Chapter 11 #3
“You’re back,” said a groggy voice. I moved closer to find Tristian resting on the couch. Relief finally trickled in.
Tristian sat up. He was shirtless. In the dark, I allowed my eyes to travel over every exposed inch of him as he rolled his neck and stood, swaying slightly. A blanket fluttered to the floor, leaving him in just his briefs. Common sense eddied out of me.
“You lose?” I asked despite myself.
A sleepy chuckle escaped him. He tugged at his waistband. “I’m in shorts.”
“Underwear,” I corrected him, my gaze locked on his muscular chest.
“It’s clothing,” he said with a shrug, stepping closer to me. I held my breath, his presence eating up all the oxygen in the room. A different kind of want found me, one I had never dared breathe life into.
“I didn’t think you’d come back tonight,” he told me, his eyes tracing the outlines of my face, the strand of my auburn hair that had come loose.
“You thought Levi would keep me out all night?” I asked.
“I wouldn’t put it past him. He’d work himself to death if we let him.” Tristian raked his teeth across his bottom lip as he stretched out his hand, giving me time to pull away.
I stilled, my heart careening off, wild and desperate, as he brushed the wild strand of hair behind my ear. My stomach fluttered at the gentleness of the gesture. His hand drifted down my neck, resting at the base. His thumb fit perfectly in the small hollow of my throat.
“That’s not what I meant, though,” he murmured.
I tilted my head up, shivering against his blazing touch. His hand remained. “What did you mean then?” My voice didn’t sound like my own. Breathy and soft.
“I thought”—he swallowed, those green eyes locked on his hand on my neck. Disbelief etched across his devastatingly handsome face—“I thought you’d be busy. With other things.”
“I ended things with Jaxon,” I admitted, too honestly. My pulse hammered beneath the steady pressure of his hand. His eyes found mine. I didn’t know what was held in their depths. He drifted closer to me, the space between us almost nonexistent.
Walk away, some sane part of my brain urged. But I stayed.
“Why?” Tristian asked.
I shrugged. You know why, a voice whispered. I stared at the man before me. “Just wasn’t what I was looking for anymore.”
“What are you looking for, Sasha?” Tristian asked, drifting into me more, his voice deepening.
For that single moment, I allowed myself to be lost in him, in what it would feel like to close the distance—his powerful body pressed against mine with nothing between us.
My hands tangled in his hair as he explored every inch of me.
Being on the receiving end of all of him.
My core blazed as I met his stare—that seemed to ask for permission.
What if just once…just once, I gave in to the thing I was afraid of? Would I be able to stop?
I was leaning into him. His hips met mine as he gently caressed my side. I should pull away. I was better on my own. I couldn’t let myself want—need—someone like him.
“Sasha, I—”
A groan came from behind us. I jerked away as reality flooded in. Tristian’s hands fell, but his eyes remained locked on me. What had I been thinking?
“Stupid mat,” Damien slurred. The thing I had mistaken as just a pile of clothing shifted, and Damien stood fully naked as he blindly stumbled to the other sofa, falling face-first into it.
I stepped back.
“Sasha,” Tristian uttered quietly. My name was almost a plea.
“You’re drunk, Hayes,” I told him, turning away.
A warm hand wrapped around my wrist, the grip loose—giving me an out—as Tristian stopped me. “Don’t do that.”
Things from before the war, grass and trees—life—slammed into me as his eyes searched mine. Containing all the things I didn’t have anymore. The want in their endless depths was scorching. I couldn’t look away.
I should run. No. He should run—spare himself.
“It’s for the best,” I muttered, my throat tight.
Tristian tugged me toward him. I let him. His other hand cupped the side of my neck, and I shivered against the heat in his touch. “I think you’re wrong.”
I wanted to be wrong.
His forehead met mine. My heart slammed against my ribs, the desire I had ignored for years decimating my defenses. His eyes closed.
Our lips were inches apart. I pressed my hand against his chest, his heart galloping. “I’m not wrong.”
Green eyes opened—unafraid. “You are. You’re scared. Because deep down, you know I’m right.”
I pulled away, cold air assaulting me. “You’re drunk. You couldn’t handle me even if you weren’t.” I shot Kaleo’s words from earlier at him and fled.
My words were as destructive as any bullet. Weeks ago, I told Damien, When you kill someone, you keep your eyes open, and you watch the damage. But I was a hateful coward. I darted toward my bed and did not look back. The only one in there was Ingrid’s sleeping form. I had no idea where Rumi was.
It wasn’t until I lay alone in the dark, staring at Isla’s empty bed, that the beast found me. Tristian was good and kind. With a roar, the demon devoured everything that told me I might deserve a man like him. I welcomed the pain and didn’t stanch the flow of agony as my soul bled out.