melting.
It was intolerable. Her body was actively defying her good sense.
And there was just no way of explaining that to Lydia. Lydia made wise choices when it came to men. In fact, the first thing she said once they were settled was about Brad Gunderson. Tall, kind, clever Brad Gunderson, who got his picture in the college newspaper after organizing a soup kitchen for the homeless.
“He did a twenty-mile run to raise money for cancer awareness you know,” Lydia said.
And all Letty could do was nod weakly in reply.
Then let Lydia take the lead in what was surely going to be a conversation from hell.
“The real question I have to ask myself though is: is he hot?”
Not as hot as Tate Sullivan.
“He does wear those awesome V-necked sweaters.”
“You mean the ones that show off his pecs.”
“The very same. And you can always see his chest hair.”
“I love that it’s a different color from his head hair. Kind of makes me think of Vikings.”
