by Melissa Blue
He gave himself a moment before looking at her. His gut tightened anyway. Her chest rose and fell in a rapid pace. Even though she’d tossed an arm over her face, the parts he could see were flushed.
He needed to fuck her. Throw her legs over his shoulders and ram home and let her envelop every sense he had and lose himself. Oblivion would follow until he found all the ways that made her breath hitch, made her scream his name, and then he could come. And then he could…nothing.
This woman was a problem. She was making him want things, to be a different man. One he’d long since accepted he’d never become.
Tristan stood, not moving from between her legs. “Are you done for?” Say yes, he quietly urged.
She heaved a languid sort of sigh. “Give me a minute.”
From the way she said it, full of exhaustion and a little bleary, he knew she was done. He placed a kiss on her belly and the knot in his own eased. “All right.”
She made a soft little noise and rolled over onto her side. Within seconds her breathing slowed. He couldn’t even get satisfaction from her being half-sprawled off the bed and well on her way to sleep.
Thankfully that meant he didn’t have to conjure up a smile. His dick was too hard to feel anything but frustration. He gave it another few seconds, and when he was sure she’d gone to sleep, he went to the dresser to pull out something suitable for bed. He added boxers and an undershirt to his usual socks.
The bathroom wasn’t as bad as the carpet at least. A wide counter with simple amenities took up a good amount of the space. The toilet had arm and leg room. Some places he’d been in didn’t consider that necessary. Maybe two short people could fit in the tub. He started the shower, tested the water and gave the hotel a few more points. The spray wouldn’t feel like he was standing in front of a firing squad while nude. Good enough for what he required.
He shed his clothes and then stepped into the spray. The methodical beat of water didn’t loosen his muscles. Only one thing would. Tristan pushed out a breath, glancing down at his stiff cock. No need to tell himself lies, that this would be better than the alternative. Heaving a sigh, he placed a hand on the cold tile and sat under the showerhead as water sluiced down his body.
In a perfect world Keri wouldn’t be an enigma. In his imagination she didn’t lose her intelligence, was still a little nervous about him and quick with her mouth. Her mouth. Wet and swollen from his bites. The room would fill with the scent of sex—hers. Covered in sweat, the air would have turned thick and muggy.
He groaned and closed his fist over the tip of his cock, squeezed lightly. He’d been too aroused for too long, and the touch was enough to make his hand fist against the tile. Holding the vision of her lips in his mind, Tristan imagined them pursed and closed around his prick.
Her tongue ran up, down and around his shaft. Nothing shy about the way she tasted him. Hungry for him, taking more and more with each erotic slurp. Her nails dug into his arse as she tried to take all of him.
Tristan didn’t loosen his grip on his cock but slid his hand down to mimic the tight hold of her mouth. Slow. He could feel his pulse pound in his hand.
After teasing him, she matched the steady beat. Thump. Thump. Thump. Swirling her tongue around the head with each suck, suck, suck.
His hips jerked forward and he gasped, matching the phantom pace of her mouth. He could barely feel the water raining down on his skin. He was too hot, too lost in Keri and her mouth. But it wasn’t her mouth he craved.
The scene instantly changed in his mind and she sat astride his thighs. His cock was deep, so deep that her arse rested on his balls. Warm. Wet from coming.
Tristan’s hand worked faster and just along the tip. His breath panted out, his head tilted back and the water ran down his throat. A husky groan fell from his lips, another and another and then his balls drew tight against him.
“Keri,” he rasped.
Downstroke, up, come spilled out and his head swam. Down, up, more come and his ears rang. Down, up, and he shuddered as the last of his seed slicked his tight fist.
Dazed, he blinked and water blinded him for a moment. He tried to catch his breath, ducking under the showerhead so the water would roll down his back.
Masturbating in a shower like a teen. Over the past five years, he’d learned to extract pleasure while staying distant. The intense way he wanted her, distant didn’t seem possible. First thing in the morning he’d call his brother and back out of this insanity. Four days. Four fucking days of walking away from a woman to jerk off. Tristan would have arthritis by the end of it, and even he didn’t owe his brother that much.
*****
Keri did her best not to move an inch in fear she’d wake Tristan. Bad enough she was sprawled across him. No, sprawled would have been a little more respectable. Her hand had found a way beneath his tank top and one leg was wrapped around his thigh possessively.
The last thing she remembered was trying to catch her breath, half on the bed and off. Tristan had risen between her legs and even after two orgasms, she craved more of him. More sex. She wanted to do everything they could do in the span of eight hours before having to spend time with the association again.
Warmth suffused her cheeks because how he made her come shocked her. And then she’d just fallen asleep. And now she had every limb clinging to him. Who did that?
His breathing broke its soft, deep rhythm. He cupped her ass and let out a soft groan. Well, at least she wasn’t the only one to get grabby while asleep. Keri glanced up and tensed. Tristan had one eye cracked open, gazing down at her.
Her instincts screamed to jump up, make excuses and head to the bathroom, but a smile quirked his lips. Running would ruin her appearance of sexed-up smart mouth. Women like that smiled back.
“Hands.” The word bypassed her brain and she fought the cringe.
He chuckled and closed his eye again. “Back in fine form, I see.”
She wanted to ask a million questions. Did he make her comfortable on the bed? How did he…satisfy himself when she’d fallen asleep? What now? That’s when it stopped escaping her notice that he was clothed while she had nothing on. Shit.
Maybe if she acted nonchalant about it, so would he. “What’s on today’s agenda?”
His fingers started to trail up and down her spine. “What time is it?”
“No idea.” The words whooshed out. “Feels early, though.”
Testing out a theory, she lifted her leg so it would rest on top of his cock. Yup. A morning glory.
“Probably.” His voice darkened. “I’m an early riser.”
She buried her face in his shirt, but the laugh escaped anyway. Yeah. The man was all innuendo. And sex. And hot. His erection refused to ebb. It rested against her knee, a constant reminder of what they hadn’t done.
Keri gave herself a few more seconds to get her blush under control before meeting his gaze. “How many years have you waited to say that?”
“Only a few.” He crossed his hands behind his head, breaking the soothing caress.
His expression hardened in slow degrees. Up until now she’d assumed he was a carefree man who did whatever the hell he wanted, but his face, the darkness that lurked in his gaze, jolted her heart. Dangerous. She could believe he’d been one hell of a con man, but what else he could have been rushed to the forefront of her mind.
He blew out a breath and any tension that lined his jaw softened. “If you’re curious, go for it.”
The coldhearted man she’d seen flicker in his eyes disappeared. Since she first realized her—for lack of a better word—problem and all the years afterward, Keri had done tons of research on sex. It’s what she was hardwired to do and why she loved her job—the research, the studies, the results, theories and discoveries. She understood sex in the basic biochemical way.
Yet his open offer of exploration couldn’t be condensed into a presentation and it seemed to shift something inside her she couldn’t put into words. She so wanted to believe it,
but many men had told her not being able to orgasm with them was fine. They didn’t take it personally. Until she started to get the chill.
Wary, she asked, “I explore you and then we have sex?”
“If that’s what you want.”
Men had said that before, but they usually didn’t mean it. “And what do you want?”
He glanced down. “A bit obvious, I think.”
“So, why did you imply we didn’t have to have sex?”
“I can want it. Doesn’t mean I’ll get it. Doesn’t mean I have to have it.”
She tried to puzzle that one out. When she wanted to come, not just have sex or intimacy, she could wait until getting home, but that burning ache couldn’t be ignored for long. Only being able to come by herself did skew her perspective, but Tristan didn’t have that problem. Hell, she didn’t think he had an issue of finding a willing partner five seconds after realizing he was horny. “And you’re fine without it?”
“I’ve done my fair share of fucking. Hasn’t lost its appeal by any means. Sex just doesn’t mean the same thing to me anymore. It’s not a race or something to rack up like points.”
She curled her fingers into his shirt. “So…it used to be?”
He tensed and no answer was forthcoming. She looked up. His eyes were closed, but she held her breath, so scared he’d ignore the question. In context, the answer didn’t matter, but up until now it had felt she could ask him anything. He lay open and willing to her exploration, both physically and mentally. She didn’t want that to change, not yet.
“I sometimes used sex to get what I wanted.” He exhaled and then his Adam’s apple bobbed before he looked at her again.
She expected an honest answer, but this made her want to reel back from him and ask more questions. Sex was different for her. She’d never had one-night stands, because she figured what would be the use? She’d gone for relationships where she could, maybe, feel okay about her condition and, maybe, she’d orgasm.
What did sex mean to a man who had likely traveled the world, conned for a living until he took up a hammer to become a carpenter? What did a man like Tristan want?
She’d have asked, but they had four more days together. What did his past matter to her? Tristan was there now. His hands still cushioned his head. His cock still pressed at his boxers. She could touch him, kiss him, caress him to her heart’s content. He needed nothing in return. She didn’t have to somehow make up for being defective. There was a power in that.
So much of it, her head buzzed with lightness. And if she was actually the woman she was portraying, she might have taken full advantage. Still… “Are you sure?”
Tristan grasped her hand, pushed it down so it rested just above his pelvic bone and then resumed his position. His brow lifted in challenge. Did she have the balls?
“I’m thinking we should go mingle,” she said, chickening out, but Keri narrowed her gaze on his face to catch his true reaction.
He didn’t flinch. “A day out?”
“Sounds ideal. I live in this general area, so I know all the haunts. You’re from Scotland so you can play tourist. California must be like a different world for you.”
“Mostly.” He moved a hand to scratch at his five o’clock shadow. “I’ve worked in America long enough to be here legally. First time near the water, though.”
His confession kept her shoulders tight, but she tried to shake it off. He wasn’t using her, right? She had nothing to offer him. Not in a tangible sense. Even if it was to just have sex, there was no high horse for her to ride on, was there? No.
Letting go of the anxiety, she ran through a list of tourist spots in her head and then smiled. “I know just the place. It’s off the beaten path. We might need to take a cab to it, but later in the afternoon.”
“Aye? Where?”
She smiled. His genuine curiosity eased any nerves and soothed any doubts. He wasn’t playing with her. “First we have to do our job and schmooze the association. After that we can play.”
“I like the sound of that.”
“All work and no play makes Tristan an unhappy boy?”
He chuckled. “I learned a long time ago, you have to make the fun wherever you are. Otherwise, it’s all work.”
She wasn’t sure what that meant—he was never unhappy or he always played. The man was a mystery, a puzzle. She did her best to not wonder what actually made him tick. This was sex. This was something fluffy, without meaning, but she became a scientist, a conservator to plug in the holes in history and tell a story. She couldn’t help but want his too.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The ice in the cooler sloshed when Tristan faced her. He gave her a quick once-over. “Do you get seasick?”
The second-youngest couple in the association made their way down the dock. After everyone for the conference met up in the breakfast room, it hadn’t taken long for their day’s duty to be mapped out.
“That’s not why I look queasy,” she answered.
He followed her gaze. The man and woman had that bleached-blond look of having spent their life in the sun. She moisturized and he didn’t, but their smiles were as bright as their platinum hair.
“You’ll do fine,” he said. “They’re nice.”
Since she was a scientist and not a grifter or a con, she didn’t buy his lies. “Just look like I want to bite you?”
He wagged his brows before shifting the cooler onto the motorboat’s bench in front of the seats. She knew nothing about boats, just knew it looked like it cost more than the hotel room. Maybe that was where they put most of their money for the conference—the perks.
“Be yourself,” he told her.
Herself? She wasn’t herself with him. Outside of the nerves and sex. Okay. She wasn’t herself for the most part, but enough to make him believe she could con this couple. Or any couple while spending one-on-one time together. She could fake it, barely, in groups, but this was a different animal.
He climbed onto the boat. It rocked softly, but he moved with ease. Watching him over the past two days she realized that was just the way he moved. Since that morning, she’d spent an inordinate amount of time wondering if he was born that way or had learned to be so damn calm about everything from conning. She didn’t know and it started to matter. What they did in bed didn’t mean hearts and romance. She still needed the…intimacy, or maybe the openness they had. But could he fake that with ease? Who was he when he was a con man? Who was he now? The questions vexed her, because it shouldn’t have mattered.
He put out his hand to help her onto the boat. Heels were not the ideal footwear for this kind of outing but she hadn’t brought anything else. She hesitated at the foothold and suddenly she was weightless. A surprised yelp escaped her.
Tristan’s arms wrapped around her waist. Her head was still spinning by the time he placed her on the deck. His thick arms were warm around her. The heat of him and the steel of his chest felt like a dichotomy against her soft breasts. She’d never felt so feminine until she met him. She never imagined there was ever any appeal to fragility. She had to take such care in her job with relics but this was different.
His lips brushed over her cheekbone to her ear. “You don’t look like you want to bite me.”
Was this pretend or could she be honest? It felt right to go with her gut. “You were treating me like I’m fragile. You sort of surprised me.”
“I worry I might break you.” The answer sounded honest.
She frowned, pulled back to read the truth on his face.
“Cool your jets.” A man’s voice came from their left.
Tristan loosened his hold but kept one arm just above her hips. “Ron?” At the man’s nod, he offered his hand. “Good to meet you and your lovely wife, Janet.”
Seamlessly he’d given her their names. She plastered on a smile and nodded to them both. They were dressed for the day. Janet’s sarong wrapped loosely around her hips and the one-piece bathing suit showed off her tanned skin. Ron’s
sandal-clad feet looked plucked of any hair, along with his chest that peeked through a low-cut V-neck shirt.
Janet elbowed her husband once on the boat. “They haven’t reached bickering-is-their-foreplay part of their marriage. Let the newlyweds have their honeymoon. Jocelyn, right?”
Keri made a noise that sounded like a yes.
Ron had already moved on. “Motored? They should have coughed up the money for a real boat. You sail?” he tossed over his shoulder to Tristan.
Men tended to talk to the other available male as though a woman wasn’t standing there. She bit into her lip to keep the observation and her irritation to herself.
“I have a time or two,” Tristan said. “It’s been a while. Unlike you I see the beauty in motored boats. Let me show you.”
And then he left her alone with Janet.
Shit.
The other woman sprawled on the seat next to the cooler. She cracked it open and pulled out two beers. She gestured to the red vinyl seat beside her. “Next hour or three will involve a lot of man talk. We’ll need these to get through it.”
Think like a modern, hip woman. Keri plopped down beside her and opened her beer. Before she could ramble into small talk, Tristan throttled something that pushed her back in the vinyl seats, sloshing her beer on her fingers. Ron let out a whoop of excitement. Janet steadied the cooler. Tristan showed no sign of unease. His full concentration was on their maiden voyage into the bay.
Capable.
The sun beat down into the compact ship, but the spring breeze lessened the intensity of the mid-afternoon heat.
“So tell me how you met?” Janet asked.
Her mind froze on the truth and it started to spill out until Tristan glanced back. What had he said? He’d told her a little about conning before they left the hotel room. Use your truth and what they believe is true. Ian and Jocelyn had met at work. Her cousin had shied away from the exact details. Keri stole a glance at Tristan. If the brothers were remotely the same then yeah…Jocelyn had already told some half-truths about their “romance.”
“We met in the parking lot. At…” Did she consider this a job? Sort of. “Work. We meshed. Despite everything, he felt…right.”