I can’t take it seriously, not unless I talk to Tristan about it.
“You sure?” Zayd asks, kneeling down to look into my face. “Because if I have to kick that little girl’s ass to keep you happy, I’ll do it.”
“I know you would,” I say with a laugh, kicking out the chair Isabella was using and gesturing to it. “Now sit down, and let’s talk Becky Platter.”
Tristan is shoving binders back onto the library shelf in a fury. Clearly, he's upset about something, but I can't seem to figure out what it is.
“Are you angry with me?” I ask, trying and failing not to think about that moment in the library during first year when I reached up to grab that book without any panties on under my skirt …
“What on earth gave you that idea?” he deadpans, shelving the last book and moving back over to the table to write a note on his tablet. He jams the stylus into the screen in a way that makes me cringe.
“You've barely spoken to me in weeks. You sit next to Lizzie in The Mess every time we eat together, and …” I pause, my eyes tearing up even though I don't want them to. I told myself I would let Tristan make his own choice. If he has then …
He stops and turns to look at me, silver eyes blazing. There's fury in them that just barely reaches the surface. I can sense it, all of that anger boiling inside. He is really and truly angry with me, that much I know for sure now.
“Do you really want to know, Charity?” he asks, getting that vicious twist in his voice that he used to lash out at me so much during first year. Tristan steps forward and slams his palms into the shelf on either side of me, breathing hard. His blazer button is open, the two halves of his jacket hanging down as he stares at me from under a fall of shiny raven hair. “Because the very fact that I have to tell you is what's pissing me off the most.”
“I …” I start, thinking of Isabella's words, those awful, nagging things trying to worm their way under my skin. “We walked in and found him fucking your friend. Doesn't that bother you?” I'm not going to fall for that shit though. I'm not even going to bring it up unless Tristan does first. He wouldn't cheat on me with Lizzie. If he were going to choose, he'd just say something … Like maybe he's about to say something right now? “I'm sorry, but I don't know what you're talking about.”
Tristan closes his eyes, but he's still panting, fingers curled around the edges of the shelves behind me. I reach up and put a hand over his chest, closing my own eyes and feeling the frantic beating of his heart.
A small squeak escapes me when Tristan's hand whips down and grabs my wrist, almost too tight.
Our eyes both open and I find myself getting lost in the brilliance of his blade-gray gaze. It's a double-edged sword, that's for sure. He can defend me with it … but he can also cut me if he wants, make me bleed. And boy, would I bleed for this man.
“What do you think about me and Lizzie?” Tristan asks carefully, his voice like velvet, his smell like cinnamon. His warmth transcends the distance between us, making me shiver.
“What do …” I start, thinking about the way he used to look at her, like she was his long-lost love who'd galloped away on a different knight's horse. But … that was the way he used to look at her, right? I try to think of the last time I saw his gaze soften in her direction. It’s been awhile, that’s for sure. “What do you mean?”
“Do you want me to get with her? Do you ship me and Lizzie for some reason? Because I swear to God, it feels like you do sometimes.” He stares at me so hard that I feel like all my inhibitions are being shed like a banana peel, stripping right down and leaving my pale yellow flesh quivering. Whoa. That was a totally weird metaphor. Scratch that. Pretend I never said anything at all.
“Why would you think that?” I whisper as Tristan breathes in and out, big, harsh, angry breaths. He presses in even closer to me, and I feel myself coming apart at the seams.
“Look, I hate Zack as much as the next asshole, but what you said to him, about how you wanted him to fight for you … do you ever take your own advice, Marnye?”
“I …” My throat feels too tight to talk, like it's impossible to breathe in without sharing a breath with Tristan, without getting two lungfuls of his beautiful scent. He's enticing, a little dangerous, exactly the sort of man I should stay away from. And at the same time … when I think about going to the same college as him, studying together, building a new life together … I get the chills in the best possible way. “We could really have something, me and you.”
Tristan growls at me. I kid you not. He seriously growls under his breath and clenches his teeth.
“Right. So why are you so pro-Lizzie?” he demands, and I blink back in confusion. “And why do you smell so damn good?” he adds, almost under his breath, glancing to the side for a moment before looking back at me.
“I'm not pro-Lizzie,” I tell him, and there it is. All these feelings come rushing to the surface, and I can't seem to hold them back. “I've … I wanted to be friends with her. And I felt selfish. She loves you so much, and I'm dating five guys, and …”
“So fucking what?” Tristan slams his palm against the bookshelf, still clinging to my wrist with his other hand. “You're dating five guys because we all refuse to let you go. What does that have to do with Lizzie? You want to trade me like a baseball card, so she doesn't feel left out?”
My jaw drops open and Tristan takes that moment to sweep in and kiss me. Hard. His lush mouth against my parted lips. His tongue dives in, taking complete control, encouraging me to tilt my head back and give into him. He's the cruelest boy I know. He really is. He'll never be perfect. He'll never even be good. But maybe … he's just right for me?
I move my free hand to the side of his face, and he grabs my wrist again, pinning me to the bookcase. One of these days, I'm going to be up to no good in this library, and I'm going to get caught. My cheeks flame with embarrassment, but that color soon darkens to the heat of lust when Tristan bites my lower lip.
He pulls back just a bit and looks me hard in the face, still panting. He's so strong, I'm completely trapped there, my arms out on either side, my chest rising and falling with rapid breaths.
“I just wanted you to choose me,” I whisper, and I see his silver gaze move from my mouth back up to my eyes. “That's all. I was just … waiting to see if you'd pick me.”
“Maybe I was waiting for the same?” he whispers, and I close my eyes. Tristan makes a frustrated sound, and I open them back up. He releases me suddenly and steps back, pushing his hair from his forehead with the heel of his hand. “Fucking hell, Marnye.”
I bring my arms in close to my chest, trying to work the numb feeling out of my fingers as Tristan glances back at me, his face full of shadows.
“You were waiting for me …” I start as he looks up at the tin ceiling tiles above us.
“I was waiting for you to fight for me,” he says, turning back to look at me, his gaze slashed through with violent heat that seems to ripple in the air between us. “What's that old saying? Don't be so sweet that people will eat you up, and don't be so bitter they spit you out?” He pauses and exhales. “Sometimes I think you're too sweet. But then I wonder if it's my job to be your bitter.”
He turns like he's about to walk away, and I take off after him, grabbing onto his arm and holding him there.
“This is a habit of yours,” I whisper, putting my face against the crisp sleeve of his blazer. “Spouting some epic shit, and then taking off. You can't do this to me anymore.”
Tristan turns around, and we're suddenly standing so close that I can't breathe.
“I'm no good for you,” he says, but his voice holds so much less vitriol than it did before, like he can't keep up the facade any longer. “You really would be best off heading for college and leaving us all behind.”
“But?” I ask, lifting my face up to look into his beautiful eyes. They seem so much lighter now. Like, instead of a stormy sky, his irises are the color of a freshly polished silver teapot.
“I might be cruel, but I'm selfish, too. I want you too much to let you go.” Tristan puts his hands on my hips, and I feel my body start to quiver. The tension between us is making me sick. “It kills me to know they've all touched you, that they've all been inside of you …” His voice softens, but seems to get darker at the same time, like velvet shadows wrapping me up in a cocoon. “Every crush of yours but me …”
I swallow hard as Tristan guides me back to the bookshelf behind us, leaning in and pressing a kiss to the fluttering pulse in my throat. My eyes close and my fingers curl around the edges of his blazer. He runs his tongue down the side of my neck, leaving a hot fire in his wake.
“We could go back to your room?” I whisper, and I feel this crazy overwhelming surge of adrenaline, so powerful that I'm not sure I can stand for much longer.
“I won't make it back to my room,” he breathes, putting his mouth next to my ear. I look up, past the towering bookcases to the ancient chandelier flickering in the rafters. I know all about that chandelier, where it was made and when and out of what materials because, well, I'm a history buff and architecture freak, but … in that moment?
I couldn't give a fuck less.
Tristan's right hand slides down and then slips underneath the pleated black folds of my skirt. He runs his palm up my thigh, but unlike Creed, he's much less polite. His fingers tease the waistband of my panties before he drops them down and cups my core in his hand.
A sharp gasp escapes me, and Tristan chuckles, this warm, velvety sound that penetrates my darkest depths.
“Shush, or someone will hear us,” he whispers, leaning in and searing my lips with his. Our tongues tangle, and I find that I can't breathe without pulling his essence into me.
“Hear what?” I whisper back, still shaking. “What exactly are we doing here?”
“You know exactly what we're doing,” Tristan tells me, and then his hand slips into my panties and his fingers dance over my wetness, making my knees buckle. He just barely manages to catch me with an arm around the waist, licking and nipping at my lower lip as his fingers work my already aching body into a frenzy.
He clearly knows what he's doing. Jealousy flares hot inside of me as I throw my arms around his neck and kiss him back hard enough to make him cringe slightly.
“Oh no, did I nick you?” I ask, and Tristan draws back just enough to give me this awful, awful little cocksure smile.
“That's what I'm talking about, Marnye. Show me some teeth.” Tristan removes his hand from under my skirt, and I can't decide if I want to kill him or if I'm grateful for the reprieve. Pretty sure I was just about to … “Let's go.”
He takes me by the wrist, leaving our stuff all laid out across the table. On our way across the massive expanse of the library, we run into Creed, lazily dragging himself across the room with his hands tucked into his pockets, ice-colored eyes half-lidded and bored senseless.
When he sees us, he opens them wide and his jaw drops.
“Watch our stuff, Cabot. Keep the Harpy claws off of it.”
“Are you serious?!” Creed shouts as we move past him, and I can hear him cursing under his breath as he watches us slip into the beautiful old bathroom with the vintage hexagon and subway tiles.
Tristan heels the door shut behind him and locks it while I stand there wondering if maybe I've lost my mind.
“What are we doing in here, Tristan?” I ask as he grabs me and sets me on the edge of the counter, leaning in so he can run his tongue across my lower lip.
“Satisfying your curiosity,” he whispers, and I raise an eyebrow.
“My curiosity?” I ask as he slides one hand down the curve of my waist, over my hip, and under my skirt. His second hand joins the first, and I realize I'm about to lose my underwear.
He smirks at me and then drops his hands to the garters holding my socks up, popping the clips and making me groan as he rubs his thumbs against my inner thighs. Each touch is like fire; each touch burns.
“Stop torturing me.”
“Why should I? That's my MO, right? I'm the big, bad bully.” Tristan pulls my panties down and over my socks and shoes, tucking them into his blazer pocket. He slides his palms up my thighs and cups my ass, making me groan. “I'm going to torture you mercilessly, and I'm going to love every second of it. Just know that.”
He tugs me forward, so that I'm more or less wrapped around him, and then drops his hand between us, slicking his fingers against my aching body. Our eyes lock, and I can see his confidence, his need for control, just before he slips one in, and I gasp.
“Oh shit, Marnye,” he groans, licking his lips. “You feel even better than I thought.”
“You thought about it?” I whisper, and the way he smiles at me … I can see that he's thought about it quite a bit. Our mouths meet, and this time, the kiss is much more tender than it was before, less of a violent claiming and more of a careful wanting. A tentative need. An unsatisfied desire.
Tristan works me so expertly that I can barely move, my hands trembling as I try to undo the button on his slacks. He pushes my fumbling attempt aside and undoes his fly one-handed, like a total boss, guiding my fingers in to wrap around him.
We're just staring at each other now, and it should be embarrassing, but somehow … it's not. It's everything I wanted and then some.
There's a knock at the door, and we both ignore it.
“They can piss somewhere else,” he growls, kissing me again. The heat between us amps up, and I feel myself giving in finally, losing everything I am and everything I have to Tristan Vanderbilt.
I knew it. I knew it from the very first second that he would rearrange me as a human being. How, why, I'm not sure. There's just something between us, this indefinable spark that flares so bright it burns, scalds, and scars.
“I don't have a condom,” Tristan whispers, and something clicks in me. He isn't carrying condoms around because he's not sleeping with other girls. And he isn't carrying them around because he's not scheming or trying to get with me. For maybe the first time in his life, he's not planning anything at all.
“I …” I start, breathing hard, squeezing my hand around his shaft. “I've seen your results, and I started birth control this summer, so …” There's a long stretch of silence before I look back at him, and his mouth curves into the sharpest, most wicked of smiles.
“Excellent.”
Tristan encourages me to stroke and tease him, working up this wild tension between us into a frenzy. He removes his fingers from inside of me, and disrobes me with expert precision, baring my breasts and leaving my black jacket and blazer hanging off my shoulders, the black silk of the tie falling between them.
“Stand up and turn around,” he commands, and I gape at him. He cocks one, perfect dark brow. “Well, my naughty little schoolgirl, what are you waiting for?” Tristan pulls me off the counter and spins me around, pushing me over so that my palms are on the tiled surface and our faces are reflected back at me in the mirror. “I shouldn’t be doing this …” he whispers, almost to himself. “But I can’t stop myself. I need to be inside of you, Marnye.”
He grabs my hip with his right hand, positions himself with his left, and then looks up at the mirror to meet my gaze dead-on.
Tristan thrusts inside of me, deep and hard, making my back curl with pleasure, my fingertips dig into the counter. He rocks me back and forth, my breasts swaying gently with the motion. I can see the pleasure my body brings him written all over his face.
He feels so warm inside of me, I think, loving that he’s bare and naked inside my heated core. His fingers keep my skirt pushed up and out of the way, black pleats all bunched together. The tie swings with our motions as well, my blazer hanging loosely on my back, the red and black Burberry Prep crest just barely visible in the reflection.
Tristan fucks me into the counter, and then spills himself inside of me, this hot burst that runs down my legs after. I’m so not used to it that I just stand there after he pulls out, and
he chuckles.
“Marnye, you sweet-sweet thing.” He makes me sit on the toilet until most of the um, liquid is gone and wiped away, kneeling down in front of me and reaching up to palm the heavy weight of my bare breast. “I’m nowhere near done with you,” he whispers, pulling me down to the floor and climbing on top of me. His fingers find their way inside my heat, his thumb easing over my clit. He kisses and sucks at my neck, leaving hickeys that feel too good for me to worry about what they might look like later.
“I love you, Marnye Reed,” he whispers in my ear, just as my climax hits like a wave and shatters me to pieces, body, heart, and soul.
Tristan opens the bathroom door and steps out, letting it close behind him while he scouts around to make sure the coast is clear. Of course, it isn't even remotely clear.
Lizzie Walton is waiting.
As soon as I hear her voice, I pause, leaning my ear against the door.
“You've been in there for quite a while, Tristan,” she says, her voice thick with hurt and frustration.
“So what? Do you monitor how long I go to the bathroom for? Is there a time limit on the act?”
“Don't do that. Don't get angry with me because you don't know how else to act. We know each other too well to play those sorts of games.” Lizzie pauses. “Marnye, you can come out now.”
Crap. Crap, crap, crap.
I'm sweaty, and shaky, and honestly I'm ready to go back to my room and scream into a pillow. There are so many emotions running through me; I need time to process them all.
The last thing I want to do is face Lizzie Walton.
But she knows I'm here, so I step out into the quiet hush of the library, the soft murmur of voices, and the scratch of old pages being turned.
Lizzie is looking right at me with her amber eyes, her mouth in a flat line, her expression unreadable.
I don't know what to say to her. Is there anything I can say really? Anything that'll make it better that is?
“You two …” Lizzie starts, but Tristan steps partially in front of me and cuts her off.
In the Arms of the Elite Page 21