Pieces of Autumn (33 page)

He shot me a sharp look.

"Sorry," I said, quickly. "I didn't...I just wanted to know if there's anything to be worried about."

"Nothing that concerns you," he said, flatly.

Damn it. I hated that I'd ruined his good mood. They were so few and far between, and here I was, invading his gardening with questions about the one thing he never wanted to talk about.

I expected him to make some reference to punishment, but he kept silent, sliding further down the patch to pull more of the weeds. We worked together in silence for a while, looking for all the world like a normal couple just doing a bit of gardening together. Maybe having a little argument.

Thinking of what Tate did as "the silent treatment" made me snort. He looked up at me.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing," I said, shaking my head. "Just trying to imagine us as
normal
."

"No such thing anymore," he grunted, standing up and brushing off his hands. "If there ever was."

"You don't think so?" I finished the last of the flowers and sat back on my heels, surveying my work. "There's nobody out there who's just looking down on the rest of us from an ivory tower, laughing?"

Tate started gathering up his supplies. "There are no ivory towers left. They tore them all down. There's no amount of money that will buy you any version of '
normal
' now."

"You've got a pretty good thing going," I pointed out. "Don't you think somebody else out there..."

"No," said, shortly, turning back to the house. "Everything that you hate about me is the reason I'm alive."

I hurried after him. "I don't
hate
you," I insisted, as he pushed the front door open. "Why would you say that?"

"Because." He dropped his supplies and whirled around to face me, his jaw clenched. "As you so astutely pointed out, I'm not
normal
. The reason why I have the things I have - and live the way I live - is because of what I did. It's because of Stoker. That's where I made my connections. I'm a force to be reckoned with, but I had to sell pieces of myself to get it." He let out a long breath, flaring his nostrils. "It's that way for everyone. No one buys power and influence for free. And you can't buy it for money, either - not anymore."

The intensity of his gaze shook me to the core. Breathing hard, I had to resist the urge to kneel at his feet.
What a sick way to react to him staring you down, like he wants to flay you alive.

I was surprised to feel the sudden
awareness
between my thighs - not arousal, not yet, but I was on the verge. Something about the whole thing - the tenderness he showed to his garden, the strange intimacy of us working together, followed by the sudden reversal, his hackles showing again - it was intoxicating. I wondered if it would always be like this.

Always.

My heartbeat quickened as I realized something.

Always. Forever.
Now, for the first time in my life, that was a concept that meant something. I was no longer hunted; at least, not while Tate was around. With Birdy cowed, I had a whole life ahead of me, and I couldn't imagine what I would do with it.

But I knew I never wanted to leave this place.

I swayed, overwhelmed by the realization. This - whatever it was. Me and Tate. It was no longer something I simply had to face one day at a time, one moment to the next. We were more than that.

It must have showed on my face, because Tate's forehead creased slightly. Trying to understand what he was seeing.
 

I love you.

The words were on the tip of my tongue, before I managed to bite them back. What the hell was I thinking? I didn't - couldn't -

Marry me.

Holy fuck, I was losing my mind.

I felt all the blood drain from my face as I stared at him. He didn't make a move, or a sound, as I brushed past him and ran up the stares, barricading myself in my room before I did anything stupid.

Taking a series of deep breaths, I sat curled up on the smooth polished wood, with my back pressed against the door. I already knew my feelings for Tate were out of control. That was a given. But I had always been able to control myself, or at least control what came out of my mouth. But after what just happened, I wasn't so sure anymore.

I felt a very distinct sensation, deep in my chest. A presence.

He was waiting on the other side of the door.

He knocked. Once, twice.

"What?" I asked him.

He tried the handle, but the door didn't budge. I leaned back harder, for good measure.

"Autumn," he said, sternly. "Let me in."

"No." It actually, physically hurt to refuse him.

I heard a soft noise, and I thought I knew what it was. I pictured him standing out there, his forehead and his hands pressed against the door, sagging with defeat. No matter what games we played, there were some things he could never force from me.
 

"Tell me," he said. "Please."

He sounded so quiet, so broken. But there was nothing that could have swayed me. My heart was like an iron lockbox, snapped shut tight and guarded by fear.

I couldn't trust him. How could I love someone I didn't trust?
 

Whatever my feelings, as long as I kept them a secret, he could never use them against me. I had to believe that. Otherwise, I was lost.

I knew him now. I knew so many things about him, so many of the reasons behind his cruelty, but that didn't change who he was. That copperhead only bit me because he was threatened. Trying to survive. Didn't change the fact that I almost died.

Didn't mean my ankle wasn't still stiff and sore, sometimes, in the mornings.

Reasons didn't matter, when it came down to it. I was glad I knew what kind of man he was, now. I was glad I knew his pain.

But
loving
him?

No one could survive that. If I asked him, I was sure he'd agree.

I could still hear him breathing, softly. Not wanting to give up. Feeling the same connection I felt - our bodies, inches away from each other. Our souls bare, raw, both of us unwilling to take the risk of admitting just how lost we were.

Maybe he loves you too.

As much as I wanted to laugh at myself, the notion made my aching heart beat even faster.

"Tate?" I said, softly.

A breath. "I'm here."

"Why?"

This one befuddled him momentarily.

"
Why
are you here?" I clarified, my eyes shut tight.

He hesitated. "Because. You...you didn't look well."

"Obviously, if I needed your help, I would say something."

Another small noise, like he was shifting his weight. "That's not true. And you know it."

Well, touché.

"I don't understand, Tate," I said, tears gathering in my eyes. "Am I supposed to confide in you? Am I supposed to
trust
you now, because I saw your scars?"

It was exquisitely painful to say, and probably much worse to hear. But I had to voice it. I couldn't keep biting it back, every time he looked at me.

"Autumn," he said, softly. "Please open the door."

I sat there silently, tears falling down my cheeks.

"I'll never..." There was a slight catch in his voice, and I didn't want to think about why. "I swear to God, Autumn, if you don't tell me what's going through your head..."

I wanted to ask
what, what will you do to me
, but my throat had closed up.

Finally, in the silence, he left.

We avoided each other for the rest of the day.

I felt immensely stupid. For once, we'd managed to connect in some real way, and he didn't turn tail and run. He didn't try to lash out at me. So how did I handle it?

I freaked the fuck out.

Most of the rest of my day was spent pacing the room, jumping out of my skin at every little sound. I couldn't believe my own cowardice. I had a chance at what I wanted, and I'd pushed him away. Now, he'd probably never open up to me again.

I had to do something.

It was late evening by the time I worked up the courage to find him. He was in his room, a soft glow of light slicing across the darkness of the hallway.

I knocked, timidly, at the threshold.

"Yes?" His voice was quiet, subdued. A little rough with disuse. I wondered how long he used to go without talking, back before I came.

"Can I come in?"

He cleared his throat. "Yes."

I slipped inside, my eyes on the floor. When I finally raised them to his face, I didn't see any of the anger I expected. He almost looked -
wounded
. Sitting on the edge of the bed, his shirt unbuttoned, barefoot, hands clasped between his knees.

"I'm sorry about earlier," I said, the words coming out in a half-whisper. "What I said..."

"You were right," Tate cut in. "You were absolutely right to say that. I never earned your trust." His eyes flickered. "And I never will."

I wanted, so badly, to tell him that it wasn't true. But I couldn't. That was a promise I simply could not make.

"It would be insane to trust me. Suicidal." A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "I can't expect that of you."

My chest ached. We might not be normal, but we wanted all the same things normal people did. We want to trust, to connect, to care for each other unconditionally. But the circumstances of our lives conspired against us.

"Well, I certainly can't trust your word," I said. "As I recall, you once promised me that your protection would end at your front door."

The smile reappeared. "It's like I told you. I can always alter the terms of the arrangement."

"Why did you do it?" This question had consumed my thoughts since I saw him running down the track, but I'd never asked. I'd always been afraid of the answer.

I wasn't afraid anymore.

"Because." His voice was so dark and beautiful, his face showing a glimpse of emotion I never thought I'd see from him. "I'd rather die than see you hurt again."

Instantly, tears sprang to my eyes. I hugged myself tightly, trying to hold them back.

"Take that for what it's worth," he said, wincing at his own honestly. "Considering the source."

I wanted to tell him, so badly, what I'd been thinking about. How I didn't know what my future was without him. How I never wanted to leave his side.

I didn't say it aloud. Neither of us did. But our eyes spoke all the words that we couldn't say.

In the space of one heartbeat, a thousand years passed. We stared at each other. We breathed in, we breathed out.

"Come here," he said, softly.

Sitting there like that, hair rumpled, he almost looked vulnerable. But in the darkness, his eyes were darker still.

He spread his knees wide, pointing to the floor between his feet. Smiling, I walked to him and knelt down, laying my hands on his thighs.

His chest rose and fell sharply, but he didn't stop me. I slid my hands up and down, relishing the feeling of his muscles tightening and twitching under my fingers. I could kneel at his feet, but I'd never let him forget that this was my choice.
 

He was hard already, anticipating my touch. This heady, intoxicating knowledge made my breath catch in my throat, and I shifted slightly, feeling the slickness between my legs. Tate was drunk on me, just as I was drunk on him. But it was never enough.
 

In this moment, I controlled everything. He could overpower me, he could force anything he wanted on me, but only I could choose to come to him willingly. And the Viper might not care - he might thirst for my tears - but Tate was different. Tate was just a man, and he wanted a woman. A woman who desired him. Not a slave.

He was so hot and stiff in my hand, sighing and arching towards my touch. I stroked him slowly and relished the sounds that caught in the back of his throat.

I stroked him until he was leaking, both of his hands gripping the edge of the mattress.
 

"Enough," he murmured, at last, his voice roughened by lust. "Suck me."

I laughed, softly, raising my hand to my mouth and licking a drop of his precome from my thumb. "Yes, Sir."

He groaned at the sight, his cock twitching and pulsing. For me. All for me.

When I lowered my head and enveloped him in my mouth, he let out a huff of air, his whole body going bowstring-taut. I took him as deep as I could, relishing the taste of his skin. My own arousal was reaching a fever pitch, but I was focused solely on him, ignoring the pulsing heat between my legs.

This, I realized, was what it felt like to have power over a man who could destroy me.
 

The act of pleasuring him banished all thoughts. I didn't worry anymore about what it meant to love a man like this, or what it meant to have him love me. I just breathed him in, the scent of his body, drinking in his taste. So perfect, and so uniquely Tate. Just like this house, he had so many things locked away and hidden. Even now. Still. I had seen his scars, but I hadn't seen all of him yet. Before the end of tonight, I would strip him bare.

I made that promise to myself.

He sighed, his hand compulsively stroking my hair, and I expected him to grab on and force me deeper. I could sense that he wanted to, and it wouldn't have surprised me. But more than that, it seemed, he wanted it like this. Every part of this freely given to him, exactly how I wanted it to be.

I rocked back on my heels, feeling the slickness, the heat of my swollen cunt, wanting him so badly. The pressure was good, but it wasn't enough.

I looked up at his face.

Our eyes met, with my lips wrapped around his cock. His chest was heaving, his jaw slack, losing himself in me. Our eyes met, and I saw everything.

He made an urgent sound in the back of his throat, his hips making small, erratic movements towards me. I clasped my hands tighter around each of his legs, loving the feeling of his body losing control. He was still fighting for it, but he didn't have much left.

The feeling was unreal, like I was being transported to another plane of existence. One where nothing else mattered, except my ultimate goal. I wanted to taste him, swallow him, accept him in the most intimate way possible. If he tried to stop me, I would turn into a wild thing.