Ravished (The Teplo Trilogy #1)

by Ayden K. Morgen

  "Lord of the Rings?" she murmured, tilting her head to look back at him. A small smile hovered on her lips, whatever shame she'd felt earlier long gone from her gaze.

  He shrugged a shoulder. Truthfully, he'd picked the first thing that didn't scream sex, not even paying attention to what he'd pick. "We can watch something else."

  "No." She smiled wider. "I like this. The elf is a hottie."

  A smirk settled on his lips at her ridiculous, teasing response.

  What was it with the female population and that damn elf?

  Lillian settled, her eyes already back on the screen.

  His gaze, however, strayed to her far more often than they did to the movie. He found her shifting expressions captivating. She seemed wholly aware of him, but at the same time, completely absorbed in the movie. Her eyes never left the screen, but every time he prepared to shift, she was a step ahead, easing the ache in his groin without even realizing she did it.

  Did she feel that same dichotic pull? The one that turned her body into a bundle of sensation even while shutting out the trauma she'd endured? He had a feeling it'd be a combination of both that eventually led her to his bed… and he was dying to get her there, to make sense of the way he reacted to her.

  It had to be physical, right?

  Fuck, it had to be. Because when this was over, when the Vetrov family went to jail and he resumed his life, Lillian Maddox wouldn't be part of it. She couldn't. Women like her didn't belong in his world. It was dark, brutal, full of violence and cruelty. It was everything she wasn't, everything he wanted to protect her from.

  Lillian cried out suddenly, the sound full of pain.

  "Beautiful?" He sat up a little straighter, pulling her with him as her elbow dug into his side.

  "Sorry. Muscle spasm." She leaned forward to massage at her thigh. When the muscle cramped again, she whimpered in pain.

  Tristan wrapped his arms around her waist and tugged her backward onto his chest, hating that sound. "Here," he murmured when she glanced back at him, "let me." He tugged her hand away from her thigh and replaced it with his own.

  She opened her mouth and then groaned as his fingers dug lightly into the muscle jerking all around her scar. He couldn't be certain with so much scar tissue and the metal plate in the way, but the entire area felt wrong as the muscle twitched beneath his fingertips.

  "How bad was it, sweetheart?" he asked, massaging tight circles with the tips of his fingers.

  She hesitated a minute and then sighed, her body tense in his arms. "The bone splintered when it broke, and pieces of it sliced through the ligament and nerves. When the surgeon went in, he had to cut through the muscle and nerve to get to some of the bone fragments before he could piece everything back together. He did what he could, but the damage was extensive."

  "Will it ever heal entirely?"

  She sighed again, which was answer enough.

  "Christ, I'm sorry." His fingers stilled on her leg for a minute.

  "Me too," she whispered.

  And who the fuck could blame her?

  Tristan practiced jiu-jitsu or ran every day. He thrived on physical activity and exertion, and couldn't imagine being unable to do so for the rest of his life. Couldn't imagine that part of his life being forever out of reach. From everything he'd learned about Lillian, dancing hadn't just been part of her life though. It had been her entire life, something she'd sacrificed and worked for every day since she was a toddler. And she wouldn't ever do it again. Would likely never walk without a limp, either.

  "The worst part is not knowing why he did it," she said, regret and sorrow heavy in her voice. "I know he was angry with me, but I don't understand why he hated me so much. What did I ever do to him to deserve this?"

  Tristan resumed massaging her leg, at a loss for words.

  Fucking Marc Rivera.

  He really wanted to kill the bastard. He'd seen people do some screwed up shit in his life, both while high and in search of their next hit. He lived with the consequences of some of those decisions running through his mind in a macabre dance every night. It bothered him that she lived with the same demons, and the same questions. Worse, they didn't just haunt her.

  They were a physical scar on her body. An obstacle in her way. A constant reminder of the asshole who'd ruined her life and the people who'd blamed her for it. And that asshole had walked away virtually unscathed while she continued to suffer, tormenting herself with questions to which Tristan knew there weren't any answers.

  How the hell was that fair?

  "He was a fucking moron," Tristan said, though he doubted hearing it helped her any at all. He just didn't know what else to say.

  "Can I ask you a question?" she asked a few moments later.

  "Hmm?"

  "What really happened to your parents?"

  He froze at the hesitant, probing question, barely breathing. And then he sighed. He should have known she'd put two and two together. She was too damned smart for her own good.

  "They got caught in the middle of a feud between a dealer and someone who owed him money when I was thirteen. My dad died on the scene. My mom made it to the hospital before-"

  "Were you- Were you with them?"

  "I was down the street, waiting for them to pick me up from school. I heard the shots and then sirens and I just. . . I just knew, you know?" He swallowed hard against the ache in his chest. "It was brutal."

  "I'm so sorry, Tristan," she whispered.

  "Me too." He cleared his throat, pushing away the memories of stumbling onto the scene, of seeing his dad slumped over the steering wheel and the paramedic wrestling his mom out of the truck. Of the way she'd screamed his name over and over, as if she'd known he was there. Of the blood and glass all over the road, and sitting in that damn hospital waiting room by himself while they tried to save her life.

  "I can't imagine."

  "It was a long time ago."

  "Did they ever catch the person responsible?"

  "No," he said softly.

  "That's why this is personal to you, isn't it?" she asked.

  He thought about denying it, but couldn't. "Yeah."

  "I'm sorry," she said again.

  Neither said anything for a moment and then Lillian relaxed, her muscle no longer fluttering like a little bird trapped beneath her scarred skin. She trained her eyes on the television, making it clear she wasn't going to push for more.

  Tristan resumed working his fingers up and down her thigh, and soon got lost in the feel of her skin beneath his fingertips. She didn't object to his ministrations, so why stop a good thing? Especially when shit neither of them wanted to think about right then hung heavy in the air.

  He'd much rather have his hands on her body than talk about his fucked up past anyway.

  "That feels good," she hummed as if in total sync with his thoughts.

  "Yeah?" he asked, his breath hitching at the soft way she said it.

  "Mmhmm." She relaxed even further, her eyes moving from the screen to his hand upon her thigh. His rough fingers were a stark contrast to her pale skin.

  When she groaned this time, he knew it had nothing to do with pain.

  Despite his best intentions to behave, his body reacted accordingly. The hard-on he'd been sporting all evening jerked in his pants, pressing into her lower back as if to remind her that it was there, waiting for her to do something about it.

  She froze, even seemed to stop breathing for a full ten count, and then she shifted against his cock. The move was tentative, exploratory, and absolutely intentional.

  "Lillian." He wasn't sure if he meant to warn her not to do that or plead with her to continue.

  She did it again.

  And Jesus Christ, he wanted to flip her over beneath him and find friction.

  He dug his fingers a little more firmly into her thigh and then loosened them when she let loose one of those whimpering sighs that made his blood boil. He swept his hand up her thigh and onto her hip. She jumped as if not ex
pecting that move, but didn't stop him. Instead, she turned toward him, scooting around until she could look at him without tilting her neck at such an odd angle.

  "I'm not going to beg you," she whispered.

  That denial… he hated that denial and didn't hate it enough at the same time.

  "No?" He arched a brow and hooked one finger into the waistband of her little shorts, that possessive part of himself rousing in a dark cloud, responding to her soft challenge without hesitation.

  Her breath hitched. Her eyes widened.

  "You sure about that, beautiful?" He moved his finger back and forth between her skin and the band of her panties, fighting the urge to move that bit of fabric aside and plunge his fingers into the heat below.

  "Y-yes," she groaned, pressing backward onto his cock as she'd done in the hall in front of Zoë. "I won't beg you to sleep with me, Tristan."

  That's all it took. One more denial. One more shift. One more groan. He stopped thinking, stopped trying to sort out what she did to him, and just went with it, because one way or another… she'd let him in tonight. His fingers. His tongue. His cock. He didn't care how much she agreed to, just so long as she gave him those throaty little moans of hers.

  "Tell me you want this, Lillian," he breathed, lifting his hips and grinding his cock into her ass.

  Her head fell to the side, settling onto his shoulder. "No."

  "Tell me," he demanded through gritted teeth.

  "No."

  He bent his head, his lips attaching themselves to the pale expanse of her neck. He nipped, raking his teeth across the tendon there. His tongue swirled over her soft skin. He held onto her hip, one finger beneath the fabric of her shorts… the others begging to join it and continue south to heaven.

  "Do you want me, Lillian?" he whispered into her neck.

  "No," she lied without conviction. "Tristan. God…."

  He groaned as his name rolled from her lips.

  She wanted him, even if she wouldn't admit it. Desire roiled from her in a thick cloud.

  Another finger, and then another and another joined the first beneath her shorts, his palm flat against her stomach while he toyed with the top of her panties. And those panties – sweet Jesus, those panties. They were lace or lacy, or something that promised to be see through and sexy as hell. And all he had to do was slide those little shorts down her legs to find out just how see through they really were.

  "Say it, baby," he groaned, knowing she wouldn't do it and already weighing, considering, discarding and plotting other ways to give them both what they wanted while accepting that he'd be left somewhat unsatisfied either way.

  "No." She shook her head, wriggling.

  He attacked her neck with his lips, too caught up in her and the feel of her to care right then if she begged or not. So long as she came for him, satisfied part of him, the rest could wait.

  "Let me make you feel good, beautiful," he whispered, nipping at her skin with his teeth again. Dipping his hand beneath her shorts, he brushed his fingertips along those lacy panties, and then cupped her center. The most glorious wet heat seared his palm.

  "Lillian, fuck," he groaned when she cried out and arched into his touch.

  Even had he wanted to, he wouldn't have been able to stop himself from grinding his palm against her pussy. He wouldn't have been able to stop him from delving his other hand beneath her shirt to find one taut nipple, either. The way she responded to him tore him apart, desperation to make her come driving him onward. He focused completely on her, ignoring everything else.

  She didn't object, instead crying out, pushing her hips into his hand… searching for relief.

  A vast craving to touch her – to make her shatter and hear her scream – stretched on and on until he felt half crazed for her. For her honey on his fingers and the scent of her arousal in the air around him. For whatever little piece of herself she was willing to share with him tonight. A brief taste of what they missed with every denial that fell from her perfect little lips was better than no taste at all.

  She wouldn't beg him and he couldn't or wouldn't take her to bed until she did, but they could have this much at least.

  His fingers slipped easily between her drenched folds, sliding through honey and pulling a frantic, keening cry from her parted lips. "Feel that, beautiful?" he asked as he teased at her heat, drawing whimper after whimper from her. "Feel how good we are together? Fuck, baby, you're soaked for me already."

  He tugged at her bra with his other hand, drawing the fabric down over her breast until it popped free to his touch. He groaned as he rolled her hardened nipple between his fingers, remembering the way he'd rolled that same nipple across his tongue. Dying to do it again and again.

  The movie played on, forgotten, as he coaxed pleasure from her body like a master, teasing her until she panted and writhed on his lap, providing friction that made his head roll on his neck and his cock scream its appreciation of the way she worked her hips for his benefit.

  His mouth worked at her neck, her earlobe, and the pulse in her throat until he felt completely covered in her. Her body undulating against his, her scent and taste all over him, his fingers coated in her. It wasn't nearly enough.

  He wanted more from her.

  Yes and Oh God and Please, Tristan.

  He had to hear those words falling from her lips.

  "Part your legs for me, baby…. Yeah, just like that," he crooned when she responded immediately to his command. Her good leg draped across his thigh without question, her entire body seeking more of the pleasure raging through her every single time he moved his thumb across her clit.

  His blood thrummed through his veins so hard it was a rush in his ears, white noise to her chorus of wordless moans and breathy whimpers. He wanted to strip her clothing from her body and work her over with his mouth. Just his mouth… and every single inch of that silky smooth skin.

  "I can't wait to bury my head between your thighs again, Lillian. After the lounge, I could taste you for hours. Do you know how many times I made myself come, jerking off while thinking about you coming on my tongue? Remembering? Imagining you doing it again?" He plunged his fingers deeper, twisting… searching for that spot he'd memorized as much in his own dreams as in reality. That spot made her arch her back, cry out, and grind against him.

  "Do you?" he asked, growling softly when he hit that spot and she cried out his name.

  "N-no," she stuttered, her body shuddering in his arms.

  "Every day, Lillian," he said, working her over for every little reaction. Every shift, every shudder, and every new flow of moisture across his fingers. If she was going to make him wait to be inside of her, she would pay for it in liquid honey and throaty cries. "I've thought about doing it again every single day since."

  "Oh!"

  "You make me crazy, beautiful. One taste… I can't fucking wait until you let me take it again. And I will, Lillian. When you finally say yes, you won't leave the bed for hours, baby. I'm going to take every drop you give me until you beg me to stop." He circled her clit with his thumb. "You want that, don't you?"

  Her head bobbed against his shoulder, his name rolling from her lips in a chant.

  His balls tightened. He was so close to coming. The feel of her writhing for him, against him… Goddamn, he was on fire, his body an electric current as he watched her come undone for him. Cheeks flushed. Lips parted. Hair a mess. Chest rising and falling. Back arched.

  "Fuck, Tristan!"

  That one naughty word undid him completely.

  He buried his face in her neck, ravishing her with little bites and long sucks at the sensitive skin there before rolling her nipple across his palm. The fingers of his other hand pumped and pressed inside of her, bringing her right to the edge.

  "You're fucking beautiful when you come, Lillian. The thought of having you spread out beneath me, of being inside of you while you scream and fall apart… I can't fucking wait to feel that on my cock, baby."

  She wr
ithed around him as he murmured those wicked desires. Her entire body contorted under the imagery before she gave him exactly what he wanted: his name on her lips when she shattered.

  Her walls clenched so tightly around his fingers that he followed her over that edge, climax ripping through him hard and fast. Her name fell from his lips… and when he raked his teeth roughly across her throat, marking her, she shattered once more.

  When she finally fell limp in his arms, soft whimpers still escaped her lips.

  His heart pounded, his entire body sated. Wherever this thing between them headed… the way there promised to be un-fucking-believable. Especially if she kept letting him do that to her.

  She curled into him, her eyes heavy and a soft, languid smile on her lips. It was that same look of wonder he'd missed since tasting her in that lounge… the same one he wanted to see for days on end. The one that wrecked him, embedding her so deeply under his skin, he was fairly certain he'd never get her out again.

  He shifted her in his arms and rested his chin atop her head.

  She sighed softly.

  They stayed that way for a long time, both lulled to the edge of exhaustion, both satisfied.

  Chapter Fourteen

  "Beautiful?" Tristan murmured when his cell vibrated in his pocket, pulling him from sleep.

  The movie had gone off at some point while they'd dozed, the DVD player cycling back to the menu screen and then shutting itself down. Strains of music drifted through the house, slipping through cracks in strange pulses and hums.

  Another night at Teplo had officially begun. Tristan couldn't bring himself to care. Lillian was curled into his chest, sleeping peacefully. He liked the way she'd molded her body to his as if she was made to fit there.

  His cell vibrated again.

  She didn't stir as he shifted around, fishing for the phone.

  Jason's name flashed across the display. Tristan frowned, not sure he wanted to answer it. He was half asleep, content, and anything Jason said would surely ruin that in about five seconds flat.