Page 51 of Great White
“Hey, don’t fall asleep on me.” Tate squeezes me tightly.
I smile to myself. “You don’t have to worry about that. I don’t sleep very much.”
“Hmmm . . . We’ll just have to see what we can do about that.” He presses his pelvis into my hip.
“Sharks don’t sleep.”
Tate looks up at me with one eye open. “My shark will. I’ll wear her out eventually.”
“You can try,” I pose a sexually charged challenge.
“I’m going to try every chance I get.”
* * *
My cold heart feels warm.
There’s life running through my veins.
A contentment I stopped chasing a long time ago has settled in my stomach.
I accepted being alone. But I love to be with him. It’s so hard to admit it’s almost painful. But not as painful as staying away.
I indulge in one of the most gorgeous men I have ever laid eyes on. I let him move inside of me. Let him take me, control me, have me anyway he wants me.
His burning brown eyes smolder in the dim light as I spread my legs wider and let him sink deeper. I whimper and sigh, breathing his name. “Tate.”
He moans in reply, thrusting a little bit harder and a little bit faster, but not enough to induce an orgasm. Just enough to elevate the pleasure.
“I knew you were going to feel like this,” Tate rasps, and I close my eyes, relishing in the freedom he gives my body. “Feel just like the fucking whore you are.”
I snap my eyes open. Tate sneers at me as he wraps his hand around my throat and squeezes. I pull at his fingers, but they’re like steel. “Did you really think you could escape me?” His face distorts, but the hatred in his voice is frighteningly familiar. I panic, feeling the fear crawl over me like black widow spiders. “You think just because you killed me, I’m gone? You’re nothing. Trash. You don’t deserve the blanket you sleep on. And you know it.” Brock’s words rattle around my brain as my air supply thins. Tears run out of my eyes like acid rain, scalding my cheeks. I fight back as hard as I can, punching and kicking, but all I hit is air. I scream with the very last bits of breath I have left.
“Dove.”Tate shakes me, and I wake. I throw my hand up to defend myself. “Son of a bitch.”
“Oh shit.” I flick the light on with my heart still causing a ruckus in my chest. The remnants of the dream front and center. I find Tate covering his nose, blood dripping down onto my cloudy comforter. I rush to get a towel and press it to his face.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it.” My voice is smaller than I’d like it to be, but at the moment it’s exactly how I feel. Small. Insignificant. Helpless, even though clearly, I’m not.
“It’s okay.” He pulls the towel away from his face and assesses the damage. “I knew I was going to bleed in your bed eventually, I just thought it would be from teeth marks.” He winks.
“That’s still a possibility,” I flirt. “Do you want some ice?”
“Nah.” He presses the bloody towel to his nose once or twice more until the bleeding stops. “I’m tough. I’ll live.”
“Good to know.” I take the towel and toss it into the bathroom on the floor.
“Are you all right?” Tate pulls me close to him, cupping my face once I am comfortably in his arms.
“Fine. Nasty dream. Pitfalls of PTSD.”
“Anything you want to talk about?” he asks gently, like he knows that question could set off a bomb.
“No. I leave my past where it belongs. It tries to haunt me, but I won’t let it. I’m sorry I hit you.” I kiss the tip of his long, slender nose. I’m glad I didn’t break it. “Drawback of being with me. Sometimes you get caught in the crossfire.”
“That’s nuthin’ I can’t handle. I’d walk over water and straight through hell if it meant I’d get to stay in your bed. I’m not like the others,Tiburona. You can trust me.” He slides his thumb back and forth across my cheek, heating the skin.
“I do trust you. I just hope you don’t make me regret it.”
