The first time Sunny’s words woke me up, Tate wasn’t there. The second time, his big body was curled into mine. The third through fifth times, I was snuggled into his back.
Which brought me to now, very awake in the dead of night and facing a nightshift the next day. I’d survive it, I had before, but it wouldn’t be fun.
I rolled to my back and when I did, Tate rolled into me.
His hand slid along my belly as his face buried itself in the hair at the side of my head.
“You’re havin’ a rough night.” His voice was scratchy with sleep.
“I’m okay.”
His arm gave me a squeeze.
“Had to send you in there, babe.”
He meant to talk to Sunny.
“I know,” I whispered.
He was silent a moment then he said, “Knew it’d do this to you but had to send you in there.”
“I know, Tate.”
“I did it knowin’ she’d give it to you and it’d mark you.”
“Tate –”
“Also did it knowin’ I’d be here when you dealt with it.”
I rolled into him, wrapped my arm around him and he pulled me close.
“I know,” I repeated then whispered, “It’s okay, Tate.”
He felt guilt, I knew he did. He didn’t like me losing sleep and he didn’t like knowing he did something to exacerbate that.
But he had to do it, and so did I, we both knew it but these were the consequences. He was right, he was here to help me deal with it and I was right too, I had him with me so it would be okay.
“Why didn’t you have kids?” he asked and I blinked at his change of subject before I realized he changed it to take my mind off Sunny.
“Unconscious self-preservation,” I used his words and he chuckled, his hand sliding up my back and into my hair where his fingers started to play with it.
“Knew, deep down, he was a dick,” he guessed.
“Yes,” I answered.
“Didn’t want to bring a kid into that,” he went on.
I sighed then said, “Yeah, but I wanted kids, so did Brad. I put it off, made excuses and he didn’t push it. Then I felt him pull away, he didn’t talk about it anymore and I buried it.”
“Regret it?”
“Not having kids with Brad?”
Tate amended my statement. “Not havin’ kids.”
I thought about it and thinking about it made my stomach hurt.
And that hurt sounded in my word when I said, “Yeah.”
Tate’s hand cupped the back of my head and he tucked my face in his throat while he said, “Baby.”
“It’s okay,” I whispered into his throat.
“Right,” he replied and I knew he didn’t believe me. Then again, he was right not to believe me since I was lying.
I changed the subject. “Tell me about your Dad.”
“Show you,” he offered and I tipped my head back to look at him even though I couldn’t see him in the dark.
“Show me?”
I heard his head move on the pillow as he looked down at me.
“Dad was big on video cameras, huge. Minute they were on the market, he bought one. The thing was mammoth, had to put it on his shoulder. It cost a fuckin’ fortune, but he got one. Traded up every time a new camera came out. He even did edits. Put shit to music. Was always fuckin’ around with it. My games. Parties. Holidays. Barbeques. When Wood and I went out on our bikes. Pop would get hold of the camera, Stella, Neet, Wood, me and we got footage of him. So, I’ll show you.”
“He was a good guy,” I stated.
“The best,” he replied.
“Proud of you.”
I felt his body go solid for a moment before he relaxed.
“Yeah,” he whispered.
“He still would be,” I told him.
His body went solid again.
“Babe –”
“He would, Tate. You’re a good man, a good dad.”
He didn’t respond and he kept quiet for so long, I let it go.
Then he relaxed against me and the feel of his hard, big body, his warmth, his scent hit me as his hand lazily travelled the skin of my back.
So my hand lazily travelled the skin of his side, his hip, then between us where my fingers wrapped around his cock and started stroking.
A low, sexy noise came out of his throat and he did the impossible, his teeth found my bottom lip in the dark and nipped it.
My legs moved restlessly as I felt a swell between them.
I kept stroking.
“Funny,” Tate muttered, his lips still so close to mine I could feel his escalating breath.
“What?” I asked when he said no more.
“When I played ball, at Penn State, one thing I liked about it, outside the game, it got me great *.”
My fingers squeezed his cock as a startled giggle escaped my throat.
“It got you great –?”
His hips pressed into my hand and I started stroking again.
“High-class college girls,” he said, his voice getting thick, “sorority.”
He moved, his hands on me and his head so his lips were drifting light on the skin of my shoulder, my neck but he didn’t move in a way where I lost purchase on his cock. I knew what this meant so I kept stroking.
“Sorority,” I whispered.