She should get up and let him sleep. Between the near-constant art development, the programming rush, the server issues, and all the sex they’d been having, the poor guy had to be exhausted. But she couldn’t bring herself to move away from him. She’d missed this kind of physical comfort just as much as she’d missed having sex. She’d just stay for a few more minutes. Besides, when she eventually got up, she’d have to get in her car and drive home, and she wasn’t sure her arse was ready for that, yet.
Of course, her backside was a convenient excuse. She didn’t want to leave the shelter of his arms. Just a few more minutes and she’d get up and let him rest. Just a few more minutes and she’d walk away from the most comfort and peace she’d felt in years. She was still telling herself just a few more minutes when he stirred over an hour later.
He blinked sleepily and rubbed at his eyes then squinted at his watch. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”
“No worries. You’ve got to be knackered.” She reached up and brushed his hair from his eyes. “But I know you’ve got stuff to do, so I’ll go.”
His hand slid from her head to the side of her face, and he swept his thumb across her lips. “Or you could stay.”
God, she wanted to. She wanted that more than anything, but she shouldn’t. She really, really shouldn’t. Staying felt like blurring the lines between their arrangement and what she was starting to want. Rory made a relationship seem like a good idea, but he’d given her no indication that he wanted anything other than what they had. He hadn’t had trouble telling her that he wanted to tie her up or spank her or anything else. And, if he wanted more than what they had, surely he’d say.
Her thoughts chased themselves round and round her head, and eventually, they vanished completely, leaving her nothing more than a seething mass of need. All because he was staring at her, watching her with those eyes that seemed to see entirely too much.
He searched her face, looking as if he was about to speak, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear anything—good or bad. Better to just continue as they were. No expectations meant no one would get hurt. Before he had a chance to say anything, she lifted her face to his and kissed him. His breath sighed into her mouth, and she slid her fingers around the nape of his neck, tugging him closer.
Rory shifted, sitting up and pulling her more fully on top of him. Her legs straddled his hips, and she winced when her skin came into contact with his jeans. His expression changed from considering to concerned, and he slid his hands along the outside of her thighs until his fingertips cupped her cheeks. “How much pain are you in?”
She frowned slightly. “I told you, I’m fine. Really.” She shrugged. “I kind of like it. It’s a nice reminder of today.”
She thought of the other reminder of the day. The pictures she’d all but begged him to take. She still wasn’t sure what had possessed her to suggest it—other than that look on his face. The one that had been full of raw need as he’d stared at her. He’d been so amazing fulfilling her fantasies, she supposed, that at the time, she’d wanted to give him something in return.
He continued to study her. Nearly squirming under his scrutiny, she leaned forward and kissed him again, sinking her teeth into his lower lip. Sighing, he dug his fingers into her arse, and she groaned, jerking her hips forward.
“Just another reminder,” he whispered against her mouth.
Her breath caught in her throat, and she pressed kisses along his jaw and down his neck. His fingers convulsed, pushing into her aching flesh again, but this time, it didn’t feel intentional. She smiled against his skin, loving the effect she had on him. He captured her mouth, delving inside, and her stomach picked that time to growl loudly.
Rory laughed silently, his body shaking beneath hers, as heat filled her cheeks.
“Well, there’s a mood killer,” she muttered.
He looked at his watch. “Not a mood killer.” He trailed his fingertip down the inside of her thigh. “But it is almost seven.”
Was this the part where he asked her to leave? Maybe it would be better if he did. Then, she wouldn’t be sitting here hoping for whatever scraps of affection he wanted to dole out.
“Do you have plans tonight?”
She shook her head, hoping she didn’t look overly eager. “Not really. Not unless you count binge watching Parks and Rec.”
“It’s nice out. How about if I quick grab us some food, and you take the blanket down to the beach? I’ll meet you back there in a few, and we’ll eat outside tonight.”
Tris stared at him for a moment. Did he somehow suspect she might want more from their arrangement? Was he throwing her a bone, or did he want more than they had, too? Her stomach growled again, interrupting her neurotic thought process. Or maybe this was just Rory being a good guy and making sure she was getting a decent meal. That was the most likely explanation. And what else did she have to do tonight, anyway? Maybe she could at least figure out where they stood.
“Yeah. That sounds great.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Rory balanced the six-pack of hard cider and the ridiculous bouquet of flowers he’d impulsively grabbed at the grocery store on top of the pizza box and pulled his phone from his pocket. Swiping the camera icon, he zoomed in on Tristan walking along the shore and took a few shots. The beach was deserted but for the two of them, and she’d taken off her shoes and socks and was walking in the waves. She was perfectly backlit by the sinking sun, so all he could really make out was her silhouette and her hair lifting slightly in the evening breeze. He’d rather have his actual camera, but the phone would have to do.
She stared out toward the endless line of the horizon, and he couldn’t help wonder what she was thinking. Was she having any of the same thoughts he was? When he’d woken with her in his arms, he couldn’t deny the overwhelming feeling of rightness. It was more than the sex. It was just Tristan. It was being with her. Hearing her laugh. Seeing the heat in her eyes. Feeling her melt against him. Experiencing her trust. All of it made him think that she was worth taking a risk. That they were worth taking a risk.
Slipping his phone back into his pocket, he glanced at the flowers again. Was bringing flowers to a woman too cliché and cheesy? Would she think it was stupid? Was she even interested in more than what they had now? She’d been pretty adamant about not wanting a relationship, but, sometimes, the way she looked at him made him think there was a chance. Before he could decide whether or not to ditch the bouquet, she glanced up toward where he stood on the sand dune and waved. Too late now.
He kicked off his shoes at the top of the hill and walked through the gently swaying dune grass and the still warm sand to where she’d spread out the blanket a few feet from the water. She met him halfway, and he sheepishly handed her the flowers and the Mackenzie’s cider.
“My favorite booze and flowers?” She stared at him for a second, and he had absolutely no clue what she was thinking. Finally, she laughed and nudged him with her shoulder. “This might be a little overkill. I think it’s already pretty clear I’m a sure thing.”
“What?”
She gestured toward the six-pack and flowers. “You don’t need to charm me to get into my knickers.”
And there it was. Her more than ample hint that she wasn’t looking for more than what they had. He really was shit at relationships. Couldn’t read signs worth a damn. He shrugged and sat on the blanket, his appetite all but lost. “Impulse buy in the checkout lane.”
Smiling, she lifted them to her nose and smelled them. “Thank you. I appreciate a good impulse buy as much as the next girl.”
He rubbed his hand across the back of his neck and stared out at the water, kicking himself for misreading her signals. Though, at this point, he wasn’t sure if it was misreading as much as it was wishful thinking. Either way, it was clear she didn’t feel the same way he did. She was there for the sex. And that was fine. Whatever. He was flexible. He could adapt. It wasn’t as if a relationship between them woul
d have ever worked out, anyway. He just needed to remember that.
“I hope you appreciate the green olives, too. They screwed up and put them on the whole pizza instead of just your half.”
Tristan opened the box and pulled out a slice, picked off all of the olives and popped them into her mouth before handing the pizza to him. “See? We can make this work.”
The words stung a little—but only because he wanted them to mean something else. He tried to force his face into a reasonable facsimile of a smile, but he wasn’t sure he accomplished it. Turning toward the water, he compelled himself to take a bite he wasn’t sure he could choke down.
Tristan popped the tops off two of the bottles of cider and passed him one. They ate in silence, both watching the setting sun glinting off the waves rolling toward them.
She sighed. “It’s so beautiful here.”
He glanced at her. “It is.”
She met his gaze and rolled her eyes. “I was talking about the beach.”
“Me, too.” He took a drink. Keep it physical, Brecken. Keep it light. “I do love the location. Most of the shoreline is protected land. The only reason we were even zoned to build here is because there’d already been an existing business that we were able to tear down and restructure.”
It felt a little surreal to sit here and talk about something as mundane as the location of the office, but after the awkwardness of the flowers, he should just be glad she wasn’t still laughing at him and hadn’t decided to take off.
She sighed. “I can’t imagine working anywhere else. Sometimes, when I get a little homesick, I come out here and listen to the waves.” She glanced at him and took a sip of her cider.
“Does it help?”
She nodded. “It’s not quite the same as being on the ocean, but it’s still pretty great.” She drained the last of her bottle and set it down. “All things considered, I’d still rather be here than there. It would take a lot for me to want to go home for good.”
A twinge of panic flared in his gut at the thought of her leaving, but he pushed it away. This wasn’t a relationship. This was just sex. No matter how much he might want it to be more, it never would be.
As if to illustrate his thoughts, she took the bottle from his hand and set it in the sand next to the blanket. As he looked up to meet her gaze, she straddled him, settling on his lap. “So…I was thinking we could maybe pick up where we left off. You know, before my stomach so rudely interrupted us.”
His hands immediately went to her thighs and slid upward to grip her ass. Her bare ass. He was guessing her panties were still lying on the floor in his office. Her teeth sank into her lower lip, and she inhaled deeply. She was clearly still feeling the effects of the spanking.
“Out here?” His brow lifted in challenge. “Where anyone could walk by? Where one of our colleagues could remember that they needed something from the office, come back to work and possibly look out a window?”
She released her lip, and he leaned forward and caught it between his own teeth before letting it go and kissing her deeply. When he finally pulled back, she opened heavy-lidded eyes and met his. “It’ll be dark soon. Besides, I’m not sure that I care if someone sees us.”
Hands still on her ass, he jerked her closer to his already hard cock then slid her sweater down and off her arms, leaving her in just the snug-fitting t-shirt and skirt. Holding his gaze, she caught the bottom of the hem of the top and tugged it off, over her head, dropping it on the blanket. His breath caught at the plain, white cotton bra cupping her breasts. Not even the barest hint of lace to mar the picture of innocence.
Tearing his gaze away from her chest, his attention climbed upward. Despite the fact that she had to know how she affected him, there was still a hint of uncertainty in her eyes before she closed them as if she suddenly couldn’t maintain their connection. He trailed his fingertips up her arms and over her shoulders before letting them drift downward over the slopes of her breasts.
“Tristan.” His voice came out harsher than he’d intended, but he didn’t miss her shiver and harsh intake of breath as she swayed toward him. “Open your eyes.”
Her lids lifted slowly as if she were afraid to make eye contact, and she froze as soon as their gazes met. His hands slid to her back, and he pulled her toward him, crushing her mouth beneath his, devouring her. As if his kiss had woken something in her, she responded, thrusting her tongue into his mouth as her hands scrabbled at his shirt, yanking it up his body. He released his hold on her long enough to pull his arms and head free, then tugged her back to him.
Her skin was slightly chilled as the breeze picked up across the lake, so he pulled her closer still. His cock ached to be inside her. That was pretty much a constant state of being lately, but he didn’t want to rush. He wanted to take his time with her. Except now, she’d reached between them and was tugging at the waistband of his pants. He caught her wrist and brought her hand to his mouth. “Slow down,” he murmured against her palm. “We’ve got all night, but I don’t have any condoms with me, right now.
She slid her other hand into a pocket in her skirt and withdrew a couple plastic packets and held them up to show him. “I grabbed them from your drawer before I came outside.
He smiled, scraping his teeth over the heel of her hand and down her wrist. “Clever girl.”
Her shuddery gasp raked down his spine. She shivered and arched toward him. Her nipples were tight, little buds poking at the fabric, begging for his mouth. Dragging his lips down her throat, he made his way to her chest, stopping when he found a taut peak. He yanked down her bra cup and bared her breast before drawing the crinkled flesh between his lips.
Her head dropped back, and she grabbed a fistful of his hair and hung on to it as if she was drowning. Her hips rocked against him, and her lips parted. He was pretty sure there was nothing more beautiful than Tristan chasing a release. Unless it was Tristan in the midst of orgasm.
Slipping a hand between her thighs, he teased her damp folds.
“Rory,” she groaned.
He released her nipple. “You don’t want me to make you come? That doesn’t seem like the Tristan I know.”
She made a sound, but he wasn’t sure it was an actual word.
“The Tristan I know is greedy for orgasms.” He shoved two fingers inside her, loving the way her pussy rippled around the intrusion. “She craves them.”
She whimpered, lifting her hips into his hand, fucking herself on his fingers.
“But she can’t have them unless someone gives her permission.”
Her hips snapped faster, and her whole body began to shake.
“Do you have permission to come?” he asked, keeping his tone sharp.
“Nooooooo.” She shook her head, but her hips never stopped moving. “Please, Rory. Please,” she panted.
Ignoring her pleas, he continued fingerfucking her and leaned over and drew her nipple into his mouth, again. He added a third finger and thrust a little harder. Lifting his head, he released the tight bud and watched her face. He forced himself to remember that there would never be anything more than this—never anything more than friendship and sex between them.
If all she wanted was more of the same, he could give her that. He recognized that he was far enough gone that he’d give her whatever she wanted just to keep her coming back. After all, something was better than nothing.
“Eyes on me, Tristan.” Waiting until she met his gaze, he asked, “Whose permission do you need?”
“Yours,” she whispered brokenly. “Only yours.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Tristan glanced out her office window at the beach beyond and couldn’t help but remember the impromptu picnic she’d had there with Rory a few weeks ago. She’d been so surprised when he’d brought her flowers that evening—surprised enough that she’d made a joke about it. She hadn’t been sure if the flowers were meant as a sign that he wanted something more or if it was just a kind gesture. There hadn’t been any other co
nfusing signals since then, so she was leaning toward the latter.
The flowers were still on the dresser in her bedroom. She was pathetic. Like a lovesick teenager, she dried the bouquet as though it was a corsage from her first formal dance.
It hadn’t even been a month since they’d started their friends-with-benefits arrangement, and it was getting too hard to keep up. Why she’d thought she could handle a casual affair was beyond her. If she were honest with herself, she’d have to admit that it had moved past casual the moment he’d first kissed her. And, as much as she didn’t want to, she needed to consider breaking things off with him before she got in any deeper.
On her lunch break, and against her better judgment, Tristan opened her Tumblr page. Sure enough, there was a message from Rory. Since that night on the beach, he’d taken to leaving notes for her on many of the pictures she’d posted. Most recently, she’d reblogged a photograph of a naked woman tied with rope and splattered with come. The latest message was simply a photograph of a coil of silky looking rope tossed haphazardly on his desk and the words, “Your skin. My come. Seven p.m. You know where.”
Her pussy clenched, and her panties were instantly soaked. She was going to have to start carrying an extra pair in her purse. Or just not check Tumblr during the day. Or maybe she should just delete her account. It was the fucking blog that had gotten her into this mess in the first place.
Sighing, she stared at his note. She couldn’t entirely regret it. Because of this, she’d had amazing experiences that she wouldn’t have otherwise. However, she was regretting her inability to keep her emotional distance from someone who’d made it clear from the beginning that there wasn’t a chance for anything more. She thought of the kiss and the flowers again. Well…mostly clear.
Taking a breath, she typed, “I’ll be there.” on his message and hit send. Sighing, she dropped her head into her hands. As much as she loved the sex—and god, she loved it—it was getting harder and harder to lie to herself about her feelings for him. The better she’d gotten to know him—the more he’d opened up to her—the more she felt herself falling for him. Actually, falling indicated she was still in the process of falling. She’d fallen. Completely.
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