Penelope Douglas - Until You

I understood the confusion in her eyes. Even now, I knew it was a sad series of small events that I took too much to heart. I was wrong.

“Jared—” she started, but I stopped her.

“Tate, you didn’t do anything wrong. I know that now. You just have to understand my mindset. I had been through hell. I was weak and hurting from the abuse. I was hungry. I’d been betrayed by the people I was supposed to be able to count on: my mom who didn’t help when I needed her, my dad who hurt me and my helpless brother.” I took a deep breath. “And then I saw you with our parents, looking like the happy, sweet family. While Jaxon and I were in pain and struggling to make it through every day in one piece, you got to see the mother that I never had. Your dad took you on picnics and for ice cream while mine was whipping me. I felt like no one wanted me and that life moved on without me. No one cared.”

That day and the weeks preceding were too much, too fast, and all of a sudden I was a different kid.

“You became a target, Tate. I hated my parents, I was worried about my brother, and I sure as hell couldn’t rely on anyone but myself. When I hated you, it made me feel better. A lot better.”

I saw her jaw harden, and I knew that this wasn’t easy for her to take in.

But I kept going.

“Even after I realized that nothing was your fault, I still couldn’t stop trying to hate you. It felt good, because I couldn’t hurt who I wanted to hurt.”

Silent tears fell down her face again, and—goddammit—I didn’t want Tate crying over me anymore.

We’d had a hell of a lot of good growing up, and I wanted it back.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, taking her face in my hands, hoping like hell she didn’t punch me. “I know I can make this up to you. Don’t hate me.”

She shook her head. “I don’t hate you. I mean…” she shot me a little scowl, “I’m a little pissed, but mostly I just hate the wasted time.”

Yes.

I grabbed her, wrapping my arms around her waist and pulling her into me.

She was fucking mine. I wanted to scream and smile at the same time. I molded my forehead to hers, my lips hungry to taste her as I breathed her in.

“You said you loved me,” she whispered. “I hate that we lost that.”

Nothing was lost.

I lifted her up, guided her legs around me, and walked us to the bed, feeling the heat of her center on my stomach.

“We never lost that.” My hand was on her cheek, and I brought her eyes up to meet mine. “As much as I tried, I could never erase you from my heart. That’s why I was such an asshole and kept guys away from you. You were always mine.”

“Are you mine?” she asked, wiping her tears with her thumb.

Her shaky breath caressed my face, and I couldn’t hold back anymore. Lightly kissing the corner of her mouth, I whispered against her lips, “Always have been.”

She wrapped her arms around me, and I just held her, close and tight.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Are you?” I shot back, not deluding myself for a second that the last three years hadn’t been hell for her, too.

“I will be.”

If we had each other, we were going to be okay.

“I love you, Tate.”

And I fell back on the bed, bringing her with me, hopefully forever.

“Jared, you’re poking me.” Tate’s sleepy whimper stirs me awake, and it takes me a few moments to open my eyes.

Poking her? I check my hands, which aren’t even touching her, and then I feel the fire and tightness in my pants.

Shit.

I roll over onto my back, so I’m not spooning her anymore, and run my hands over my face.

My dick is hard again, and I’m shivering with discomfort and embarrassment.

This happens a lot lately.

Looking over at Tate, her back is still to me as she sleeps, and I start to sit up.

“No,” she groans and rolls over, “don’t leave.” And she puts an arm over my waist, and I stiffen right there, afraid to move.

Damn, damn, damn! I’m about to explode, and I need to leave. Every morning this happens, and I’m so frustrated.

Don’t touch me, Tate.

Please.

But I let her anyway. She guides me back down as she nestles her head in my neck and falls back asleep.

My eyes snapped open, blinking, as I felt the same familiar blood rushing south and the burning deep below my stomach.

I sat up and rubbed the sleep from my eyes, shaking the dream from my head.

Or, the memory.

Tate.

I sit up, scanning the dark room.

Where was she?

I was in her bed. We’d fallen asleep after my confession, and that dream was of the last time I’d laid in here with her. The morning I’d left for my father’s for the summer.

But she wasn’t here now.

And there was no light coming from her bathroom, either.

“Tate,” I called out but got no answer. The only sound was the pitter-patter of rain on the roof.

Getting up, I stretched my arms over my head, walked out of her bedroom and down the darkened stairs.

Light was scarce, but it didn’t matter. I could navigate this house in the dark.

Even if it weren’t for the fact that I’d spent so much time here in the past, the Brandts’ house always seemed alive. The ticking of the grandfather clock in the foyer, the creak of the stairs, the soft, muffled humming that came from the vents—they all gave each room its own personality and made this place a home.

I was comfortable here.

The living room and dining room were empty as I strolled past each, so I went into the kitchen and instantly saw the open back door.

Walking over, I peered out into the garden, and immediately broke out in a smile at the sight of Tate, drenched and standing in the downpour with her head tilted up to the sky.

My shoulders relaxed, and I closed my eyes all at the same time.

I should’ve known.

I stepped out quietly and leaned against the back of the house, under the awning.

Tate always loved the rain. She came alive in it, and I hadn’t been able to enjoy seeing her like this in years. Part of me always wondered what magic she saw in thunderstorms, and part of me didn’t need to know.

Just watching her was like hearing music in my head.

Her long, blonde hair was dripping wet, and her clothes clung to her body, just like the night of our first kiss when I’d felt her curves and dips perfectly.

She stood there, legs slightly parted and arms at her sides as she slowly swayed from side to side, almost like dancing.

Her black blouse, shiny with rain, was pasted to her back like a second skin, and I knew when I touched her that I would feel every muscle.

My chest heated up, and my hands hummed.

“Jared!” she yelled, and I blinked, realizing that she’d noticed me.

“You scared me.” She smiled. “I thought you were asleep.”

She held her hand to her chest and waited for me to say something, but I couldn’t.

I didn’t want to talk anymore. I just wanted her.

Pushing off the wall, I walked over, never taking my eyes off her as I placed my hands on her hips. I locked her to me, sinking my fingers into her, and gazed down into her face, wild and lovely.

Tate never played games. There was never a flirty sparkle in her eye or a play of her lips to get me to notice her. She looked at me right now just like she used to.

Like I was Christmas.

She inched up on her tiptoes, and my breath caught as she touched her lips to mine. I tasted the sweet rain on her mouth, and my pulse rippled through my body, craving more and more.

Damn. So good.

Wrapping one arm around her waist, I held her face with my other hand and guided her lips as I took control.

I moved into her, tasting her tongue and breath until every single little squeeze, nibble and lick was like lightning through my body.

The storm fell around us, but I barely noticed it.

My hands tingled, and everywhere that I touched her got me hotter and harder.

She shivered, and I held her tighter, not knowing if it was the rain or us. But I didn’t let up.

Faster and faster I devoured Tate, diving into her lips again and again, until I was breathing so hard that I was aching to come.

I drew her bottom lip between my teeth, and she grinded her hips into mine, and we were lost.

Maybe it was her soft whimpers or her hands, gripping my hips, but I knew she wasn’t stopping this.

And I needed to be inside of her right here. Right now.

“You’re cold,” I said as she continued to come in for kiss after kiss.

Her breath was hot, and her urgent arms caressed up my chest and around my neck. “Warm me up,” she pleaded.

Fuuuuuck.

I reached down and grabbed her ass, pulling her into me.

Now.

I wanted her here and now, but she started doing shit to my neck with her lips and tongue, and I couldn’t get my head straight.

“I love you, Jared,” she said breathlessly in my ear, and I closed my eyes.

My heart filled up so much that it hurt.

“We can wait,” I choked out, never in a million fucking years wanting to stop this.

She shook her head slowly, a little smile played on her lips. Lifting the hem of my black T-shirt over my head, she ran the tips of her fingers down my chest, around my hips, and up my back.