by Lila Price
As if to punish me, he rams a second finger into me, and I wince in pleasure. I’m not used to two fingers, much less one, but the way Tristan is swirling inside me, opening me up, makes me long for more, makes me crave his cock there instead.
“A couple,” Tristan says, “is too many.”
I claw at the wall above me, looking him in the eyes. I can hardly believe that it’s Tristan looking back up at me, famished for me—me, Sosie Cooper, who shouldn’t be his type in so many ways.
“You can’t tell me how many is too many,” I pant.
He gives me the arrogant grin that’s graced so many of my dreams. “Can’t I? I’m the guy who’s currently finger fucking you, and I’m gonna do it until you come all over.”
At his blunt talk, the tempo of my approaching orgasm spikes, losing its beat. I’ve never had anyone speak to me this way.
“You know how I’m going to make you come?” he asks.
I shake my head, realizing how wide my eyes must be, how flushed my face and body are.
He takes his fingers out of me, and as he lets me slip down the wall, my legs loosen from around him. But he keeps a hold of me, and I stand against that wall, waiting, needing.
With his grin still in place, he pulls the top of my dress down all the way, and I help him, shrugging out of my sleeves as he pushes the material around my waist. Is this going to go all the way? I think. Is he going to be my first? Tristan, my fantasy, my dream?
Taking his time, he grips my waist, his thumbs easing up and down my belly. The muscles there flicker, and I close my eyes.
“Open up, Cherry,” he says. “Look at me.”
I do as he says, finding all traces of amusement gone from him. The intensity I’d seen in the club is back, and I fist my hands at my sides. When he slides his fingertips upward, I plaster my palms back against the wall. He’s exploring me, cupping my breasts, lifting them, drinking me in with his gaze as if he has had fantasies about me, and they’re coming true with every stroke.
He goes higher, coasting his palms under my arms, making me jump at the sensual tickle as he brings my hands over my head. He arranges them there, leaving me to rest my arms above me as he sweeps his fingers back down, over my breasts again, my belly, hips, and thighs.
His naughty grin returns as he reaches under my skirt to hitch his thumbs into the sides of my panties.
“Tristan,” I say.
“Quiet, Cherry. Just relax and enjoy.”
My body tightens as he drags my panties down my legs, helping me to step out of them. I know what’s coming, even as he gets to his knees, pushes my skirt all the way up, and lifts one of my legs so that it hooks over his shoulder.
My arms grip one another over my head. I know I look panicked.
“Tell me nobody’s ever done this to you before,” he says.
“No.” My whisper is a rush of breath.
“I’m the first then.” His gaze is greedy, entranced as he looks at my most secret parts. “No one’s seen this pretty pussy.”
If it’s possible, I get even wetter at his dirty talk, his tawdry compliments.
He reaches up to separate my folds. His gaze is a world away now, fevered.
“So perfect,” he says, running his thumb through me, back and forth until he gets to my clit.
As he presses me, I stand on my tiptoes, groaning, and my orgasm starts up again, pushing, pattering. He circles my most sensitive spot, and my hips imitate the motion.
“Godammit, Sosie,” he says, then urges my bent leg farther back on his shoulder as he leans forward, burying his face in me.
My hands grasp his head, and I pull at his hair as he kisses me, using his lips, his tongue, devouring me. He nips, he sucks, he does everything he can to weaken me. And when he slides his tongue into me, there’s a zapping in my clit so strong that I let myself cry out.
The sight of his head between my thighs, the feel of his mouth on me… It’s all too much, and I’m coming, coming, expanding until I feel like a time bomb and—
My mind and body blow into a million pieces that burst into the air then drift down, settling over me with a sizzling need that’s only resurrected as Tristan takes his thumb and slides it into my hole while tonguing my clit.
Bang!
Boneless and breathless, I slide down the wall into a pool of hot liquid. I’m done. But I feel as if I’ve only gotten started.
Tristan rests his head on my belly, breathing against my skin, and we stay like that for a moment, until he gets up, trailing his fingers along me in a reassuring stroke. He leaves the room but goes only as far as the bathroom, where he shuts the door. I have the feeling he’s in there for good reason, finding as much of a release as I just did.
Lesson learned, I think, and I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one who’s just been schooled.
6
It’s been hours since…Well, since I did something I never thought I’d be doing with Tristan, and I’m in his bed with him while he sleeps on his side, facing me.
Maybe I thought he’d kick me out in a fit of remorse. But I’ve already come to realize that I barely know Tristan, have never really known him at all, and tonight has just been another puzzle piece that I’ve found and worked into the bigger picture of who he is.
A bad boy? A still-waters-run-deep enigma?
After he’d returned to the room, he’d silently carried me to the bed, where he’d tucked me in and held me. I’d been waiting for more, hoping it’d come, wondering if there was a reason he didn’t want me to touch him the way he’d touched me.
But he’d fallen asleep, and I’d watched him just like I’m watching him now. His arm is draped over my waist as if he’s afraid I’ll escape. But he doesn’t need to worry about that, because I’m his. I always have been, even while he would ignore me when we were younger, making me feel like a quiet, devoted member of his secret fan club.
Carefully, so as not to wake him, I ease my fingertips over his chin. I love how it’s squared, strong. I trace his jawline, then his cheek, which is sandpaper rough. My own cheeks are chafed from his kisses, and so are the skin of my thighs and the curves of my breasts.
Yes, I’m his. Truly. For real now.
I don’t think about what will happen after the summer, how we’ll tell my mom and his dad. We could say that we didn’t really grow up together, anyway. We never planned for this. That we were always meant to happen.
I smile. I don’t care what they tell us, because this is right. I’ve never felt so wonderful, so safe in anyone’s arms, so complete as I do with him. What’s happening between us could be very real…
Those are my last thoughts before everything goes fuzzy and warm. When I awaken, the sun is shining through the window. I blink then feel the weight of arms around me, cradling me from the back. Muscled arms, and as I run my palm along one of them and kiss his biceps, I see Tristan’s broken-winged yin and yang tattoo.
His lips press against the top of my head, his breath warming me, the length of his hard body molded to the back of mine. He’s still wearing his jeans, although somewhere along the line, he’d taken off his shirt. I’m halfway wearing my dress, the top around my waist where he’d left it last night. My skirt and his jeans are the only things offering a barrier between us; it’s as if he’d wanted me to keep most of my clothes on as a reminder to not go any further. It almost feels as if the material is a line that’s been drawn.
His hand comes down to my breast, and he runs a thumb over it. Once again, I’m lost in him, my body pounding with hot blood that rushes to my pussy, and, dear God, it’s so much easier to think that big-girl word now. Pussy. Clit. Fuck me, Tristan, please fuck me.
I’m so ready for what we never got to last night.
When his phone rings with a hard-rock tone, he tenses. Without a word, I already know that things have changed in some inexplicable way, with one sudden sound.
He gets out of the bed, and I don’t stop him. I don’t like this abrupt change in the air, and I pull the
sheet up around me as he answers.
“Yeah?” Pause. “Hold on a minute.”
I can’t see him, because he’s behind me, and when he leaves the room, reality sets in.
I’m in Tristan’s bed, half-naked. And last night we…
Holy crap. Once he gets back in the room, what will happen? Will he revert back to the old Tristan and taunt me, telling me he was only trying to teach me a lesson and I shouldn’t expect a repeat performance?
I hear him taking the stairs. A thud signals that he’s shut a door and gone outside to talk in private. Whoever is on the other end of the line is a secret for Tristan; otherwise, why wouldn’t he just take the call in here?
Is it another girl? One who isn’t half as much trouble as I am?
I get up then start making the bed. It’s a habit, but it’s as if things might be easier between Tristan and me if I can temporarily erase this reminder. And I’m not only setting things back to the way they were for him: seeing the nice, neat bed also pushes away a little bit of the guilt that’s starting to niggle at me, and I flee from Tristan’s room to mine, closing the door.
After taking off my rumpled dress and throwing on a t-shirt and pajama shorts, I hear him coming back up the stairs. It’s quiet as he goes into his room, and I’m sure the first thing he sees is his empty bed. Is he relieved I’m gone?
As I hear him getting ready for the day, I try not to mind that he hasn’t knocked on my door to talk about this or even to say good morning. But maybe that’s for the best. Maybe we both need time to get our heads together before we see one another again.
Yet when he leaves the house, his car tearing out of the driveway, I can’t help thinking that he’s done with me, and I’m a fool.
Exactly the young, naïve, sheltered fool he’d told me I was last night.
I return the texts from Julia and Cleo, the ones wondering if everything is okay with Tristan. Yes, I tell them, he calmed down when we got home. Everything is back to normal.
It’s a load of crap, and I work off some of my energy by taking a strenuous swim. Then I shower and get ready. I’d been planning to hit the ground running and find a summer job today, and I’m sticking to my plan.
But concentrating on searching for leads and filling out online applications is next to impossible with thoughts of Tristan streaming through my mind like a short, sexy movie that’s playing on a loop: his mouth on mine, his hands on my breasts, his fingers inside of me, his lips on me in the most intoxicating way imaginable…
I exhale as I brush him out of my head, but he keeps coming back. That’s irritating enough, but then I remember how he just up and left me this morning without a word, and the old embarrassment kicks in.
As I look at a site for a coffee shop—selling java as a barista seems like a decent enough place for a business-minded student who needs some quick vacation cash—I can imagine how Tristan would approve of this gig. A perfect job for a nice girl, a tidy apron covering her body so no other men can see much of it. There’d be no more jealous explosions from him this summer.
But hadn’t I been a truly bad girl for him last night? Or had he left in such a quiet rush this morning because he’d decided that I’m not experienced enough and hot enough after all?
Has he already cut me loose?
The embarrassment boils, making me flush. And embarrassment goes right back to being anger.
Both of them lead to the last place Tristan would want me to work.
I do some more online research, make a phone call, and put on a lot of makeup along with a halter top and short skirt with wedge heels. Then I walk into Shady’s.
Twelve hours ago, the club was dark and humid with the press of bodies, but now the lights are up, showing how cheesy the skyscraper platforms are, taking away the midnight glamour from the upstairs curtains and sofas.
“Sosie!” says Brent, my high school acquaintance and free-drink supplier. He’s behind the bar, gesturing for me to come over. He’s older by a couple of years, and there’d been rumors that he wanted to ask me to prom when he was a senior, but he never had.
I suspected that this was because his buddies had told him I was just a kid and he should stick with someone older who’d put out the goods on that magical night, but he’d had a way of watching me from across the school’s quad lawn, anyway. A way that reminded me of how Tristan watched, but nicer. More polite.
More acceptable.
Right now, Brent leans on the bar, a rag in his hand. His dark hair sticks up in front with careful precision, and his eyes are blue and friendly. “So you want to be a bartender, huh?”
He’d been the one I’d talked to on the phone, and I was hoping I’d have an in with him. Wouldn’t Tristan love to see me working the bar, flirting for tips? Hah! But the thing is that I have no real experience—except for the embellishments I gave Brent over the phone about my “bartending skills,” which in truth means that I’ve made drinks for friends at parties.
“Shady’s is at the top of my job list,” I say. Not that it’s a long, prestigious list, but flattery never hurts.
“Well, I heard through the grapevine that last night was quite the Shady’s premiere for you. But first timers always get a little wild and come back for more. They just don’t apply for jobs.”
Of course Brent would’ve heard about Tristan’s flare up, and as I look at my possible fingers-crossed future employer now, his knowing expression tells me that he saw me dancing. There’s even a flash of male appreciation there.
“Sorry for any drama,” I say, shrugging one shoulder. “Some guy thought I was on the menu, and my stepbrother got defensive.” And then some.
Brent clears his throat. “I would’ve torn that dick apart, too, if I’d seen him bother you.”
Patches of deep pink appear on his cheeks. Is he blushing? My stomach sinks as I realize he still has a thing for me. I don’t want to take advantage of Brent by using him to get a job, but the more I think about last night, the more I want this. And I don’t have to manipulate Brent to be hired—I only need to legitimately impress him with all the selling techniques and marketing work I’ve done at school. After all, what is a bartender but a sex-on-wheels salesperson?
I’m raring to go. “So should I fill out an application?”
“We’ll get to the paperwork.”
“Then is this my interview?”
“You’re already halfway through it.” He gets busy behind the bar, polishing a glass as if he wants to deflect from his blush. “I can vouch for you personally since we go way back, so I think we can skip on checking references.”
Do I feel a teeny bit terrible about exaggerating my bartending “expertise”? Yeah, but not bad enough to blow this.
Brent smiles. “What I’d really like to know is how well you can make drinks.”
Great. Let me show how fantastic I am with Midori sours or even a martini. Besides, I did some homework online while I was formulating my plan to work here. I’ve got this.
He puts down the glass he was polishing and slides it toward me. “We’ll start off with a Liquid Snickers for customers who have a sweet tooth. You tell me what you need and then get to pouring.”
Crap. I’ve imbibed Liquid Snickers for sure—I’m a girl and like my drinks to taste good—so all I’ve got to do is remember how it tasted. Too bad I didn’t quite get to the artery-clogging portion of my cocktail research today.
“Cream,” I say with confidence.
“Good start.”
“And Irish cream?”
He nods.
Dammit. “Er…a crushed-up Snickers bar?”
He leans on the bar again, and it’s clear he knows I’m taking shots in the dark.
I hold up my hands in surrender, and my thin golden bracelets clang. “You threw me a curveball, didn’t you?”
“A slight one.”
“But I do know how to make your basic rum and coke, screwdriver, and cosmopolitan—you can’t tell me the clientele isn’t all over
those.”
When he sighs, I suspect that it’s over – there’s no way I’m getting this job.
“Brent, I can learn very quickly. I’ll devote my every waking hour to learning about every drink imaginable. I’ll even make up drinks that’ll sell through the roof.”
“Well, you are personable, and I can’t think of a bartender we currently employee who has the kind of charm Shady’s needs.” He gives a glance to my skirt, which shows the length of my legs. I think he’s saying that Shady’s could use some more female charm behind the bar. “But customers also like a fast drink, and the faster and more knowledgeable our bartenders are, the more money we make.”
“I won’t let you down.”
I cross my fingers as Brent turns everything over in his mind. When he nods, I give a little jump for joy and reach out to shake his hand.
“You won’t regret this. In fact, would you mind if I hung out and started training? I’ll work for free today.”
“You don’t have to go that far, but I wouldn’t mind you hanging out, Sosie.”
If there’s a double meaning in his words, I don’t show him that I’ve caught on. Instead, I shake his hand. When I start to pull away, he keeps a hold of me for a moment longer than he should, but I’m not thinking about that as much as I am Tristan.
Just wait until Tristan finds out that I’ll be at Shady’s all summer, mingling with men and wearing the skimpy uniform I’ve seen on the female bartenders.
Maybe then he’ll realize that he let me slip right through his damned fingers.
7
Hours later, after I’ve put in some cocktail study time, I return home to find Tristan’s black Chevy in the driveway. I’m torn between excitement and dread as I walk inside. I can hear the TV droning from the family room.
He’s watching SportsCenter, a beer bottle in his hand as he lounges in a dark T-shirt and jeans. When I enter, he leans forward to brace his forearms on his knees, all tensed up.
I don’t let that bother me, though. Nope, I’m too on fire with hurt and petty revenge to let him rule me again.