After the Storm

by Katy Ames

  Tristan spread her out on his makeshift bed. Every few seconds his eyes flicked up to her chest, waiting to see it rise in slow but steady breaths before refocusing on her jeans. With some less-than-gentle twists, he managed to get one leg free. But the other was stuck. Tristan snaked his fingers through the opening at her ankle and jerked back when Tessa moaned. The hand he pulled free was streaked red.

  He needed something sharp. There was a Swiss Army knife in the shitty little kitchen. He’d used it earlier that day.

  His hands were remarkably calm as he slipped the blade between Tessa’s ankle and the denim. Just don’t think about slipping. A huge shiver wracked her body, her leg jerking beneath the knife. The shaking was only getting worse. Tristan cut up and out, splitting the cloth open. A gash ran from Tessa’s knee to the middle of her shin and blood trickled out in shallow streams.

  Tristan cut the rest of her jeans free before yanking a clean shirt from the pile near the bed. Slicing it into thin strips, Tristan was instantly grateful that this, of all things, was something he knew how to do. Triage in a cabin. It wasn’t a skill he’d asked for, but it was one he had and, at that moment, he was so fucking thankful.

  Tessa whimpered when he cleaned the cut on her leg. Free of sand and blood, it didn’t look nearly as bad as he’d first thought. But her skin was already turning purple where she’d bashed up against the rocks. Tristan didn’t want to think how much of her body would be black and blue by morning.

  Two places on her leg needed tending. A heavy-duty adhesive bandage would have worked, but Tristan didn’t have any of those. So he knotted a few strips of black fabric around her leg before inspecting the cuts on her arms and hands.

  Most were superficial. They were dirty and raw looking, and Tessa squirmed as Tristan washed them out. She hadn’t opened her eyes since he’d brought her into the cabin, but she was conscious, the occasional murmur breaking through.

  The gash on the inside of her left palm was the worst. Tristan had to brace her arm against the bed as he washed it over and over. The bleeding had slowed significantly, but the flesh was ragged around the tear. Despite that, Tristan didn’t think she’d need stitches. The cut was rough, but not deep.

  Tristan wadded up some fabric and pressed it to her palm before securing it with another strip. It wasn’t nearly as good as he would’ve liked, but it would have to do.

  He’d stripped Tessa of all of her wet clothes, except her bra and underwear. Her limbs jerked with the occasional shiver and Tristan caved. She’d never get warm with the wet fabric stuck to her skin.

  “Just don’t look,” he muttered, as if saying it out loud would make it easier.

  Tristan found another shirt in his stack of clothes and carefully propped Tessa up with one arm while he slid it over her head. It took some maneuvering, and a very serious dose of self-discipline, but Tristan was able to drape it across her chest while he unhooked her bra and freed her arms, before pulling it all the way down. Tristan was a big guy. Significantly taller and broader than Tessa. His shirt came all the way to the middle of her thighs. Which was perfect, because her panties had to go next.

  Tristan’s hands were unsteady when he found her hips. He tried, really fucking hard, to not notice how soft her skin was. To ignore the kick of lust low in his groin when he dragged the wet cloth over her curves. He was so close to her, his chest angled across her knees as he dragged the ruined fabric off. Tristan held his breath. He couldn’t take her into his lungs. It would unravel him.

  He pulled her underwear free and was leaning back just as Tessa’s legs shifted.

  “Tristan?” She was looking at him, confused.

  “Yeah, Tessa. I’m here.”

  She sat up fast, her confusion replaced by alarm. “You’re okay?” She wrapped her hands around his face, pulling him close. Tessa’s eyes darted between his. “You’re okay? You’re here?” Her words were choppy.

  “Yes, yes. I’m fine. Tessa, please. The cut on your palm. Be careful.” Tristan gently covered her hands with his. He tried to pull away, but Tessa gripped harder. She winced, like she hadn’t expected the pain. But she didn’t let go.

  “I was so worried,” she confessed, her eyes closed as she touched their foreheads together. Tessa’s sigh of relief washed across his face. But it didn’t make him calmer. She was still shivering, her wet hair heavy against the back of her neck. A bruise was growing across her temple and Tristan felt impotent rage explode in his chest.

  “What the fuck did you think you were doing?” Tristan let go of her hands and clenched his fists in the blanket, on either side of her hips. “Why the hell were you out there?”

  Tessa opened her eyes, her fingertips digging into the corded muscles at the back of his neck. “I needed to find you.” She said it like it was the most obvious answer in the entire world.

  “You didn’t,” Tristan growled. His shins ached against the rough floor of the cabin, his clothes were frozen to his chest and thighs. Tessa shifted closer, her bare knees bracketing his torso, the hollow between them offering the threat of salvation. The promise of damnation.

  “I did,” she swore, eyes dark but certain.

  Tristan wondered if she could feel it. The storm howling inside him. He was furious with her. Terrified that she could have been hurt, or worse. The reality of her alive and in one piece hadn’t sunk in. Tristan’s heart—that organ he’d thought had dried out and gone dark years ago—was, at that second, breaking at the mere idea he could have lost her.

  Tessa wasn’t his. She didn’t belong to him in any way. He knew that. He could never ask it, not after the way he’d yelled at her, scared her. But she was there, with him. Her hands were deep in his hair, the strands slipping through her fingers as she cradled the back of his head. She held his body between her legs, the touch scalding.

  Tristan squeezed his eyes shut. Looking at her was too much. It would never be enough.

  “You’re hurt,” he managed to get out.

  “I’ll heal.”

  “It could’ve been so much worse.” Tristan shifted his grip from the bed to her waist, needing to feel her alive and breathing.

  “It wasn’t.”

  “You could’ve died.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “You hate storms.” Tristan leaned towards her. He couldn’t stop himself.

  “I do.” Tessa pressed a kiss, hot and soft, next to his ear. “But I realized something.”

  Tristan’s fingers flexed into the lush curve of her hips. The back of his neck burned, the scar a phantom pain that would never go away. But he wasn’t letting go. It hurt. But not touching Tessa would hurt more.

  She gave him another kiss, at the corner of his jaw. “Do you want to know what it was?”

  Tristan’s voice was gone. He nodded, his eyes still closed.

  “I realized,” Tessa whispered, “that I hated something else more.” She kissed his cheek, lingering. Waiting for him to ask the question.

  “What?”

  “I realized,” Tessa said, dropping to his mouth, “I hated the idea of you out here alone more than I hated any storm.”

  “That’s insane.” It was half whisper, half kiss.

  “Maybe.”

  Tristan felt her lips curve against his. A small smile.

  “But it’s also the truth.”

  She didn’t say anything else. Didn’t move. She was so still Tristan wasn’t sure she was breathing. He opened his eyes, instantly worried.

  “I’m right here,” she said, answering his concerned stare. “I’m right here, Tristan. And I’m not going anywhere.”

  Her attention fell to his mouth and Tristan gave up. Gave in. Lost every battle and silenced every argument. His hands were in her hair before he could think, wet strands clinging and twisting around his fingers. He pulled just enough so that her head tipped back, chin up, her bottom lip dropping in surprise. In anticipation.

  “Don’t ever do that again,” he growled, before covering her mouth
with his.

  * * *

  Tessa knew the storm was raging outside. The cabin’s walls creaked against the force of the wind and the rain was battering the roof.

  She didn’t care.

  Tristan was kissing her. He tasted of angry rain and the vast ocean. And every second of the past twenty-four hours sank beneath the gentle but insistent pressure of his lips.

  A drop of water fell from his hair and slipped between them. Tessa caught it, sweeping her tongue across the seam of his mouth.

  Tristan groaned, pulling her face closer while his wet chest rubbed against hers. His lips were still closed but the friction was divine. Each pass sent a spark skittering across Tessa’s skin, waking up parts of her body that had been numb just seconds ago.

  Tessa’s neck relaxed, her head cupped by Tristan’s hands. He tilted her, angling her face to his. He caressed her mouth, his lips strong and hot. Tristan sank against her on a groan and Tessa could practically taste the tension gripping him.

  It wasn’t enough. She wanted his mouth open. She wanted the velvet weight of his tongue on hers. She knew the air from his lungs would be the only thing that could soothe the burning in hers.

  Tessa needed him closer. Needed him, full stop. She shifted, trying to pull her legs back so she could kneel on the cot. But Tristan held her immobile. His arms pinned hers against his shoulders. He used the weight of his hips to keep her legs still. He controlled the pressure of their kiss with his hands and lips.

  Another soft brush, a gentle touch. Tessa was going to scream.

  She was able to turn her face just enough so that his next kiss landed on the corner of her mouth. “Kiss me,” she said, denying him the thing he was looking for. “Stop being so gentle and fucking kiss me.”

  His hands flexed against her scalp and Tessa felt the ripple of desire that spread across his chest. Tristan stared at her and her nipples tightened as his restraint drained away.

  “Fuck.” His growl was so low she barely understood him. “But just remember,” he said, his beautiful blue eyes storming across her face, “you asked.”

  God, yes, she had.

  Tristan crushed their bodies together. One hand cradled her head while he banded his other arm around her waist, his fingers on her ass, pulling her hips so close she was riding his rock-hard abdomen. Tristan’s gentleness was gone. Everything about him was as forceful and demanding as the storm shaking the cabin.

  He opened his mouth against hers, pressing her lips wide. Tessa wanted to sigh, to shout with joy. But Tristan stole her breath. He was tasting her everywhere, the ridge of her teeth, the wet heat of her tongue. Every dip of her lips.

  Tessa squirmed hard enough that she was able to drop her hands from his hair to his shoulders. She gripped him, hard, when he kissed her again. Tristan bit her bottom lip. Tessa dug her nails into his unforgiving muscles.

  “Jesus Christ.” Tristan broke away, swearing against her. “You taste like….” His breath heaved in and out. “Fuck, Tessa, you are heaven.”

  Tessa moaned, her breasts full, her nipples begging for attention. She shifted against his chest, the cold, wet fabric of his shirt a relief against her overheated skin.

  She was out of her mind for this man. She loved everything about the way their bodies connected. Tristan changed his grip, the rough pads of his fingertips sliding down her throat until they laced around her neck. Tessa’s heart was beating wildly and she knew Tristan could feel it where his thumb pressed against her pulse.

  His groan echoed in her mouth. His lips were intent and voracious, like he wouldn’t survive if he missed even one drop of her.

  Tessa wrapped her arms around his neck. They were locked together, from chest to hips. Tristan’s erection rubbed across her lower stomach and Tessa wanted to palm it, to feel the silky hardness in her hand.

  The terror she’d experienced on the beach had morphed into flat-out, unstoppable lust. She wanted…just wanted. Everything. With a desperation she’d never known was possible.

  She grabbed at his shirt, trying to yank it off.

  Tristan ignored her jerky movements. She’d given herself to him, practically begged him to take her. And he wasn’t giving her up.

  Her head still captured in one hand, Tristan used his grip on her ass to press her core against his swollen cock. Tessa felt it like a shock to the system. A bolt of solid, blissful electricity. Her back bowed, but he wouldn’t let her escape, his mouth covering hers, drinking up her broken breath.

  “Hold on,” was the only warning he gave before he pushed himself off the floor and turned them both quickly then dropped them onto the cot. Tristan straightened his legs out in front so that when Tessa’s knees hit the thin mattress she was sitting sit flush in his lap.

  Tessa straddled him, her legs spread wide across his muscular thighs, still covered in soaking wet jeans. Both of Tristan’s hands were on her ass now, rocking her gently against him as he kissed her.

  The contrast was almost too much to take. Tessa was hot, her next-to-naked skin completely dry. Tristan was still drenched. Water seeped from his shirt to hers, shaping both layers to her peaked nipples. It was torture. Blissful, mind-numbing torture, each pass sending lightning-sharp points of need to her core.

  She was suspended on top of Tristan, the wet shirt obscenely molded her to breasts, her nipples begging for his mouth, his hands, his teeth. That same shirt had ridden up, the hem skimming the top of her trim, tight curls, so close and so painfully far from where her clit throbbed. From where she, too, was drenched.

  As if he understood her need, Tristan pushed his hips up, the rough seam of his jeans and the wide erection beneath hitting her in just the right spot.

  “Oh, God!” Tessa broke free from his mouth. Tristan dropped to her neck, leaving a hot, wet trail down to where he nipped her clavicle.

  Tessa gripped his shoulders for dear life, mindless of everything but his lips making their way down to her breasts, and the pattern he’d set with their hips.

  “Is this what you want, Tess?”

  Tristan’s deep voice caressed her chest. His damp hair tickled beneath her chin. His fingers squeezed her ass as he coaxed her back and forth, letting her use his body to chase the pleasure dodging her. But….

  “No,” she groaned.

  Tristan froze, every muscle locking beneath her. He was dazed when he looked up.

  Tessa bent forward and licked his bottom lip. His eyes fluttered at the contact and she felt like she was on the verge of exploding.

  “Give me more.”

  He growled and stole her mouth, tongue wild as he tore at her shirt. She was about to pull away so he could take it off, but he just kissed her harder. Tessa tasted the faint tang of blood when their teeth clashed together.

  Tessa vaguely noted the sound of something tearing. Then the cool air of the cabin hit her, goosebumps jumping across her flesh as Tristan ripped her shirt off.

  He dropped his head to one breast and Tessa arched as Tristan pulled it into his mouth, the tug almost violent and everything she needed. He coaxed one nipple harder, first with his lips, then teeth, before moving over to the other.

  Tessa held his head, fighting for balance in all the chaos. Tristan gripped her thighs, demanding she follow his lead.

  Tessa closed her eyes, a shudder chasing down her body, from her nipples to her clit, as Tristan pushed her up on her knees. She was spread so wide above him, her saturated core just inches from the divine ridge of his erection.

  The air between her legs was too cold. Tessa whined, missing his heat and hardness.

  Tristan chuckled between her breasts.

  Tessa gasped at the sound. It was melodic, beautiful. A sound she wanted to hear every second, every hour, every day. Tears pricked her eyes and she blinked rapidly. A truth wiggled its way into her brain, beneath the need and the magic Tristan was weaving in her body. Be careful, Tessa, this man is about to run away with your heart….

  But the thought fled as fast as it came
. Tristan’s hands were at the tops of her thighs, tracing light patterns on the sensitive skin.

  “Remember what I said?”

  Tessa looked down. Tristan’s eyes were lit like she’d never seen them. Blue and brilliant. And full of heat that he was about to rain down on her.

  He ran one long finger along the outside of her folds, a tease. Not hard enough. And definitely not deep enough. He pulled away when she stayed silent.

  “Ahh,” she moaned, words impossible.

  Tristan laughed again and Tessa stopped breathing as she felt an answering spasm deep inside her. It was a muted cocktail of anticipation and satisfaction. Just a touch away from soft but certain pleasure. There was no fucking way she could come just from hearing him laugh, even though she almost had.

  “I said, hold on.” Tristan repeated his previous order at the same time he used both hands to spread her wide.

  Tessa grabbed his shoulders, his neck, the pain in her palm nothing compared to the ecstasy of Tristan’s hands on her.

  In her.

  “Fuuuuuuck.” It was Tristan’s turn to groan, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he parted her swollen lips. “You don’t just taste like heaven, Tess. You feel like it, too. So soft, so fucking wet.” Tessa’s head tipped back, but she managed to keep her eyes open. Thank God. Because she didn’t miss when Tristan’s own eyes closed as he sank one thick finger inside her. “So tight.”

  Tessa’s orgasm wasn’t far away. She’d woken already keyed up, so worried about Tristan, so terrified after the beach. Her body had been clamoring for some sort of release ever since it realized the danger had passed.

  And every kiss, every touch, had been pushing her higher, twisting her tighter.

  But the look on Tristan’s face at that moment, the raw pleasure he took from her body—Tessa felt like her skin was going to dissolve, like there was no way it could contain the euphoria spiraling through her.

  Tristan curled that finger and Tessa’s hips jerked.

  He didn’t laugh that time, lust marking every line of his body. Tristan placed an open-mouthed kiss in the center of her chest and added a second finger.

  “Take it, Tess,” he told her. “Take whatever you want. Whatever you need.”