Page 14 of Edge
I laughed softly, shaking my head. “Yet you never let me clean when you cook.”
“That’s different, sweetheart.”
Getting to his feet, he brushed his lips against mine before gathering the plates. As I watched him carry our dishes to the sink, sleeves pushed up, tattoos shifting with every movement, one thought circled in my mind.
I was amazed by how natural it felt to share something so ordinary with a man who was anything but.
We finally left the bubble of Tatum’s apartment Friday night, for our first attempt at a real date.
I smoothed my sundress down over my thighs for the hundredth time, wishing my hands would stop fidgeting. The pale-yellow fabric was soft and pretty, one of the dresses I’d originally packed without needing until now. I’d worn it hoping to look effortless, but the moment we stepped into the restaurant, I was self-conscious.
Every head seemed to turn.
Some were curious, others admiring, a few openly appraising. I felt heat crawl up my neck, and I had to resist the urge to shrink back against Tatum’s side.
He carried himself like he owned the place, his hand heavy at the small of my back as if daring anyone to think otherwise.
“Relax, baby,” he murmured against my temple as we followed the hostess to a table near the window. “They’re just jealous because you’re so fucking gorgeous.”
He had it backward. I had no doubt the women were jealous, but only because I was with him. He looked like sin wrapped in muscle and tattoos, and I was just…ordinary. Or at least that was how I’d always seen myself until Tatum had stormed into my life with compliments—and orgasms—that helped me start to see myself differently.
By the time we were seated, my nerves had twisted into knots. I picked up the menu just to have something to hold, but the words swam as my mind kept tallying every glance tossed our way.
Tatum’s jaw flexed. His hand slid beneath the table and landed on my thigh, his palm hot through the thin fabric of my dress. The weight of it was possessive, a silent warning to anyone who might have thought about looking twice at me.
I leaned in, whispering, “You’re glaring at everyone.”
“Good.” His lips brushed the shell of my ear, making me shiver. “No one gets to stare at what’s mine.”
Butterflies fluttered wildly in my stomach, tangling with the heat low in my belly. My face was hot, but it wasn’t just from embarrassment anymore. This was the effect only Tatum had on me, flipping my insides upside down with a single word.Mine.
We tried to make small talk, but it was impossible with the tension simmering between us. Every time our eyes met, sparks seemed to crackle in the air. I barely remembered what I ordered. I was too focused on the way Tatum’s thumb stroked lazy circles on my leg, sliding higher every so often until I could barely sit still.
By the time the server set down our drinks, I was already hoping the kitchen was quicker than a fast-food restaurant.
A few minutes later, Tatum tossed his napkin onto the table and pushed back his chair. “We’re done here.”
I blinked, startled. “But—we haven’t even?—”
“Doesn’t matter.” He was already on his feet, his hand reaching for mine. “I need you, baby. Now.”
The heat in his voice sent a rush of anticipation through me that burned away any lingering nerves. I didn’t argue when he pulled me up, practically dragging me toward the door. I barely noticed the people watching us leave, my focus narrowed tothe hard grip of his fingers twined with mine and the promise blazing in his eyes.
By the time we got to the parking lot, my heart was pounding so hard I could barely breathe. I knew exactly what was coming when we got back to his place. More orgasms.
And I couldn’t wait.
6
EDGE
The movie barely held my attention. It was background noise—muted explosions and synth strings bleeding out of the soundbar, blue light washing the walls. What I focused on was the girl curled against me with her bare legs tucked across my lap, one of my T-shirts hanging off her shoulder like it had been made for her.
She’d fallen into that loose, heavy breathing that meant she was right on the edge of sleep. Every rise and fall of her chest brushed my ribs. Each tiny shift of her weight tugged at nerves I didn’t know I still had.
My place never felt like this. It was too clean, too controlled—dark leather, brushed steel, the unbothered hum of the A/C sliding through vents. The windows were cracked just enough to let the salt drift in. From the street below, a motorcycle rolled by at idle, then faded into the night.
On screen, a hero monologued about redemption like he’d ever bled for anything real. Callie’s fingers tightened in the hem of my shirt and relaxed again. Her hair smelled like citrus shampoo and the ocean she loved standing beside. The lamp threw amber edges along her cheekbone. The whole scene gotfiled under mine because that was what my head did. Cataloged. Owned. Protected.
