Rhapsody (The Teplo Trilogy #2)

by Ayden K. Morgen

  He took that same route once, twice, and then a third time.

  "Beautiful," he finally said.

  She met him halfway, her warm brown eyes watery and peaceful at once.

  His arms went around her, and hers around him. Their bodies collided, hard muscle and soft silk molding together. For the first time in weeks, he felt truly alive. Every cell in his body hummed, peace and desire and love coursing through him in soft waves.

  "Tristan, oh God, Tristan," she chanted, pulling him closer, clutching him tighter. Her heart raced with his, pounding out a furious rhythm where their chests were pressed so tightly together.

  He never wanted to let her go again.

  For weeks, he'd imagined this moment a thousand different ways. None came anywhere close to the reality of finally seeing her, of finally touching her. Being near her after going so long without her was exactly like coming home, only better. Home couldn't rain kisses upon his face or wrap itself around him. It couldn't sigh his name and give him peace, or press into him and set him aflame.

  Lillian did both.

  Peace and fire spread through him in turns, and it was fucking perfect.

  Lillian's tears spilled down her cheeks as Tristan's mouth moved over hers. It wasn't a kiss of possession or need, but something so much softer, and so much sweeter. Their kiss was hello and I'm sorry. It was I love you and I missed you. It was quiet sighs of completion and homecoming.

  It was absolutely everything.

  Her mind was quiet, silenced by the overwhelming feeling of happiness coursing through her veins with each beat of her heart. She'd done her thinking. She'd made her decisions. And Tristan hadn't told her to go to hell. Instead, he was here, kissing her as if they had all the time in the world.

  "I missed you," she breathed into his mouth.

  In response, he tilted her head back and deepened the kiss.

  "Tristan," she whispered his name, her fingers running restlessly through his hair. She ached to drag him even closer, but every inch of space between them had already been eliminated. They were chest to chest, and could get no closer without removing the clothing between them.

  As if reading her mind, Tristan's hand fisted her shirt before delving beneath.

  She jumped as his cool fingers landed on her bare back. Her eyes threatened to roll into the back of her head at that simple touch of skin to skin. It had been far too long, and like the addicts Tristan had spent so long trying to save, she craved it. Every part of her craved his touch.

  "I need…."

  "Fuck, beautiful."

  "Oh, please."

  "Dude, if you strip her right here, I'm taking pictures!"

  Lillian jerked when Michael's amused taunt rang out, ripping her out of the moment and plunking her bodily back down into reality. Reality where they were standing outside while Tristan's insistent fingers pushed her shirt up and Michael Kincaid watched.

  "Shit," Tristan groaned and dropped his forehead to hers. He panted hard, his chest working rhythmically to bring oxygen to starving lungs. His hand made a final pass across her lower back before slipping free of her shirt and coming to rest against her hip. He cracked his eyes open, focused on her. And lord, how she'd missed those bright blue eyes and the heat they sent through her.

  "I forgot he was here," he said, squeezing her hip as her stomach dropped and spun.

  "Me too."

  "Can we get rid of him?"

  "Please."

  "Thank fuck." He pulled back to look at Michael.

  Lillian buried her head in his shoulder, giggling.

  "What's up, dick?" Michael asked, choking back a laugh.

  "Nothing. You?"

  "Just enjoying the view."

  "Kincaid?"

  "Yeah, Riley?"

  "Fuck off."

  Michael's loud laughter rang out, bouncing off the trees.

  Lillian buried her head a little further into Tristan's shoulder. God, how she'd missed him.

  "Yeah, on it," Michael finally managed to say.

  Shuffling steps followed that announcement. For a protracted moment, the echoes of his laughter were the only sounds. And then Tristan sighed heavily and nuzzled his face into her hair. "He's gone, beautiful."

  "Thank God," she said, grateful for all that Michael had done for her, but needing Tristan more than air itself. She was about to vibrate apart at the seams with the desire to be closer to him.

  "I need to be inside you," he said, groaning. He nipped at the shell of her ear. "I know we have a lot to talk about, but right now, I need to be in you, baby."

  "Yes," she moaned, wanting the same thing.

  "Where's your dad and stepmom?" he asked, his lips and teeth and tongue exploring her throat.

  "Work," she gasped. "It's only me, you, and Michael here."

  "Good," he said before pulling back.

  She whimpered aloud when he eased himself from her embrace. Her eyes opened and focused on him in the dying light. Reality slapped her in the face. "Oh. Tristan." Tears sprang instantly to her eyes as she took in the scrapes and bruises still coloring his body. They'd faded she'd last saw him, but green blotches and healing scrapes scattered like blood splatters across his face. And his arm…. She took a deep breath and then another. "You're still hurt," she finally managed to whisper.

  "I'm fine, beautiful," he promised, reaching out with his good hand to cup her cheek. His expression was so somber, so serious. "You're here and that's the only thing that matters to me." His eyes closed a little as he shook his head back and forth. "Not having you was worse than any of this, beautiful. My heart fucking hurt."

  His earnest confession was like a knife twisting, sending guilt creeping through her. She'd messed up so monumentally with him. "How can you forgive me?" she asked, awed that he could and humbled that he would all at once.

  "We both made mistakes, sweetheart," he said, stepping a little closer to stroke her cheek. "We both messed up. Christ, beautiful, we've done things backwards and sideways and every which way but right."

  "I don't want to mess up anymore."

  "I don't either." He smiled at her. "But I'm going to, and so are you. We're going to fight and argue. You're going to want to strangle me and I'm going to want to turn you over my knee. You're going to want to do it your way, and I'm going to be an overprotective bastard and want it mine. That's who we are. We aren't perfect. But I've had a lot of time to think since you left." He took a deep breath. "I think not having you in my life is going to fucking kill me. The rest I can handle—we can handle—but you not being there just doesn't work for me. At all."

  "Me either." She kissed his palm, trying to soothe the heartache that rippled and wavered through his expression. "God, Tristan, I don't even know why I left. I was so sure that you were going to get yourself killed if I stayed. I can't…I don't…." She shook her head and tried again. "I couldn't sit there and watch it happen. I couldn't be the reason you died, and I was so scared I would be."

  He rested his forehead against hers. "I know, beautiful. And I'm sorry I ever made you feel that way. I told you before I didn't know how to do this. I don't know how to let people in or let go. I've seen a lot of bad shit. I've done a lot of bad shit. The thought of you getting caught up in any of it undid me. I couldn't deal with you getting hurt because of me."

  "But you can't protect me from everything," she said gently. "You're a DEA agent. You can't do what you do every day and expect it to only exist outside of our relationship. You can't compartmentalize life that way, and be a Special Agent by day and someone else by night. They're both parts of who you are. You can't sit around and hope the different sides of your life never overlap because they will. And you can't fly off the handle when they do."

  "I know that now, beautiful." He smiled wryly. "I don't want to shut you out, and I don't want to keep trying to do it all alone. I'm tired of it. I'm tired of missing my family and pretending to be someone I'm not every single day. I'm just so fucking tired. Before you, I didn't g
ive a shit if I died, because at least then I wouldn't have to feel that shit anymore."

  "And now?"

  "And now? Now the thought of that is fucking hard to handle. I want–" He blew out a breath, his frustration obvious as he searched for words. She pressed another kiss into his palm, trying to ease him. "I don't know how to explain it, beautiful, but I want more. I'm tired of doing this shit. I'm tired of holding on to it. It's someone else's turn to try."

  "You quit," she gasped. "Tristan, no."

  "I didn't quit." He leaned back to look at her. "Not yet. But I did take the blame for what happened, so they might fire me. I'm not sure, but I didn't do it for you. It's not about that. I did it because I'm not the right guy for this job anymore. I don't know where I'll end up, but my head isn't in it anymore, and neither is my heart." He took a deep breath and let it out. "I'm ready to let it go."

  "You really mean that," she said after a moment, scrutinizing his expression.

  He smiled. "I do. I know what I want now."

  "It doesn't have to be one or the other, Tristan," she said. "I'd never ask you to give up what you've worked so hard for. You know that, right?"

  "I know that, beautiful. I can't promise that I won't consider you in my final decision, but I can promise that I'll make it for me. I don't want to do undercover anymore. I haven't really wanted it in a long time; I just couldn't let it go."

  Lillian breathed a little easier at the conviction in his eyes and his words. He honestly believed that he deserved more. He honestly didn't want that life anymore. And he was honestly happy with that decision.

  "Hey, hey, it's okay," he murmured as her tears spilled over. He reached for her and wrapped his arms around her, holding her close as she tried to find words. She couldn't find them though. There was no way to put into words how grateful she was that he wanted more or how hopeful she was for him.

  "I love you," she whispered through her tears, smiling up at him.

  "I love you too." He brushed his lips across hers. "More than I ever thought possible."

  He couldn't take his eyes off of her as she stood in the middle of her room. Christ, how could one little dancer become the center of his world in such a short amount of time? He didn't know, but she had. And he wasn't nearly foolish enough to question it now. He didn't have to question it anymore. She was so much more than someone he needed to protect and keep safe. She was light and laughter, forgiveness and peace. She was…

  "You're the most important person in the world to me, you know that?" he questioned as he crossed toward her and pulled her into his arms. Her head rested beneath his chin as she clung to him, hugging him tightly. "You're absolutely everything to me."

  He'd been in hell without her, yet being without her had given him clarity like he'd never had before. For the first time since his parents died, he'd been forced to take the blinders off and really look at life. He'd been able to really see a life beyond what he did every day. And she had been front and center. He hadn't given up being undercover for her. Rather, he'd been able to give it up because of her. Because, for once, he'd thought about the future and realized there was something he wanted more than revenge. He wanted peace.

  "You are too," she told him, tilting her head back to look up at him. Her eyes shone, happiness and joy bright lights in warm brown depths. Her hand came to rest upon his jaw. "Everything."

  His lips found hers. Hers parted easily, willing him to deepen the kiss and take what he wanted. To cement this new beginning between them and lay to rest the weeks of heartache and frustration that had led them to this moment in this room.

  Within seconds of feeling her tongue moving with his, he was breathless and aching. That part of him that lived for her pleasure quivered with anticipation. He had no desire to rein it in.

  "I love you," he reminded her as her lips trailed across his jaw. His good hand fisted in her shirt, ready to pull it over her head. But he had to hear it one more time first. He had to say it one more time. "I'm yours, Lillian Maddox."

  Her eyes lit up, emotion stripping him where he stood. "Show me," she said. Her hands slipped down his shoulders to the buttons of his shirt. She smiled up at him, her lips swollen from his kisses and her eyes wide and dilated with desire and happiness. "Make me yours again."

  He growled softly and swooped.

  Like flame to kindling, they ignited. Greedy hands and seeking mouths roved and explored. Nips to his jaw were met with soft bites to her throat. He answered the gentle scrape of her nails across his back with soft tugs to her hair. On and on it went, until he could stand no more and pulled her shirt from her beautiful little body.

  "Shit," he breathed as the garment hit the floor at their feet. Her chest heaved as she breathed, the swells of her breast all but overflowing the transparent bra. Her nipples were hard pebbles pushing against the fabric, begging for him to rip it away and replace it with his hands, his mouth—he hardly knew which he wanted more.

  She reached for him before he could decide and began to unbutton his shirt. As button after button pushed through the eyelets, her fingertips brushed across his chest. His head fell back, a soft hiss of pleasure breaking from his lips.

  Feeling her hands on him after so long without her was bliss. Joy. Fucking radiance.

  And it just got better.

  As she slipped the last button through the hole and parted his shirt, her hand skimmed across his stomach before her fingertips delved into the waistband of his jeans. His cock jerked at having her so close and yet so far. He moaned, unable to hold the greedy sound back.

  "Shit, baby."

  "Shh," she whispered, those talented little fingers of her already popping the button and sliding the zipper down. She pushed the jeans and his boxers down, and then the torture really began. She never touched his cock as it sprang free, but her hands were everywhere, running up and down his chest and stomach. They swept across the faint bruises and jagged, still healing scars, and then pressed boldly down his lower stomach. Her fingertips hovered right above the tip of his cock. Her palms slid across his hip and brushed a mere centimeter from his balls.

  His good hand shot out, grasping onto the dresser to keep himself upright as the urge to feel her hands wrapping around him speared through him, overwhelming him. As usual when they were together like this, he didn't merely want her hand there, he physically needed it.

  "Beautiful," he growled in warning as she continued to tease and torment.

  She paid no heed and continued on until he could take no more. Control snapped like a rubber-band pulled taut and released. He cursed harshly and grabbed her, jerking her into his chest. Her small laugh was his undoing. The feel of her hand finally wrapping around his aching cock defied description.

  He kicked his shoes and jeans free before grasping her head and crushing his mouth to hers. He held nothing back. They kissed wildly, all tongue and teeth and frantic moans. Her hands fisted in his hair, holding his face to hers as he set to work on her bra. Getting the damn thing undone one-handed was a feat, but he managed it, and all but ripped the fabric from her body in his quest to feel her bare skin on his.

  She didn't disappoint. As soon as the fabric disappeared, she pressed herself to him, wriggling shamelessly. His cock rubbed at her belly, her nipples laved across his chest. Being this close to her was heaven and hell in turns: exactly what he craved and not nearly enough of it.

  Her skirt and panties followed her bra, jerked down her body and cast aside.

  "Bed," he panted into her mouth, palming and grasping her ass.

  She moaned loudly, the wanton sound an aria to his ears, before guiding him back toward the bed with one hand on his hip. Their mouths never left one another as they made that short trip. He spun at the last second and pushed her gently to the bed. Her legs bent, parted.

  "Fuck," he groaned, his eyes riveted to her exposed center. Her pussy glistened for him, wetness turning soft pink into paradise. His paradise. He reached out with his good hand, and ran a finger th
rough her folds.

  "Oh!" Her hips lifted from the bed and then settled.

  Tristan smirked down at her and then did it again. That teasing pass elicited the very same reaction. She was as out of control as he was. He loved knowing that. "Tell me what you want," he demanded, teasing at her entrance. His fingertip pressed inside and withdrew.

  "You," she panted, her hips trying to follow the withdrawal of his hand.

  His cock jerked at that word. He rewarded her by rubbing his thumb across her clit. "How do you want me, sweetheart?" His finger pressed inside of her fully this time. He nearly groaned aloud as her inner muscles clamped down and then released.

  She was ready, beyond ready. But he wasn't.

  He hadn't had her taste on his tongue in weeks. No way was he going to do without now that she was right beside him. Kneeling at the end of the bed, he spread her legs wider, not even waiting for her answer. The scent of her arousal hit him like a fist, and he was done teasing. His head descended, and he was there, his tongue making a firm pass through her folds. Her taste was a wrecking ball to any pretense of restraint.

  She cried out her pleasure as he lapped at her, swallowing down every little bit of honey she could give him. And God, he couldn't get enough. Every little shift of her hips, every little cry of pleasure, and every furious swipe of his tongue across her folds made him crave more from her, made him ache to make her feel a little more. He was lost in her as he fucked her with his tongue, holding her to the bed with his hand and cast until she was begging him to stop and not to stop in the same breath. If any of his still healing injuries hurt, he didn't feel them. He felt only her.

  "Please," she moaned as he sent her careening over the edge. Her body bowed off the bed. "Tristan, please."

  He didn't stop until her shudders died and she whimpered with each pass of his tongue. He rose unsteadily to his feet and climbed over her. Those dusty pink nipples he'd been dying to touch and taste were tight pebbles. He showered both with little bites and soft kisses as he hitched her leg over his hip. They both moaned as his cock pressed into her folds.