Chapter 19 #2
“Please….stop…talking…” Ophelia begged through ragged breaths.
Another wicked chuckle poured from Tristan’s throat, sending more of those delightful vibrations over her mons, but Tristan obeyed. Within moments, the only sounds echoing through the room were the laps of Tristan’s tongue and Ophelia’s breathy moaning growing in volume with each wicked flick.
It startled out subtle at first, the pleasure of Tristan’s tongue, but as he buried his head deeper between her legs and his tongue became more insistent, Ophelia’s body began to tighten with trembling tension.
She was not sure what her body was being pulled toward or what would happen after.
All she knew was that a precipice was growing closer, and all she wanted to do was fall over it.
When she did, all of that coiling, taut pressure within her snapped like tiny cords, and her lungs of their own volition poured out a scream of ecstasy.
Somewhere through the waves of pleasure she was swimming through, she heard Tristan’s whispered words of praise as he placed soft kisses over her inner thighs, up her lower abdomen, and over her breasts.
When she finally could move her arms again, she wrapped them tight around his back, her fingers tunneling through his hair, and held him close.
As she slowly came back into her body, she could not help but wonder what on earth she had just experienced.
More worrisome than that though… were the potential consequences of letting Tristan be the man to give her such an experience.
For the first time in her life, Ophelia worried about the consequences of her view on freedom. Not for society’s sake. Not for her father’s. But for her own.
“I believe we found your next subject,” Tristan said, easing his body off of her.
Ophelia blinked, roused herself from her troubling thoughts.
“What?” She asked.
Tristan smirked as he pulled her skirts down over her legs, and for the first time since he’d ruined her dress, she felt bashful of her state of unkempt state. She sat up slowly, and pulled the ruined lace up over her shoulders.
“A woman being devoured,” Tristan explained, drawing her cloak around her ruined dress. “That is what I want you to paint next. Are you up to the task?”
Ophelia shook off her troubling thoughts and remnants of pleasure, more confused than ever, and let Tristan help her off of the desk.
“I believe I am,” she replied, hoping her voice didn’t sound as troubled as her thoughts.
This was a little tête à tête, nothing more, she told herself as she walked on trembling legs back to her canvas. It was interesting…even fun. But it was over. She drew on a smirk as Tristan took his usual place behind her.
“You are still going to watch me, I presume?” She asked, pulling a fresh canvas onto her easel.
Behind her, she heard Tristan chuckle.
“Don’t I always?”
“Wonderful,” Tristan praised as Ophelia cleaned her brushes.
He walked around the painting, inspecting it from different angles.
“The mask you put on her is excellent. It covers her features while leaving her ecstasy bare.”
Though Ophelia felt herself growing addicted to his praise, she only offered a wry smirk as she busied herself with her brushes.
She was not going to tell him how much his tongue had inspired the painting, or how her body still felt residual trembles from their little fight for control… or how she already wanted more.
“Well, I am glad it pleases you,” she said briskly.
She didn’t have to look back at him to know that he had shifted his gaze to her; inspecting her just as intensely as he had been inspecting her work.
“Were our ‘liberties’ taken too far?” He asked.
The question was blunt and abrupt, drawing Ophelia into stillness for a moment.
“No,” she said as she continued cleaning her brushes.
“Ophelia, be honest,” he demanded.
She felt his hands smooth down her shoulders and she had to fight the way her body immediately wanted to give in to his touch.
“I am being honest,” she said decidedly.
“There is little left that I get to decide for myself and if you think that I would let you sway my choices then you think too highly of yourself,” she stated matter-of-factly. She then forced herself to let out a laugh, though empty it was.
“Though of course you are Lord Perfect, so I am sure not thinking highly of yourself would be impossible for you.”
A tense moment of silence passed between them, and for a moment, Ophelia worried she went too far. Then she heard Tristan snicker, and though he was still behind her, she could envision the way he was shaking his head.
“Glad we are back to that,” he stated dryly, referring to their bickering.
He walked around her then, coming into her view, and went to his desk.
“Your payment for tonight’s work,” he said, holding out a red envelope.
Ophelia reached for the money, but hesitated before she wrapped her fingers around the full envelope.
“Is that the only service I am being paid for?” She asked.
Tristan’s eyes darkened as he looked at her, his frown set firmly into place.
“For if it is not, then perhaps I should give some of the money back. There was an equal provision of services for both of us,” she said coldly.
Her own words irked her. She was not sure why she was so suddenly feeling hurt. There had been no force. No coercion. Yet she was mad at Tristan, far more than she ever had been before. And she did not understand why.
“Your jesting goes a step too far,” Tristan replied, his deep voice full of warning. “I have nothing against women of the night, as you well know, but you are much more than that and I would never treat you as such.”
His firm tone only intensified Ophelia’s new, strange feelings, and she nodded.
“I know,” she said quietly. She finished putting her brushes back into her crate and closed it carefully.
“Forgive me,” she said after a moment of silence. “I am not feeling quite myself. Perhaps it has just been a long night.”
Another tense moment passed between them as Tristan continued to study her with that quiet intensity.
“It is all right,” he finally answered, his tone much softer than before. “I cannot begin to imagine what you are feeling. However, Ophelia, you must know; despite our squabbling. I would never use you like that. We may hate each other but I still care about you.”
We may hate each other but I still care about you.
Ophelia smirked at the words. She liked that.
“Well then,” she sighed, reaching out to take the envelope, “Once again, it was a pleasure doing business with you, Lord Perfect.”
Tristan smirked and rolled his eyes as he let her pull the envelope from his fingertips.
“Are you going to Alistair’s birthday party this Saturday?” He asked, picking up her mask.
“Theo is insisting upon it,” Ophelia replied as she let him draw her mask over her face. It was becoming almost ritual now, and she no longer minded that he did so for her.
“Though after the last ball I am more inclined to tuck into my house and never emerge,” she added dryly.
Tristan chuckled and nodded.
“I could use a tucking in myself,” he said, pulling his own mask back on. “I only asked because you took me by surprise when we picked you up in the carriage. I’d like to be more prepared next time I see you.”
Ophelia raised an amused brow.
“You were surprised?” She asked.
Tristan scoffed.
“Oh, come, you were just as thrown off balance as I was when you saw me sitting there across from Alistair and Theo,” he replied.
Ophelia giggled. It was true.
“I suppose it is becoming a little odd,” she admitted, “Seeing you outside of the Masquerade.”
“Well, you only have one painting left,” Tristan said, adjusting her cloak for her so that her tattered gown was well-covered, “Soon seeing me outside the Masquerade will once more be the norm.”
Though she did not know why, Ophelia felt her heart sink at the words. Confused about what she felt, she simply nodded, and waited silently as Tristan called for the guards. She was feeling confused quite a bit over Tristan lately, and it was starting to make her weary.
“Yes, well,” she said quietly, “It will be good to get back to the norm.”
Tristan’s head turned quickly toward her, as if he was going to ask her something as the guards entered the room.
“Pleasant evening, my lord,” she said respectfully, remembering his rule, and hurried out with guards before Tristan could stop her.