“Do you like it?” Tate asks gently. “I thought you should have a triangle that’s more permanent than the one you draw on your wrist.”
“It’s incredible, Tate. I can’t believe you did this.” It’s nicer than anything I’ve ever owned in my entire life, and even though I don’t ask, I can’t help but wonder how much it cost him. I’m sure far too much.
He secures the bracelet around my left wrist, directly over top of the triangle I’ve traced in blue ballpoint pen on my skin. The diamonds sparkle and flicker even in the dim light of the living room, and it feels like more than I deserve.
“If you don’t like it, I can have them design something else,” Tate offers, still looking unsure, like he’s been worried about my response for days now, afraid I would hate it. Which means he probably had it designed before we got back together. He really had been thinking of me while we were apart.
“No,” I answer quickly. “It couldn’t be more perfect, Tate. I love it—thank you.” I touch it with my other hand, still in shock that he had something custom-made just for me. That he remembered the triangle on my wrist; that he remembered what it means to me.
His eyes slide back to mine, sending waves of heat through my entire body. I reach for him, running my fingers up his jawline, wanting him to know how much this means to me. “I’m serious,” I say so he understands. “It’s more than I deserve.”
“It’s hardly enough,” he says. “You deserve a lot more.”
I smile and tilt forward up onto my toes, pressing my lips against his. His kiss is slow at first, careful, and then I can feel the need in his lips, the heat burning between us.
“Did you mean what you said the other night?” he asks, his breath tickling the soft curve of my ear as his mouth slides up my neck.
My heart stutters and slams against my rib cage, not from fear or hesitation, but adrenaline—a fevered excitement that writhes inside my belly. I told him that I want him—all of him. Now more than ever, after everything we’ve been through together, I know I’m ready. I want to share this with him—something that will bind us and bring us closer. “Yes.”
“You’re sure?”
Desire sings through my veins. “I’m sure.”
Movement in the glass catches my eye—our reflection. I watch Tate nod slowly. “I’m still going to go slow with you.”
I try to respond but then Tate’s lips find my throat, kissing me gently and traveling up to my jaw, and all I can do is gasp. I have always craved his touch, but this time it feels different—this time it feels like our bodies throb to the same heartbeat.
His fingers are slow and deliberate as they slide around my hip, then push up the hem of my shirt. Thankfully, I’d guessed I would see him today, and had made sure to wear the pale blue push-up bra I bought at Barney’s. The one that makes me feel like someone else—someone desirable and confident and sexy. My skin trembles. I close my eyes as he pulls the shirt upward, over my stomach and then to my neck. I raise my arms, and he lifts the plain green shirt over my head, dropping it to the floor. I’m standing in only my bra. My breathing deepens. His gaze meets mine in the glass, a question in his eyes. I nod wordlessly. His fingers find the button of my shorts, unfastening it deftly, then sliding down the zipper. They fall around my ankles and I carefully step out of them. Tate kicks them away with his bare foot.
I know I should feel exposed—vulnerable—but instead I feel ignited, set on fire by his breath grazing my shoulder. Every fiber of my flesh, every nerve ending is alight.
“Charlotte,” he whispers into my ear—a broken murmur—and a tingle races down my neck. Then his palms are around my torso again, sliding up my ribs like a ladder.
I can hardly breathe, barely think. My heartbeat roars in my ears and I’m shaking. Is he going to push me away? Stop us here? My mouth goes dry and I close my eyes, scared of what he might say next.
“Let’s go to my room,” he finally says, and the relief almost swallows me whole.
*
Tate’s room is huge, the light dimmed by the shades. His bed is neatly made with dark gray pillows and a charcoal bedspread.
He slides his fingers up my cheekbones, carefully, drawing my focus back to him, then pulls me into a kiss. I feel myself sink into his arms, surrendering to his touch, never wanting his hands to be anywhere else except on me.