Chapter Four
Chloe
By the time I clean up the kitchen, Trystan still hasn't come back from walking Thanos. And I'm honestly not sure if he even plans to come back at all. For all I know, he's on his way back to Santa Maria, cursing my name for forcing him to admit what he's clearly desperate to hide.
I stumble to the guest room around midnight, tipsy, frustrated, and horny. I want him to come back so we can talk, but I don't even know what to say. He shook my world on its foundation at the table tonight, and I don't know what it means.
All I know is that the man I've been in love with since before I even understood what that meant for me just admitted that he gets himself off to fantasies of me. And, apparently, he has for a long time.
I have so many damn questions, starting with 'Can I watch?'
I mean, I probably shouldn't start with that one. But do I want to? Hell, yes. Are you kidding me? I was ready to drop to my knees at the dang table to make his fantasy a reality.
Maybe I should be pissed about it. I don't know. But it'd be hypocritical of me to be mad at him when I've been doing the same thing for years. He's always the one I think about when I touch myself.
It's his name I moan in the dark. It's him I see in my dreams.
I'd be lying if I said I didn't love knowing he thinks about me, too.
"Stop thinking," I growl to myself, stumbling into the side of the bed as I strip down, leaving my clothes in a pile on the floor. Since he isn't even here, I don't bother getting into pajamas before I shuffle to the bathroom to take care of business.
I look wild in the mirror hanging over the sink. My wavy hair is a riot around my face. My eyes are wide, the pupils dilated. My skin is flushed pink.
The flush only deepens when I look around the bathroom, thinking about him in here this morning, getting himself off.
I had you on your knees with my dick down your throat.
I whimper out loud at the memory of him growling those words at me. My core clenches at the image it evokes…me on my knees with his hand clutched in my hair. His eyes just as wild as mine are right now. Rivulets of sweat drip down his abdomen.
I shut off the water and scurry back to my room, feeling like my entire body is on fire. I barely have the door closed before I hear Thanos running down the hall.
Shit. Trystan's back.
I should get dressed and go talk to him, tell him that I don't hate him.
I slap the light switch instead, plunging the guest room into darkness.
Aside from the moonlight filtering in through the window and the LED display on the bedside clock, the room is pitch-black, the furniture nothing but formless blobs.
I feel along the wall, inching toward the bed. By some miracle, I find it without breaking my neck and then fall into it. The sheets don't do a single thing to cool my overheated skin.
I close my eyes, willing myself to sleep anyway.
And then I hear him coming down the hall. His heavy steps pause outside my door. Something about him listening like I did earlier today shakes loose another memory.
You were choking on me while you rode your perfect fucking fingers.
I choke on a whimper, my hand already sliding down my body. My legs part, my eyes locked on the door. I don't know if I'm willing him to hear me and come in…or if I'm daring him to hear me and stay out. All I know is that I don't try to stifle my cries when my thumb rolls over my clit.
"Trystan," I moan into the dark. I'm so wet, my clit swollen and achy. I need release so damn badly. I arch my hips, my thighs parting further.
One finger circles my opening before I slowly push it inside.
"Oh, God, Trystan," I groan, my hips bucking against my hand.
There's something deliciously naughty about knowing he's right on the other side of the door, listening to me.
Is he gripping both sides of the door frame, his knuckles white as he tries to keep himself from barging in on me?
Does he have his cock in his hand right now?
Is he jerking off to the sound of my cries?
Part of me hopes he is. The other part wants him to crack the door open and step through it. I want him to catch me. I want him to wreck me. I don't want to touch myself. I want his hands all over me, and his voice in my ear.
I let myself imagine the same thing he said he was today…me on my knees, him thrusting into my mouth. I fuck my fingers, thinking about his eyes on me, watching me…losing it little by little every time I moan around his length.
"Trystan," I sob, pinching my nipple. "God, yes!"
I hear a curse outside the door—faint, low, growled. The same damn way he growled in the bathroom today.
My hips lift from the bed, his name cracking on my lips as I fly apart. My heart pounds, waves of pleasure wracking my body. I work myself through it, eking out every last shiver of ecstasy.
By the time I slip my hand from between my legs, I'm a panting, sweaty mess. I suck in a deep breath and then hold it, listening intently for any hint that he's still out there, but it's dead silent.
Did he leave already?
"Chloe," he moans softly, and my damn heart nearly bursts. He's still out there. Jesus. He really was listening.
I'm halfway out of bed—ninety percent sure I'm on my way to fling the door open and drag him inside—when I hear him walking away.
He. Actually. Walks. Away.
"Are you kidding me right now?" I groan, flopping back down in the bed. I snatch a pillow up, burying my face in it to mute my growl. It's part sexual frustration, part confusion, part unhinged fury.
He is so damn infuriating!
"Screw it," I mutter, yanking the pillow off before dragging the blankets up over me. "I hope his dick chafes."
It's what he deserves for the emotional rollercoaster I've been on today. I'm not sure what I expected, though. His life is taking care of his family and the vineyard. There's no room for me.
Why would I ever let myself believe there could be?
He may want me, but like I told him this morning, he doesn't color outside the lines. Certainly not for me.
Itoss and turn for half the night, unable to shut my mind off. Every time I think I've exorcised him from my mind, an old memory of him will pop up, and I'm falling down another Trystan-sized rabbit hole.
There are so damn many memories of him. He's been a sunspot in my life from the very beginning.
I knew him before I even knew how to walk.
There was no Before Trystan. There's only ever been Trystan.
And I run into the same problem in this bed that I do every single time I vow never to speak to him again.
He's everywhere. Memories of him litter my past, eclipsing all the others.
I barely remember what I did last week, let alone most things from my childhood.
But I remember the way I felt so safe when he taught me how to swim in the pond when I was nine and he was eleven.
I remember how I felt invincible holding his hand as we chased fireflies when I was ten.
I remember the way my heart skipped a beat when I saw him waiting outside the winery in faded jeans and an old ballcap the summer I turned thirteen.
And I remember the way he scowled when I stepped out of the car that day, too. I remember the first thing he said to me. It wasn't hello or that he'd missed me. It was, "What's all over your face?"
We'd argued before, but that was the first day he made me cry.
It certainly wasn't the last. That was prom. I wanted him to take me so badly. I don't think I've ever really forgiven him for breaking my heart the night I called him. Mostly because he doesn't even know he did it. He was oblivious.
He still is. But he still keeps showing up. As soon as I think maybe I can relax, he reappears, as bossy and infuriating as ever, as beautiful as ever, and my head and heart get all twisted up again. Just like they are right now.
I sigh heavily, staring up at the ceiling as shadows crawl across the room. It's nearly three in the morning, but I haven't slept at all. I'm ready to give up entirely when I hear a floorboard creak outside my door.
I turn my head, glancing in that direction, but everything goes silent. For a long moment, I think I'm just imagining things.
And then I hear it again, followed by my doorknob turning.
I slam my eyes closed, my heart thundering against my breastbone.
The door clicks open, the floorboards creaking again.
I feel him standing in the doorway, watching me. I hear him breathing. But he doesn't say anything. He doesn't come any closer. He just stands there.
I crack my eyes open, peeking at him from beneath my lashes.
He's a thick shadow in the night, most of his body obscured.
But a beam of light falls across his face.
Just enough for me to see the look in his eyes.
It's savage and beautiful at the same time, his gray eyes locked on me as if he's trying to memorize every detail.
There's so much emotion in his gaze, like everything he hasn't said is right there.
And for the first time, I realize that maybe I'm not the only one who has been in love for a long damn time.
I think maybe he has, too. And I think it's eating him up inside.
No, I know it is. I see it right there on his face, clear as day.
I hear it in the way his breath hitches as he stares at me, like it's taking all of his strength to keep his distance.
This complicated, confusing man feels something for me. Something deep and powerful. It has him twisted into knots and turned inside out; the same damn way it always has me.
"I'm sorry, princess," he whispers, his voice a gritty scrap of sound in the dark. "Christ, I wish I could take back everything I ever did to make you hate me."
I open my mouth to respond, to tell him that I never hated him…but he's gone before I get the chance. He slips out silently, closing the door behind him.
Does he know that I was awake and listening? Was I supposed to hear?
I don't think I was. But I did anyway.
And now, I don't know what to do about it.
Loving Trystan is simple. I've done it all my life. But letting him love me? Letting down all the walls I built to keep him out and letting him in again? Well, that's fucking terrifying.
If anyone has the power to break me, it's him. He's always had that power. But I'm beginning to realize that I've always had it over him, too. And I'm not entirely sure either of us will survive if we crack.
If we get it wrong, we'll rip each other to shreds. I'm too stubborn, and he's too demanding. I'm quick to judge. He's quick to bark orders. He's a storm. I'm a tornado. And we've always been two tectonic plates slamming into one another with enough force to shake our whole damn world apart.
His family is everything to him, the same way mine is to me.
And if we get this wrong, they could break too.
My dad will always take my side. If Trystan breaks my heart…
my dad won't ever forget that or forgive him.
It'll change everything, a lifetime of friendship and family, fracturing apart under the strain we placed on it.
Can I really take that risk?
Do I have a choice?
"Crap," I groan, rolling onto my side and dragging the covers up over my head like that'll silence my thoughts or shut out the world.
It doesn't, though.
Dawn lights the horizon outside the window before I finally, finally manage to doze off, no closer to figuring out what to do about Trystan's late-night visit than I was when the door closed behind him.
All I know for sure is that it changes everything. Every damn thing.