Tate’s face contorts with unbridled rage. He reminds me of a bomb ready to explode with only the slightest provocation. “You don’t need me,” he states at last, voice brimming with anguish. “You have the others. You don’t need someone like me, someone as fucked up and as angry as me.” He begins to pace, repeatedly scratching at his tan arms, and I watch him warily. When he spins abruptly to face me once more, there’s something manic in his expression, something that rivals even Sin. “You have Desmond as your best friend and confidant. Helio as your protector. Avery as the one you can turn to when you need comfort. Hell, even Sin is able to make you laugh, and that fiery bastard protects you with everything inside of him. What can I offer you? What can I give you?”
“Tate—”
Slowly, the pain from my shoulder begins to recede as my emotional pain amplifies. I can feel my flesh stitching itself back together, but it’s barely a blip on my radar. All I can see is Tate—the hurt, anguish, and fear in his eyes, as if at any second, I’ll run away from him and never look back.
“You’re going to leave me,” he whispers brokenly as he collapses onto the ground. He lowers his head into his hands as his shoulders begin to shake.
“Tate.” Very carefully, I perch on the floor beside him. “You stupid fucking asshole. You’re the God of Deception, and right now, you’re deceiving yourself.” His head snaps up as he blinks at me through watery eyes.
“What the hell are you going on about, woman?” he rasps.
“You’re delusional if you think I’ll ever leave you.” Ignoring the blood coating both of us, I cup his stubbly cheek, and he twists his face so he can nuzzle against my palm. “Fuck, I love you, Tate. I thought you knew that. You’re the person I can always count on to tell me the truth, no matter how much it hurts. You’re stubborn and an asshole, yes, but don’t think for a second that those traits don’t make me love you even more. I love every piece of your prickly self.”
He seems to barely be breathing, his chest still, before he lunges forward and captures my lips between his own. This time, there’s no pain. It’s not a battle or a fight or a war. Our lips connect as if they were never meant to be separated in the first place, each press of his lips against my own heartbreakingly tender.
When he removes my clothes, it’s with the same tenderness and reverence he kissed me only seconds before. And when I tug his shirt over his head and pull his shorts down, there’s no anger in my movements. No hatred.
Just love.
Our bodies join together like two souls adrift at sea, somehow finding each other once again in the dissonant chaos of the rolling ocean. He doesn’t fuck me. No, not this time. As his cock slides through my slick folds and his hand rubs at the now healed wound on my shoulder, he makes love to me. It doesn’t matter that we were just shot at, that the assassin could walk in at any moment, that the floor is covered in grit and other unsavory substances—none of that matters in the moment. All I can focus on is him.
As his sweat-slick body moves over mine, maintaining eye contact, I feel myself climbing higher and higher, the need to fall nearly overwhelming. And when I allow myself to finally give in, one of the best orgasms of my life crashes through me with all the serenity of a cool spring rain. I clutch at Tate’s shoulders, my nails digging into his skin, as I tumble head over heels through wave after endless wave of pleasure. He lowers his head and bites at my skin as his cock twitches and swells, spilling his seed inside of me.
Tate and I…we’ll never be perfect. We’ll never have a fairy tale love that you read about in books and see on television. But that’s okay. I know it is. Our relationship is as unique as our story—a clashing of two entirely separate beings that have somehow found each other. Found each other and never let go. I think that’s what makes our love real and pure—we hate each other just as much as we love each other. He’s the only person capable of getting under my skin, but because of that, he irreparably embedded himself in my heart. We’re too tangled together for anyone to ever unwind, and that’s okay. Our love is as infinite as our hate.
“Fucking hell,” he curses as he plants a gentle kiss to first my neck, then both of my cheeks, and finally, my awaiting lips.
“You’re still an asshole,” I murmur as my tongue licks at his pillowy bottom lip.
“And you’re still a bitch,” he replies easily, but his face is more relaxed than I ever remembered seeing it before. The furrow that’s constantly between his eyebrows is nowhere to be seen.
I hear the barely audible sound of the door of the warehouse opening.
My muscles clench, unintentionally squeezing around Tate’s half-erect cock, and he swears.
“Not the time,” he hisses as he pulls himself out of me.
“Not my fault, dumbass,” I retort back. “It’s your fault you started getting hard again.”
He merely rolls his eyes as he gracefully jumps to his feet, still ass naked, and walks in the direction we heard the noise, his cock bobbing with every step.
I have no doubt that if it’s the assassin attempting to finish what he started, he’ll find himself in a world of hurt.
And I’m so damn ready for that.
CHAPTER 20
TATE
This fucking
