by Nikki Castle
I'm not stressed about what I'm writing or whether or not it'll be a massive failure. I'm just… letting my brain take my fingers where it wants.
All of a sudden, I notice the bar has emptied out and the bartender is giving me dirty looks. I realize with a start that it's almost 11:00 and they're starting to close up.
"Sorry, sorry," I call out. I start to pack up my computer. "I'm leaving, I'm sorry. I didn't realize how late it was. Can I close out my tab?"
The older lady behind the bar gives me an angry glare before walking over to the register to ring me up. I pay my tab quickly and walk out of the bar.
It isn't until I'm getting out of the Uber a few minutes later that I suddenly remember that I'm walking into a house with a certain roommate.
"Fuck," I mutter under my breath. Wrapped up all my happy feelings, I completely forgot about everything with Tristan.
I take a deep breath to remind myself that I need to ignore him, that I need to keep my physical distance and act like I’m not borderline-obsessed with his glorious dick.
Just… stay away from him, I remind myself. Hopefully he's already asleep and I don't even need to deal with him right now.
But when I walk into the house, I find Tristan sprawled on the couch, flipping through channels with a bored look on his face. His eyes light with a mischievous twinkle when he sees me.
"Remy baby," he teases. "Where have you been? Curfew is 11:00."
I roll my eyes at him as I shrug my jacket off. "None of your business," I retort.
"Busy night at the library?" he guesses sarcastically. "Or maybe another Humphrey Bogart marathon at the local theater? My ears still hurt from listening to you yap about the last one.”
I shoot him a withering glare. “Humphrey Bogart is an icon. I’m going to do you a favor and pretend you didn’t say that, or else I might have to take scissors to all your hand wraps again. Do you remember the Jane Austen incident?”
I think I see him swallow roughly before saying, “Don’t remind me. I had to use Jax’s smelly wraps for a week because of it.”
A self-satisfied grin stretches across my face at the memory. “Serves you right for insulting the mother of all romance by implying her literature is irrelevant,” I chuckle as I hang my jacket on the coat rack.
“That still doesn’t explain where you were tonight,” he pushes again. “You’re supposed to be at the gym on Tuesdays. Naughty.”
I roll my eyes at his overbearing attitude. I’m sure he’s assuming that I was trying to avoid him, and he’s trying to call me out on it.
"Maybe I was getting dicked down," I mutter.
I manage to catch his horrified look for a split second before he covers it up. I hadn't meant for that to slip out, but his reaction was more than worth it. I grin and turn toward him with my hands on my hips, waiting patiently to see what he’s going to respond with.
His face hardens but he still looks at me skeptically. "Not a chance," he decides. "Or if that's true, the poor sap did a piss poor job."
I scowl and drop my hands to my sides. "How on earth would you be able to tell that?"
There is nothing sarcastic about his tone as he answers. "Because if you had been pleasured right, you'd have sexy, freshly fucked hair and the most incredible pink, flushed skin. Not to mention, a sated smile."
My breath hitches. Suddenly, I'm flooded with memories of desperate hands and hungry moans and wet kisses. I squeeze my legs together to try to tamp down on the ache that's already started to build between them, but it doesn’t help—I can't stop thinking about the last time I had freshly fucked hair and pink skin. And more importantly, about the person that made me that way.
"That's ridiculous," I choke out. "Sex doesn't always have to be like that. Plus, that's cheesy as shit, you sound like you're trying to quote a movie." I head toward the kitchen, wanting to get away from this conversation and those memories.
But I don't get far because he blocks my path, leaving only inches between us. I glare up at him.
"That's what you looked like the other night," he murmurs in a gravelly voice. A current of electricity shoots through me at the sound.
"Do you remember?" he says in that same quiet, deep voice. His expression is smug, but there's also a fire burning in his eyes. He twirls a strand of my hair between his fingers as he studies my face. "Do you remember when I ran my fingers through your hair? When I pulled it? Or when you came so hard that your skin got hot? Because I haven't stopped thinking about it since."
My breath catches at his admission. He’s been thinking about me?
His eyes bore deep into mine. I can see the heat behind them, and I can't seem to tear myself away. I'm frozen in place, even as I see his face dip down.
He's smiling as he brushes his lips over my cheek. He's barely touching me—and it's infuriating. He continues down my chin, along my neck, until he reaches my ear. I feel his tongue dart out against my earlobe right before he nips it lightly.
I can't stop a hiss from leaving my lips. I was so dead set on never letting him get close to me again but now that he's this close, it feels like I've been drugged by his aura. Like the second I get too close to him, I'm enveloped in a strange trance that I can't break away from. I can't speak or move; all I can do is try not to hyperventilate.
"Remy…" he purrs, right before his lips touch mine.
I can't help my lips opening for him any more than I can stop my heart from beating. With a groan, he slips his tongue inside, and I shiver as it slides across my own. I wrap my arms around his neck and lean further into the kiss.
With a growl, he grips my ass and lifts me up. He spins and walks us to the kitchen island, then sets me on the edge. He pushes my thighs apart and slips in to stand between my legs. I whimper at the feel of his very big—very hard—length. I pull him closer so I can grind against him.
He groans and digs his fingers harder into my hips. In the back of my mind, I realize I'm most likely going to bruise—and with my next thought I realize that I don't care. In fact, I wish he would mark me in a better spot.
Without thinking about what I'm doing, I grab one of his hands and guide his fingers to wrap around my throat.
His eyes widen—and then darken with lust. The heat in his eyes blazes, just like it had the last time he wanted to fuck me into the nearest surface.
"Filthy fucking girl," he growls, squeezing the sides of my neck. I can't help the moan that slips from my lips any more than I can help the wetness that I now feel between my legs. He kisses along my jaw, nipping and sucking. "I should've known you like it rough. Do you like it when I manhandle you? If I reached into your panties right now, would you be drenched?"
"God, yes," I moan, unashamed. I don't care about how it makes me look, or what we're even doing right now, all I can think about is how badly I want him to throw me around and fuck me seven which ways. I need his talented cock to douse this fire that feels like it's burning up every inch of my skin.
He reaches down to fumble with the buttons on my dress pants. When he finally gets them open, he squeezes my neck one final time before letting go to tug my pants down my legs. He leaves me in my thong, running a thoughtful glance along my body before stepping close again and ripping my blouse open. I gasp as my buttons fly everywhere.
And then I’m sitting in front of Tristan, exposed in my racy red lingerie set.
"Jesus," he gasps, gawking at my outfit. "You're like a sexy secretary fantasy come to life." He runs another hungry glance over my lacey bra and panties, then reaches forward to grab my hair so he can yank my mouth back to his. "I've always wondered what you were hiding under your work clothes."
My head drops back with a groan at yet another admission that he’s thought about me. A surge of confidence runs through me at the thought that he’s not as unaffected by me as I always assumed he was. He nips my lower lip before moving to my jaw, then down my neck. I gasp when I feel his fingers graze my pussy through my thong.
He groans wh
en he feels how wet I am. Using only his pinky, he nudges the fabric aside, then slides along the length of my slit. He circles my clit tantalizingly.
He licks up the length of my neck, all the way over my chin and finally sliding his tongue directly into my mouth. I shiver in anticipation of feeling his tongue between my legs.
"I can't wait to taste your sweet cunt again," he growls against my lips. "Lie down."
I do as I'm told. I'm thankful he kept my blouse on because the granite counter is cold against my skin, and I'm glad my back isn't touching the surface right now. I try to focus on the feel of the cold counter under my ass and how it feels compared to my achingly heated core that's begging to be touched. I squirm impatiently when a few seconds pass and he still hasn't touched me.
He's standing between my legs, looking down at my body like a starved man about to devour his first meal. After what feels like an eternity, he reaches forward to touch my face. His thumb caresses my cheek before sliding across my lips—and pausing. The inferno continues to rage in his eyes as he stares at my mouth. I curl my tongue around his thumb and suck it into my mouth, my eyes never leaving his.
The motion seems to break the spell that he's under because he immediately growls and pulls his hand back. But instead of letting go of me completely, his finger continues its trail down. He runs it along the curve of my neck, between my breasts, then circles around my navel. He finally pauses when he reaches the lace of my thong. He glances at me once more before his face suddenly disappears from my view.
I gasp and arch my back when I feel his lips running over the fabric between my legs—he’s not even touching my skin yet and I'm already ready to come out of mine. I feel his finger circle over my entrance, teasing what's to come. And just as I'm about to beg that he rip the rest of my clothes off and put me out of my misery, he yanks my thong off and hooks my legs over his shoulders before burying his face in my weeping cunt.
I moan at the feel of his hard grip on my thighs pulling me further into his tongue's assault. He circles my clit, occasionally pausing to suck on the small nub, before licking between my lips and thrusting inside my pussy. I whimper and tangle my fingers in his hair as he fucks me with his tongue.
Just when I'm about to explode in his mouth, he pulls away from me and stands up. I cry out at the loss and try to reach for him.
But he pushes me roughly back on the counter. With a mischievous smile, he slips first one, then two of his fingers in his mouth. And then, without breaking eye contact, he slides them inside me.
My eyes flutter closed with a moan, overwhelmed with the feeling of his fingers fucking me. His hands are big, his fingers long, and yet it feels like a tease—I need his hard length inside me in order to feel truly satiated.
He pulls his fingers out. But before I can voice my displeasure again, I feel his index finger pressing against my asshole.
I gasp as my eyes pop open. He hasn't taken his eyes off my face, and he's still wearing that mischievous smile. He gently starts to work his finger into my ass.
It doesn't take me long to relax and start wriggling down the counter, silently begging for him to fill more of me. The grin on his face grows.
"I fucking knew it," he growls. "I knew when you moaned at my thumb on you the other night that you liked your ass being played with. God, that is so fucking hot." He starts to increase his pace, looking down at where his finger is moving in and out of me. "Maybe I'll fuck your ass sometime. Maybe, if you're lucky, I'll make you suck my dick before I push you down on my bed and take your ass. Would you like that?"
A sob breaks from my throat at the sheer eroticism of his words. I squirm on the counter, knowing I'm seconds away from losing control.
He studies my face for another moment before looking back down. "Maybe another time," he muses aloud—and then drops his mouth to my pussy.
He continues to finger fuck me as he circles his tongue. By the time he sucks on my clit, I shatter.
I scream at the force of the orgasm. The heat from my core explodes, expanding through every nerve of my body, every inch of my skin. As Tristan continues his delicious torment—never once slowing down or letting up on his intensity—my release continues to roll through me. I feel like I'm stuck in an undercurrent on the beach, with waves continuing to crash down on me until I can't breathe anymore and I stop fighting.
When my breathing slows and I can finally blink open my eyes, it registers that Tristan is still gently caressing my pussy, watching my face intently.
"Fucking beautiful," he breathes. Then he steps back and pushes his sweatpants down past his hips. He grabs his dick and squeezes.
Still shaking from the force of my orgasm, I push myself up to a sitting position. My mouth goes dry at the sight of him roughly tugging himself. I try to reach for him, but Tristan pushes my hands away.
"Nuh uh, not today," he growls. "If you touch me right now, I won't make it inside your tight little body. Wrap your legs around me."
When he tugs my hips closer to the edge, I do as he says. I can't help the shiver of anticipation that runs through my body as he rubs the tip of his dick along my slick center. Gripping the edge of the counter with both hands, I wiggle to try to take him inside.
He chuckles against my skin as he lays kisses along my neck. "So eager," he mutters. "Luckily, I can't wait any longer, either." And with one long, slow movement, he pushes all the way in.
I whimper and squirm as I adjust to his size. He's just big enough that there's a twinge of pain when he first slides in, and it takes a few breaths until I can relax enough to enjoy myself. I probably didn't notice his sheer size the last time he took me because I was drunk then. But now, in this position, I revel in the feeling of being so utterly and completely full.
"Fuck, you're so tight," he moans. "I already don't want this to end."
I wrap my arms around his shoulders and nip his earlobe. "Fuck me," I whisper in his ear.
He groans and starts to move. He's still buried in my neck and he's got a bruising grip on my hips as he starts to thrust into me. And with every motion, I lose more and more of my mind.
"Oh my god, Tristan," I gasp. I grab at his arms, his shoulders, as I try to gain control of what's building inside me. Even though I just came a few minutes ago, I'm already bordering on another overwhelming orgasm.
He pulls back a little so he can look at my face. When he sees my struggle, sees that I'm close, he growls in approval and kisses me roughly.
"Come for me," he whispers into my mouth. "Scream for me."
And when one of his thrusts hits the right spot inside me, I do. I scream as my orgasm erupts.
He smothers the sound with another hard kiss. He wraps an arm around my waist as his other hand braces himself against the counter. "Oh, fuck," he groans, increasing his pace. As my pussy starts to clench around his dick, he reaches his release, too.
I pant against his lips as my pulsing continues to drain him. When the sensations finally abate, he leans his forehead against mine, breathing heavily.
After a few moments, Tristan chuckles lightly and kisses the edge of my mouth. He pulls away and flashes me a playful smile. "You'll notice when you look in the mirror that my description of what you look like when you've been properly fucked is 100% accurate."
I scowl but can't stop the blush that flames my cheeks. "Shut up," I mutter. I hop off the counter and reach for my clothes.
I pull my thong on but I'm so skittish and confused in my post-orgasm haze that I abandon the idea of pulling on my pants and instead turn to bolt up the stairs.
But before I can make it more than a step, Tristan grabs my arm and spins me back to face him. He grips the back of my neck and pulls my face close to his.
"I hope this solidified it in your brain that this isn't stopping anytime soon," he growls against my lips.
My eyes go wide but I don't say anything. "I'm serious," he growls, nipping my lower lip. "Stop running from me."
"I—I don’t—” I stamme
r, wide eyed and still completely clueless about how to answer.
When he realizes he won't get anything more out of me, he sighs and steps back to give me my space. Without another word, I run up the stairs and back to the safety of my own room.
12
Remy
So much for never sleeping with Tristan again.
I frown for the fiftieth time at my desk, unable to stop reliving last night. It has not been a very productive day. Honestly, I blame Tristan’s hate-inducing personality. Everyone knows hate sex is the best sex.
I'm not really sure what's happening or what I need to do next. On paper I definitely shouldn't be sleeping with him, for multiple reasons: I don't want to date him, he definitely isn't interested in me, Jax wouldn't approve, he's only going to ruin me for other men… etc. etc. Any of the above reasons, even by themselves, should be making me run for the hills.
Yet somehow, I can't bring myself to regret the past few days. I'm fairly certain Tristan knows how to distance sex from feelings, so other than having him lord this over me for the rest of eternity, it most likely won't change much between us. Though that's not to say we should tempt fate by continuing to do it.
I make another vow to stay away from him, despite the tickle in the back of my subconscious that's practically cackling at the half-assed attempt. I shove that voice to the recesses of my mind and turn back to my work.
I somehow manage to focus enough to get through my workday, though I'm so eager to get a workout in that I'm practically bouncing in my seat by 5:00. Even the knowledge that I'll run into Tristan doesn't distract me from the idea of a good workout. Seeing him might even encourage me to punch the bag harder, since the idea that I shouldn't have sex with him again is enough to make me all kinds of sexually frustrated.
Despite the fact that I had two screaming orgasms not long ago.
Tristan must be in the gym office when I walk in because I manage to avoid him for most of the night. I only see him once when he's showing a new student around the gym. We share the briefest of glances in that one second, his gaze completely impassive when he meets my eyes. I can't read anything on his face—not regret, or longing, or arrogance. He's just… blank.