Sweet Dreams by Kristen Ashley
“You’re back,” he replied, his eyes going over my hair and down to my chest before coming back to mine, “better than ever.”
I stopped pushing against his wrists and pressed my hands against his chest. “Get out!”
He ignored me. “And we can be back and better than ever.”
“Seriously, this is not cool.”
His face got in my face. “I know what you’re doing with that guy. I get it. It hurts, honey, you got yours back. We both struck our blows, learned our lessons, now we can move on.”
“I wasn’t striking a blow, you jerk, we’re divorced,” I shouted, losing it. “You fucked Hayley, carrying on with her for five years while we were committed to each other and bound legally! You wanted out and I let you out and moved on. Tate has not one thing to do with you!”
“Honey, you know you want me back. You practically begged to take me back even knowing what happened. You fell apart when I left.”
I started pushing, squirming in earnest, rearing back and shrieking, “Fuck you!”
Finally, I was getting somewhere. He was struggling to control me.
“Ree –”
“Let me…!”
I didn’t get out the word “go” because I was suddenly released but Brad wasn’t the one who released me. Tate was there, drenched in sweat wearing a white t-shirt with the sleeves cut off, black sweatpants which were cut off at mid-thigh and running shoes. We’d been so entrenched in our drama that we didn’t hear him come in.
Tate had hold of the back of Brad’s golf shirt, he pulled him back then let fly and Brad staggered five paces before he righted himself.
He planted his feet and scowled up at Tate. “Put your hand on me again and I’ll sue!” Brad shouted.
Tate advanced, not saying a word. Then he put his hand on Brad, scrunching the material of his shiny, blue golf shirt in one big fist and shoving him backwards to the door. Once there, he jerked him forward making Brad lurch like a ragdoll. Brad’s hands went to Tate’s wrist to pull it free, Tate leaned beyond Brad, yanked open the door and then shoved him through.
Brad reeled back and righted himself halfway across the wide hall.
“You asshole!” Brad shouted.
“I see you again, it won’t be pretty. I find out she sees you again, you’ll be breathin’ through a fuckin’ tube. You get me?” Tate growled.
“Fuck you!” Brad yelled.
Tate shut the door. I stared at it, frozen to the spot.
Tate turned to me.
“How’d he get in here?” Tate asked.
I was still staring at the door but at his question my head jerked and I looked at him. “I opened it.”
“You opened it?” Tate asked and I was too overwrought by the latest scene to let his tone penetrate.
“You…” I swung an arm out indicating in its wide sweep the nightstand, “left your keycard. I thought it was you.”
Tate lifted up a hand and between two fingers was a keycard. Then he flicked his hand and the keycard went sailing. I watched it slice through the air and then flutter to the floor.
“Two of us in this room, Ace, two keycards,” he said and my eyes went to him. When they did, he jerked his hand, finger extended to the door. “Know what this is?”
“A door?” I asked stupidly.
“A peephole,” he bit back then moved his hand to flick the security latch closed. “Know what that is?”
“Captain –”
He advanced and the aggressive way he did it made me retreat. It was dawning on me he was pissed and he wasn’t pissed at Brad. He was pissed at me.
I stopped when my legs hit the chair to the desk. He stopped when he was in my space. I tilted my head way back to look at him.
“You got great hair, babe.”
“Tate –”
“Thick.”
“Tate –”
“Soft.”
“Tate,” I whispered.
“Shame it gets hacked off with a knife after some guy rapes you with that knife!” He finished on a roar.
My body jolted.
“Tate!”
“There’s bad guys out there, Ace. Bad. Do things to you that’ll make you glad you end up dead. You don’t open a goddamned door not knowin’ who’s behind it.”
“I thought it was you.”
“Well it wasn’t.”
“Tate –”
“He fuck you?” Tate asked suddenly and my head jerked again.
“Brad?” I asked back, confused.
Tate leaned in and bellowed, “Wood!”
“No!” I shouted back.
Then I was flying through the air. Literally flying through the air. I bounced once on the bed and then Tate was on top of me. He was wet, he was sweaty and his weight felt great. His mouth on mine, his tongue in my mouth felt even better.
I didn’t know what got into me. I simply ignited, all thoughts left my mind and I kissed him back, wanting, desperate, wild.
I put my hands in his shirt, shoving it up and his arms lifted, his hands going between his shoulder blades and he yanked his shirt over his head and tossed it away. I pushed off on a foot and rolled him, getting on top. I kissed him then my mouth slid through his beard, down his jaw, his neck, all the while my hands moved on him, discovering. I saw the tattoo that painted his shoulder, going up and over, down his arm and slithering down his chest. I was too into what I was doing to see what it was but I followed it and kept going until my mouth hit his nipple. Once there, I flicked it with my tongue then I sucked it between my lips.
Half a second later I was on my back and my t-shirt was going up. I lifted my arms and it was gone. Then Tate’s hand slid into my panties, right in, and I felt one of his long fingers fill me as his mouth latched onto my nipple and pulled it deep.
That felt so good, my back left the bed, arching straight into the air. My fingers slid into his damp hair and I moaned, “Tate.”
His finger slid out of me and hit the spot. His mouth sucked deeper and his finger moved and it hit me, it was coming, I knew it.
“Tate.” It was a whimper.
I lost both his mouth and hand and my eyes flew open.
“Not without me,” he growled and he was moving.
His hands grasped my panties at either side of my hips and tugged down. When they were gone and I felt Tate leave the bed, I got up on my elbows to see him standing at its foot. He pulled down his shorts and I saw all of him and all of it was equally beautiful in a way that knocked my ragged breath right out of me.
And all of him was hard.
He grabbed my calves and yanked them apart, then pushed them up so my knees were bent. He put a knee to the bed and moved forward, releasing one of my calves, his hand wrapped around his cock and I felt his weight begin to hit me.
“You come with me inside you, Ace,” he gritted and then he was inside me, filling me, beautiful.
At the feel of him, so hard, making me so full, my back left the bed again. “Tate.”
He moved, driving deep, fast, hard. Our mouths attached, our tongues clashed. His hand went between us and he touched me and that was it. It hit me like a rocket and I combusted, my world exploding, taking me with it and I loved every nanosecond.
I tore my mouth from his and moaned, “Tate.”
“That’s my girl,” he murmured, still moving inside me.
I came down from the orgasm he gave me to feel his hands had spanned my hips, pulling them up to meet his thrusts and I still needed him. My legs wrapped around his hips and my hands roamed, my mouth trailed, my tongue tasted. Everywhere I could touch, everything I could reach. His sweat tasted great to me, his skin even better, the muscles under his sleek, slick skin felt amazing.
His hand left my hip, came between us again and my hips jerked.
“Honey –” I whispered against his lips.
“Hurry, baby, I’m close.”
“I don’t think I can –”
His finger rolled. “Hurry, Laurie.”
I didn’t have to hurry, he rushed me and that was that. His hips started thrusting harder, going deeper, his grunts mingling with my whimpers and then I came again. I wrapped him tight in my limbs and moaned into his mouth.
He drove deep once, twice, three times then four and five all the while he groaned into mine.
After, it felt like being with him on his bike. Out of mind but completely tuned into my body and I didn’t want to be anywhere but there, in my body, attuned to every inch of my skin and every inch of Tate that was on me and in me.
His face was in my neck when he murmured an intense, “Damn baby.”
I came back to my mind.
Oh my God. What had I just done?
I turned my head away and moved my hands from his hair to his shoulders, giving a feeble push.
I felt his head come up. “You light up like that all the time?”
“Get off,” I whispered.
“Or just for me?”
“Please,” I was still whispering.
“Babe,” he called and I shut my eyes tight because he sounded like he was laughing. “I’m not complainin’ but, later, I might wanna take things slow and, you ignite like that…”
“It’s been a long time,” I said quietly and with deep humiliation.
“How long? A decade?”
My head righted and I glared at him because of his joke and because I didn’t think this was funny but also because when I looked at him he was smiling. “No,” I snapped.
“Longer?” he teased.
“Over a year,” I shared but I did it angrily and with a push on his shoulders.
He pressed his hips into mine and I quit pushing.
His brows were up and his tone was incredulous. “Not even self-induced?”
My glare turned molten.
His head dropped but I caught his smile getting bigger before it did. I felt his nose flick my ear and then he muttered there, “You’ve touched yourself.”
“It’s not the same,” I informed him irritably.
His head came up, he looked at me and he whispered, “No, baby, it’s not.”
I decided to go on the offense. “I’ll remind you that you threw me on the bed.”
His smile got even bigger. “Yeah, Ace, a day of you cryin’ in my arms, sleepin’ in my arms, kissin’ you, feelin’ your body, smellin’ your hair, your perfume, only so much a man can take. I ran for an hour, hard, didn’t even fuckin’ warm up, it didn’t touch it. Come back, deal with that fuckwad, and you’re standin’ there, all legs and hair, wearin’ my shirt. Seriously. Only so much a man can take.”
I had to admit, all of what he said made me feel like I was sliding back out of my brain and tuning into my body, a body that felt warm and happy.
I didn’t allow myself to go there.
“Will you get up? I have to take a shower and have breakfast with my family.”
He didn’t get up at first. Instead, his eyes moved over my face and hair.
Then he murmured, “Shower,” and all of a sudden he slid out of me and we were both up. We were on our feet and Tate had my hand. I searched the floor frantically to find his t-shirt in order to snatch it up, put it on and hide my nudity but he dragged me toward the bathroom.
“Tate!” I snapped, yanking at his hand to no avail.
He flipped on the switch and pulled me straight to the shower, reaching in and turning it on.
I tried to yank my hand away again but Tate responded by giving it a sharp tug so I fell forward, nearly into him.
“What are you doing?” I asked, watching him reach in to put a hand under the shower spray.
He turned to me. “In,” he ordered.
“Sorry?” I breathed then his hands were at my hips and he was shoving me in so I had no choice but to climb over the side of the tub and into the shower.
Tate came in after me and slid the curtain closed.
“Um…” I mumbled, my heart beating fast.
He had a great body, every inch of it. I didn’t know how old he was but I knew how old I was and I might not have back fat anymore and my arms and shoulders were moving straight toward killer because Tyler was Mr. Decline Push Up but the rest of me…
“Tate,” I said turning to face him, my forearms covering my breasts but he was examining the little bottles of stuff the hotel left for you in the shower.
He picked a bottle and moved forward so I had to step back and was fully under the spray.
Then I felt his fingers slide through my hair.
“Can we –?” I started.
“Do you first,” Tate muttered. “Then you can get out and finish gettin’ ready.”
“Do me?”
He pulled me forward, so far forward my wet body was plastered against his.
I blinked up at him through the residual water sliding down my face and by the time I could focus his fingers were in my hair. They were strong, working at my hair and scalp.
Heaven.
I’d always loved that, someone playing with my hair which was why, when Tate did it the night before, I could relax and fall asleep watching TV with my head on his stomach. In Phoenix, I went to a particular salon and paid extra just because they gave fifteen minute head massages when they shampooed your hair.
I melted into him and tilted my head forward.
“That feels nice,” I whispered.
He didn’t reply, just kept washing my hair then he gently moved me under the spray, using his big hands on either side of my head to tip it back, his fingers gliding through my hair to get the soap out.
Then he moved me back out of the spray.
Not even thinking, I tipped my head back and informed him, “I wash twice, then condition.”
He dipped his bearded chin, grinned at me, dipped it further, touched his mouth to mine then he washed my hair again and, after, massaged in conditioner.
I was deep in a mellow zone, again out of mind, when Tate turned me to face the spray and I felt his soapy hands moving on me. They were everywhere and I just stood there, his front pressed to my back, and gloried in his slick, wet, soapy hands gliding along my skin.
Then one glided between my legs and stayed there while the other glided to my breast and cupped it.
My eyes opened and I blinked against the spray hitting my face.
“Tate,” I whispered.
He didn’t respond except his finger and thumb rolled my nipple.
My conditioner covered head fell back and hit his shoulder.
“Tate,” I breathed.
The fingers of both his hands moved and he took me there again, this time it took longer but it was no less fabulous. When I came, my hips bucked, my body jolted, my legs went weak and Tate’s hand at my breast became an arm wrapped around my ribs to hold me up.
As I came down, I did it with Tate holding me close to his body, arm still wrapped around my ribs, his other hand cupping my sex and when I was steady on my legs again, he turned me and his fingers went back into my hair to rinse out the conditioner.
When done, he pulled me out of the spray, switched our positions so his back was to it and I was out of it and his arms went around me, bringing me close.
I tipped my head back to look at him.
“Get out, finish gettin’ ready,” he ordered softly.
I could do nothing but agree. “Okay,” I whispered.
He grinned, touched his mouth to mine again, let me go and turned to the spray.
I got out but stilled with my hand on the curtain when I saw the gigantic black ink eagle, its wingspan covering Tate’s back from the bottom of his right lateral muscle sweeping up his left lat and over his shoulder with the body of the bird painted on a slant across his back, lat and even curling around his side. The other wing, I knew, curled over his shoulder, going down his arm and partly down his chest to his pectoral. His left shoulder was covered in glorious ink, his right was naked.
It was extraordinary and somehow sexy and I felt my legs get weak at the sight.
His hands were lifted to press the water through his hair then he reached for the dregs of the little shampoo bottle.
I resolutely shoved the curtain closed.
I grabbed a towel and ran into the bedroom. I quickly toweled off, rubbed the wet out of my hair and wrapped the towel around me. I eschewed lotioning. Indiana was a moist climate, I could get away without lotion. Colorado, even in a freak out to get dressed before Tate got out of the shower, I’d consider it.
I went to my suitcase which Tate had clearly moved back to the luggage rack this morning because, thankfully, it was there. I pawed through it lamenting Wendy and my shop-a-thon where, in throes of ecstasy that I was two sizes smaller, I bought nothing but sexy undies and threw away every piece of underwear I’d owned.
My choices were baby pink with ecru lace; fire engine red with black lace, full on black; sage green with taupe lace; it went on – but nothing unsexy.
Darn!
I grabbed the sage green, tugged the panties on under the towel and then whipped off the towel and frantically put on the bra because I heard the shower go off. I was wrapping the towel back around me when Tate walked out of the bathroom with another one wrapped around his waist.
My eyes went to him and I marveled at the fact that he looked fantastic with wet hair. Then again that wet hair came with a full on view of his bare chest and broad shoulders and that chest and those shoulders would look good with a head on top of it that had wet hair, dry hair or no hair.
His eyes came to me and slid down the towel.
He looked back at my face. “That as far as you got?”
“I had an underwear selection to make,” I explained and my voice sounded weirdly breathy.
He grinned again and before I knew what he was about, he gripped the edge of my towel and whipped it off.
I gasped and made a grab for the towel.
Tate tossed the towel on the bed, captured me with hands at my waist, tilted me back and took a long look.
Then his eyes came to mine. “Good choice, Ace.”
I tried to be cool even though, with his eyes on me, I was freaking out. “I’m glad you approve, now can I have my towel?”
His hands at my waist slid around, one arm wrapped around my waist, the fingers of the other hand sliding up into my wet and dripping hair.
I put my hands on his shoulders and exerted pressure.