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Tate is everywhere around me and inside me.

And still, I need more. I ache for more.

My mind blanks to all that is not him. His hands are on my body now and mine are in his hair, around his neck, drifting over his hot chest and lower…

A low sound hums from the deep of his throat, like a growl, as he pulls his mouth from mine to catch my wrists in his hands. My mind whirls and fragmented thoughts snap me back into the puzzle of my reality.

My lips tingle with the taste of him. The aftershocks of his kiss…

“Tate—”

His throat works with a swallow, and something about it has my flesh flushing hotly.

He says roughly, “I’m going to leave you here now.”

I suck in breath. I feel suddenly insecure.

I croak, “W—why?”

Tate makes another low noise in the deep of his throat. “Faye.”

“Did I do something wrong?” Hot tears flood my eyes, threatening to fall.

Another low growl. “You’re killing me.”

I blink up at him, and his eyes soften on my face.

He tells me gently, “You did nothing wrong.”

“Then why…” I don’t finish. I can’t finish.

“Because we can take this slow.” His thumbs begin a gentle back and forth across my wrists. “We have the rest of our lives, sweetheart. No need to rush into anything.”

A bitter sounding laugh spills from me. “We’ve rushed into everything.”

“Exactly.” He brushes his lips across my forehead, and I suck in a shuddering breath. “This is something we can take our time with.” He pulls back to pin my eyes with sea-glass green. “I want to take my time with you, Faye. Let me take my time with you.”

I can do nothing but nod. Suddenly, my throat feels too thick for words. My heart feels too full. My brain is at capacity and processing anything more is simply impossible.

He catches my face between his hands once again, dipping low to take my mouth in a kiss that is soft and patient and threaded with the promise of a dominance every splintered shard of me craves.

When he pulls back again, I’m once again rattled from the inside out. Hunger is a live thing inside me that I can’t begin to ignore or dampen.

Tate swallows hard again. He steps back, dragging a hand through silver kissed hair. “Sweet dreams, sweetheart.”

20

THE CHOICES WE MAKE

DECEMBER 2009 – 18 YEARS OLD

Isuck sugary sweet chocolate glaze from my thumb as Andy glugs her latte. I wasn’t expecting Shy to show, but she arrived soon after Andy, explaining the third latte Andy carried in.

“You’re still so small,” Shy blurts. “My cousin was pregnant two years ago with her second baby and she was massive!”

I shrug. “I read that women tend show slower with their first baby. Maybe that’s why.”

“Maybe.” Shy gives my belly a nod. “How are you feeling?”