Chapter 34 #3
Tristan gently cradles my face, tipping my chin up, his thumbs brushing circles over my cheeks, his tenderness the complete opposite of the violent desire burning behind his whiskey browns.
My pulse skyrockets when his lips descend upon mine, his tongue like velvet when he kisses me, and I melt on the spot.
My core throbs painfully with unfulfilled need, and I cling to his biceps, holding on for dear life as his mouth seduces me with promises of what’s to come.
Reclaiming my lips, this kiss is different than the first. More dangerous.
More claiming. We break apart and clash back together as we stumble across the patio.
The soft hairs covering his chest send tingles through my fingertips as my hands roam his body.
I grunt into our kiss when we crash against the side of the house, our fumbled movements like those of two horny teenagers trying to sprint from third base to home as quickly as possible.
Tristan suddenly spins me around and roughly pushes me against the window that looks into the kitchen.
His chest collides with my back, pressing flush, and I arch into his touch as his finger trails up the valley of my spine.
Arousal drips down my legs when I feel the hard length of his cock at my ass.
He licks along the curve of my neck to my shoulder, then lightly bites down, like he’s hungry for me. Craves me.
Bracing my hands flat on the glass, I widen my legs and push back so I can watch our reflections. “Tristan.” His gaze lifts. “Fuck me like you want to break me.”
He takes me at my word.
The morning explodes to life when I cry out, the first thrust of his cock stretching me deliciously.
Another thrust, this one deeper. Tristan pounds into me with a brute force that lifts me off my feet with every punch of his hips, fucking me rough and dirty and perfect.
So good. So fucking good. My eyes roll back, and I moan his name like a mantra as he propels me higher and higher, catapulting me closer to that precipice of euphoria that will send me to paradise.
Turning my head, I seek his mouth, our kiss sloppy and wet.
The sounds of our grunts and moans punctuate the morning silence as our bodies claim total possession over each other.
And then we detonate, our guttural moans drowned out by Cocky B’s ear-splitting crow.
Tristan buries his nose into my hair. “That damn rooster.” I giggle, and he tugs the lobe of my ear with his teeth. “That was over way too quickly. Give me about ten minutes to recover.”
I don’t tell him my legs won’t work, and I wouldn’t be able to move right now if my life depended on it.
Reaching back, I palm his cheek. “It was perfect.”
Movement behind the window simultaneously catches our attention, and I startle when Hendrix’s face grins back at us. He exhales on the glass and draws a rudimentary picture of a penis, then two circles and two dots for boobs.
“I swear Hen never matured past his tenth birthday,” Tristan says as he chuckles.
Hendrix taps on the window, then breathes on the glass again and writes in the condensation, Look who’s here.
My gaze flies from the message to the person standing right behind him. Two people, actually.
Constantine and…
Oh.
My.
Fucking.
God.
Like nothing is out of the ordinary with me buck naked against the window, and Tristan still dick-deep inside me with his cum trickling down my legs, Aleksander lifts a to-go box of donuts from my favorite bakery near campus.
“I, uh…brought breakfast,” I hear him say through the glass.
Shit. I completely forgot about that. We made plans to go for a run this morning before class. I’m trying to lose the rest of the pregnancy weight and get back into shape. Donuts kind of defeat the purpose. Doesn’t mean I won’t eat them.
Tristan bursts out laughing when I quickly crouch down out of view. “This isn’t funny!”
He picks up his sweatpants and pulls them on, then lifts me off the ground, much to my numerous f-bombs for him to put me back down. I growl at him when he fucking spanks me.
“On the contrary.” I tip sideways when he bends over to retrieve my clothes. “Just tell him to close his eyes.”
“You tell him,” I hiss.
I dig two fingers into the pressure point located on his forearm and am able to squirm out of his hold. Landing on my feet, I make a mad dash through the kitchen, flashing everyone in the process.
“Save me the chocolate ones!” I yell as I streak past Aleksander toward the stairs, every bare inch of me as naked as the day I was born.
Fuck it. My dignity is already damned. And I’m hungry.
And screw them for making this awkward as hell. I refuse to do a walk of shame in my own home.
You want Aleksander to look at you.
Shut up, conscience.
Stopping in my tracks, I turn around and march back into the kitchen. Grabbing the entire box of donuts from a stunned and speechless Aleksander, I set it on the counter island, lift the lid, and take out one smothered in chocolate icing.
“Want a blow job in the shower?” I ask Constantine.
Hendrix tosses up his hands, not happy one bit. “But you promised me a blow job!”
“You’re in time out,” I inform him.
“For what?”
Like he doesn’t know. He could have warned me we had an audience, not just stood there, smirking through the window.
“Give me twenty minutes, and I’ll be ready for our run,” I tell Aleksander.
His gaze jerks up from my boobs, and I arch an eyebrow when his face flames fire-engine red. Typical male. To be honest, after the stuff the guys and I have done at the Red Room, standing in my “birthday suit” in the kitchen with them is hardly scandalous.
“Uh-huh,” Aleksander chokes out.
Tristan reaches over and snaps his mouth closed. “You’re starting to drool.”
Aleksander scowls. “I was not.”
Snatching a glazed donut from the open box, Tristan makes sure to emphatically pop the p when he replies, “Yep, you were most definitely drooling.”
Aleksander closes the lid. “Fuck you. You don’t get any.”
Hendrix tries a last-ditch effort to sway me with his sexy British accent. “Please. Pretty please. I’ll be good. And I’ll make you feel so damn good.”
I snort when he bats his baby blues at me. “Tempting. But you’re still in time out.”
He points an accusatory finger at Constantine. “He was standing there, too. Why does he get a pass?”
“Thirty minutes,” Constantine interjects.
Taking a big bite out of my donut, I counter with, “Fifteen.” Constantine flashes his fingers five times for twenty-five, and I roll my eyes because he knows damn well I’ll cave. “Fine.”
Hendrix slides one of the knifes out of the butcher block on the counter. “She can’t give you a BJ if I cut your dick off.”
Backing out of the kitchen, Constantine holds up his middle finger and sends the guys a smug grin as he follows after me.