by Lila Price
“Well, didn’t that almost happen?” She moves one of her hands closer to me, resting it on the table. “You nearly sacrificed your relationship with Dave and me for a…” She waves that hand around.
“Good lay?”
She flinches and sits back in her chair. “You don’t have to put it like that.”
“It’s what you’re thinking—that Tristan seduced poor little me out of sheer summer boredom and he was going to eventually drop me like dead weight. You think he was going to one-and-done me.”
“He’s got a history of it, Sosie. Even when he was younger, I saw where he was going in life. Or wasn’t going. And it’s not that I don’t love him—it’s just that…”
Once again, I finish for her. “You can accept him being a screw-up with other women, but not me. You’d be fine if he was doing it to anyone but your daughter.”
And before I can tell her that she has it all wrong about Tristan and that what we have together is right, I stop myself. He and I don’t have anything right now, and the reminder makes me choke on any words that I might’ve had to offer.
“Don’t you see?” Mom says. “Dave and I only want to protect you and your future. We’ve put everything we’ve got into you, and that’s why we’re so upset.”
I really can see this situation through her eyes. If I had a daughter like me—one who’s going to finish college soon and who has the world in front of her—I’d be protective, too. I’d fight to the death for her, and that’s what Mom and my stepfather are doing with me.
I only wish they had as much faith in Tristan.
But then I remember Tristan hurling Brent into those chairs. I remember the look in Tristan’s eyes that promised he’d go even further to fully possess me. And my heart aches.
It aches because even though he creates havoc wherever he goes, he’s not as bad as my parents think. There’s another Tristan they don’t know. I’ve seen him. But it’s the demons haunting him that worry me and keep him from me, making it impossible for us to be together.
Mom has been watching me, and I have no doubt that every painful thought has been written on my face. She reaches even farther across the table, her palm up, a gesture that tells me that at least everything can be okay between her and me.
Swallowing, I put my hand into hers, and she clasps it.
“You do understand,” she says.
“Yes.” There’s no other answer to give her. “You don’t need to worry, because whatever Tristan and I had, it’s over.”
My mom’s entire body relaxes, and she brings my hand to her forehead, cradling it, so very happy.
At least that makes one of us.
After a long shower, I go to my room, get into a pair of pajamas, and close the door. I don’t have the energy to do much more than text Julia to tell her that I’m sick and bedbound. Then I just lay there.
It’s done, this thing between Tristan and me. It barely even started, and it’s over, and I feel as if someone has taken me apart and left me broken. I—
A car pulls into the driveway, and my pulse leaps, because what if…?
No. It can’t be Tristan. He won’t come home for me, and even if he did, I wouldn’t go anywhere with him. I couldn’t, shouldn’t, and I have to keep telling myself that. Every time I do, I go increasingly numb.
I hear the front door open and shut, then my stepdad’s voice. It sounds as if he and Mom are working out their differences, and I hope he doesn’t knock on my door for a stepdad-to-daughter talk. It’s the last thing I can handle right now.
Well, besides Tristan.
With his name on my mind and the memory of his hands on my body, I roll to my side and shut my eyes. Blocking him out would give me some peace, if only I could do that.
I roll over in bed again. I dream of his kisses and how he used to look at me as if I was unlike any other woman, the friction between us sparking and burning until we’d both end up exploding…
My mind darkens as I fall into those dreams. Those beautiful and achy dreams…
When I come awake again, the sun is setting through my window, and I turn to my other side and fight sleep while, at the same time, praying for it. Sleep overcomes me once more, but the next thing I know, my eyes are open and it’s darker outside, the sky black and ominous.
Again, I turn away from the window and close my eyes, willing myself to go back to that welcoming mental blankness that seems to come and go, teasing me like Tristan used to tease—
A sound from the hallway makes me open my eyes. Or maybe I’m only on edge because of the pure silence in the midnight-dark house. Or maybe I only heard the creak of the roof or a car passing by on the street.
Whatever it is, I shut my eyes again. Tristan. Why can’t I stop thinking about him, craving him with these pangs that won’t leave me alone?
Then I hear something else. Another creak.
The floor.
As I hitch in a breath, a hand lightly covers my mouth. My heart is beating so hard that I think it might burst, but I’m not afraid. I know that hand, the rough skin of it, the shape and warmth of it. And when the mattress sinks with the weight of a body, I don’t make a sound.
When I close my eyes again, it’s in pure ecstasy, because I know Tristan has come back and this absolutely isn’t a dream as he buries his face against my neck and pulls me against his bare body. His cock presses against the back of my thigh, and I melt.
He still has a key to the house, and dear God, he’s here…for me.
Just for me.
A flush lights over my skin, heat rushing through me, and I’m powerless to resist him. The fact that he’s truly here makes me go even weaker, because if he gets caught in my bedroom…
God, I should tell him to get out, that he’s not good for me and I’m obviously not good for him, but I can’t. I don’t want to, and when he strokes his hand over my stomach, making the tiny muscles there quiver, I let him. And when he slips his fingers inside the waistband of my pajama shorts, I moan.
“Shh,” he whispers in my ear.
Because if anyone catches us this time, there’re be hell to pay.
5
His breath is warm and uneven against my ear, his touch just as sure and knowing as always as he slowly eases his fingers lower, stopping just before reaching my pussy. He skims my sensitive flesh, creating more heat in me, and I make a soft, desperate sound that I know I shouldn’t be making.
“Shh,” he says again, just before kissing my ear.
The darkness adds to the wrongness of having him here with me in a situation that’s even more forbidden than ever, and when he slips his middle finger between my folds, I fight the gasp that instinctively rushes out of me.
But quiet…I’ve got to be quiet or else our parents will hear.
I press my lips together, biting back restless sounds as he slides his finger through me, up then down. My clit is already aching, even before he sucks my earlobe into his mouth, tonguing it in time to the play of his finger. I part my legs a little more, inviting him to come inside me, but he doesn’t. He seems content just to stroke me like this, his palm covering my mons as if it’s all his.
I’m getting wetter and wetter, and I want to tell him to come on and fuck me, but I can’t say a word. I can only listen to the sounds of my juices, the ragged rhythm of my breathing, the sharp thuds of my pulse.
He nuzzles my neck, takes a deep breath of me, whispers a curse, then finally pushes his finger up and into me. I move with his slow thrust while making a soft sound like a whimper. He finger bangs me like that, deliberately, confidently, even though just hours ago, I was done with him.
I want to ask what makes him so sure I won’t scream at him to get out of my bed, but Tristan knows better. I even know better myself, and when he crooks his finger inside me to touch that special, ultra-sensitive spot, I turn my head and bite my pillow, still silent, even though it’s as if a flash bomb goes off in me, blinding me for the briefest time, all light and no sound.
/> But I’m greedy for more, and I start to turn toward him, wanting his cock where his finger is, but Tristan already knows what he wants. He always does.
He leaves his finger inside me, rubbing my clit with his thumb while tugging down my shorts with his other hand until they’re off. Then, after getting me worked up, he pulls out of me. His jagged breathing dominates the darkness as he unbuttons my pajama top, then gets rid of that, too.
I don’t know what’s coming next—I can’t see the look on his face, and he can’t talk dirty to me this time—so all I can do is wait, anticipation needling my skin.
He slides his hands up my sides and presses his body over mine. Then I feel his mouth on my breast, warm and moist. He sucks on my nipple as I wiggle underneath him, begging, pleading in the only way I can right now, but he’s damned well intent on taking his time.
First he brings one nipple to a peak. Then the other. Eventually, he kisses his way down to my stomach, and there’s a burn he leaves behind from the five o’clock shadow on his face as well as the hot blood that pulses in his wake. He pauses at my bellybutton, then swirls his tongue into it. I reach up to grip the bars on my headboard, holding on for dear life, holding back another moan.
God, the erotic pain is killing me, especially when I wonder if Tristan is tempting fate by taking things so slowly and surely. But isn’t that one reason I love him? Because he’s so high-risk and exciting?
As he dips down between my legs, kissing me there, using his tongue to make me arch off the bed, I can’t stop the panting groan that comes out of me this time.
But…quiet. I’ve got to be quiet.
Reminding myself about the consequences of getting caught doesn’t do anything to put off the orgasm that’s gathering inside me, a sensation that feels like heavy footsteps on stairs—one pounding beat, then another, another, until those sensual thuds stop at my door, ready to burst through it—
A jerk of carnal pleasure lands in me just before Tristan licks his way up my pussy and rests his head on my mons, almost as if he can see in the dark and he’s watching every play of emotion on my face. But maybe he’s only teasing me again, knowing that I’m close to coming.
He rests his fingertips on my belly, and I shift beneath him. Then he walks his fingers up and over my skin.
Out of my mind, I grab his hand and sit up. The bed springs creak, but I don’t care—I only want to give as good as I’m getting, so I feel my way in the dark over Tristan’s arm, his chest, lower. When I get to his cock, I grip it. With a sharp gasp, he lays back on the bed, letting me do what I want to do to him.
But he should know by now that if he can tease, I can tease.
With a slowness that I hope will drive him insane, I move my hand up his shaft, then down. He’s hard, and just as his breathing gets choppier, I pause. He makes something like a frustrated growl, and I give him a little more, circling my thumb over his tip. In my mind, I can picture what his beautiful cock looks like, and suddenly the mood in the room turns. I tenderly begin to memorize the feel of him, because this is our last time together. There’s no way either of us can go on like this, and I want to hold him in my dreams forever. At least I’ll have that…
I run my fingers over his length, then down to his sac. I caress the inside of his thigh, and from the sound of his breathing, I can tell he’s thinking the same thing I am—this is all we’ll have of one another from now on. Fantasies, remembrances.
I leisurely memorize all of him with my fingertips, from his belly, up his chest, higher, until I get to his face. When I finish, I lie back on the bed, waiting for him to feel me all over, too. And he does: from my legs to my hips, from my waist to my breasts. When he reaches my face, he lingers. Then, with the sort of gentleness that only I know is in Tristan, he kisses me.
Butterflies spin in my mind, then flutter downward until they skim the lining of my stomach. I wish he could know that I love him, love him with every breath I take and will ever take.
He kisses me again, and I can sense him bracing his hands on either side of me. When I feel his tip nestle against my pussy, I open up for him, but he doesn’t come in.
I’m pounding for him as he rubs his hardness against my clit, slipping and sliding then grinding. As I wince, he slides lower and nudges his head into me, but only a little, just enough to make me hunger for more.
When he pulls out of me, the wet sound turns me on so much that I can’t stop myself from murmuring his name.
“Tristan…”
Tristan, come into me all the way. Tristan, can’t everything stay just like this from now on?
“Shh,” he repeats, prodding me once again. But he gives me more than his tip this time, and I grasp his arms, my nails digging into his skin.
With a quiet, rough sound, he rears back then plunges all the way into me. I grab the pillow to cover my mouth, but it barely absorbs my tiny cry. He pumps into me with long, lazy strokes.
His thrusts come harder, faster, as if he’s held back as long as possible and he’s about to go over the edge. With every pounding I get, my control slips away that much more. My soft, fervent groans match each thrust, and I feel like I’m climbing those orgasmic steps, up and up a stairway to nowhere or somewhere or a space in between that’s hot and bright and—
I cry out on a shattering explosion, and it isn’t until I hear the echo of my voice in the dark room that I realize I didn’t stay as quiet as I should have. And that I actually said something.
I love you.
Fuck, but I’m not sure Tristan heard, because he’s coming now, hard and brutal, and the sounds he’s making are stifled but loud enough so that they fill the night and make me hold my panting breath as he finishes. Agitated, I realize that I’m not done coming, and my smothered groans are a dead giveaway.
Maybe he didn’t hear my confession, because even as he recovers from his climax, he strokes my pussy and works my clit until my orgasm grows, and as I begin to moan loudly, he presses his hand over my mouth. I bite his skin as I come once more, and while I float down from my high, I suck his fingers, tasting myself on him, wishing that this night would never end, even though it will. It always does with Tristan, but now it’ll be for good.
Still, as he holds me, I can dream that things are different with us. I can memorize this moment, too.
“I had to come back to you,” he whispers in my ear. “I care about you too much to stay away, Sosie. God, I care too much.”
Yes, maybe he didn’t hear me cry out that I love him, because he would’ve never made this confession if he had. But the fact that he did tell me that he cares for me makes hope come alive again. Does he want to change for me? Can he?
I wrap my arms around him. Surely this is the first step in making that happen. Surely this can happen.
As he keeps holding me, I smile, and with my lips pressed against his neck, I think he can feel it. Minutes pass, and I finally sink into the deep sleep that eluded me earlier.
I awaken only when I feel him slipping out of bed. The moon has come to shine through the window, so I can see him putting on the jeans he’d obviously taken off before surprising me in my room. Is he leaving the house?
“Where’re you going?” I whisper. As I say it, I realize how disappointed I am. I thought that maybe after what he’d said, about caring about me, that maybe he’d --
“I’ve got something to take care of,” he says.
Already there’s a weight in my belly that feels as heavy as lead. “What is it?”
He turns to me, and the moonlight reveals the cuts and bruises that I’d forgotten he has. It also shows his cavalier expression.
“I’m going to another fight, Sosie.”
6
For a second, I only stare at Tristan. Did he say what I think he just said?
“You’re going to do what?” I whisper, if you can even call it that.
He pulls his shirt on and tugs it down. “I’m going to be in another fight. You know, the thing that pays me while
I’m out of a real job?”
His whisper is still tracing the air as he puts on his boots. I pull up the bed sheet so that it covers me.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I manage.
He glances toward my closed door, probably as a reminder about our parents, but at this point, I don’t care. I thought there was a possibility that he’d changed, that his words meant maybe he was going to stay here, face our parents together, so how stupid am I?
“Sos.” He sits down on the mattress so we don’t have to whisper so loudly. “I need that money, and I already agreed to the work. You know I always keep my word.”
“Damn your word. That has nothing to do with this.”
He frowns, as if he has no idea what I’m talking about.
I clutch the sheet and shake my head. Stupid, stupid me. “The reason you’re fighting isn’t the money, Tristan.”
“Then what am I fighting for?”
He really doesn’t know.
Even in my anger, I realize that freaking out will only make things worse, so I exhale. But my heart is still stomping around my chest.
“Tristan, don’t you think you should be talking to someone?” I ask as gently as I can. I don’t add that I’m sure his mom’s abuse is what’s pushing him to fight.
Now he’s staring at me, his jaw clenching until a muscle ticks in his cheek. But if I don’t say this to him, who will?
I touch his arm. “I’m only saying that I wish you’d talk to someone about this instead of acting out during these fights—and I’m not just talking about the paid ones.”
It’s as if he’s thinking back to Brent and the café. The shadows in his gaze tell me as much. When he looks back at me, there’s something else in his gaze—something he would never admit to anyone outside this room. He knows about the demons.
“I am talking to someone,” he whispers. “You.”
My heart breaks once again at that.
He goes on. “I can only talk to you, Sosie.”
My God. An ache twists in my throat, and my hand slides down his arm.