21. Simone #3
"Gun," Clark says quietly into his earpiece. "Possible weapon in the crowd. We need to move."
Everything happens very quickly after that. I'm hustled into the car, and we're moving before I even have my seatbelt on. The other vehicles fall in around us, and I can hear tense radio chatter as the team coordinates our route home.
“Are you alright?” Clark asks, glancing back at me, and I nod.
“I’m fine. A little shaken up.” It would take more than that to make me fall apart. But I suppose they have to ask. Tristan certainly will, once he finds out about this.
“We’re going straight home,” Clark says, and I don’t argue.
For once, I don’t feel like arguing about anything at all.
My mind is racing, processing what just happened.
It wasn't random. That man knew exactly who I was and where to find me.
Which means Sal has people watching me, tracking my movements, waiting for the right opportunity.
By the time we pull through the gates of the mansion, all the relaxation of the day has vanished. Tristan is waiting in the driveway, his face dark with anger and worry. He looks at me as I step out of the car, taking a step toward me before stopping abruptly.
"Are you hurt?" he demands.
I shake my head. “No, I’m fine.”
"What happened?"
Clark fills him in while I stand there shivering despite the warm day, the possibilities of what could have happened settling over me at last. I can see the fury building in Tristan's expression, the way his jaw clenches when Clark describes the man's message.
“I’m headed to meet with Konstantin,” Tristan says tightly. “I’ll talk to him about this, give him a description of the man. Simone, you didn’t recognize him?”
I shake my head. “It wasn’t anyone who used to work with or for my father, that I know of. But I don’t know all the associates of everyone who used to work with him. I could be wrong. It wasn’t anyone from our household, though.”
Tristan nods. “Go inside and rest, Simone. I’ll be back later this afternoon.”
Normally, I would bristle and argue with him for ordering me around. But I’m too exhausted. I just nod, walking past him and the guards and into the house.
I’d planned to go upstairs to my room and take a nap, but the exhaustion that hits me when I walk inside makes even going up the stairs feel like a monumental task.
Without entirely realizing where my feet are taking me, I end up back in the sitting room where Tristan and I were last night, collapsing onto the grey velvet couch.
Before a single thought can even enter my head, I’m asleep, insensible to everything around me as the exhaustion drags me under.
—
I wake up hours later, after it’s already dark, groggy and tingling from a dream about Tristan. A dream about what he did to me last night, in this room.
I can feel that I’m wet. My thighs squeeze together, and before I can think better of it, my hand glides down and pushes up the hem of my sundress, up to my hips.
I’m wearing nothing under it but a thin, silky thong, and it’s easy to push it aside, parting my slick folds as my fingers glide between them up to my aching clit.
I remember Tristan taking off my panties last night, balling them up in his fist, shoving them into the pocket of his suit trousers.
A pulse of arousal throbs through me at the thought of him somewhere, right now, with my thong wrapped around his cock, stroking himself to the memory of his fingers inside me, his tongue on me, his length filling me until there was nothing but him.
God, it felt so fucking good —I reach down with my other hand, one foot dropping to the floor as I slide two fingers into myself, my other hand focused on my clit.
I tilt my head back, images from last night flooding my head—Tristan still in his suit, his mouth between my thighs, hovering over me, his face taut with lust as he thrusts into me.
The expression there when I teased him, clenched around him—I do the same around my fingers, imagining it, wishing there was more .
For the first time, I let myself fantasize about my husband, let myself forget about all the rancor and arguments, and once again let myself just feel.
When I do that— god . It’s incredible.
My lips part on a moan, my back arching as I abandon my clit just long enough to tug the bodice of my sundress and the cups of my bra down, freeing my small breasts.
The chill of the air-conditioning tightens my nipples instantly, and I imagine Tristan’s mouth on them, his tongue flicking over the stiff peaks as I stroke my clit again, slowly at first and then in tight circles.
I try to mimic his pace, his touch, my mind full of everything we did last night as I push myself closer and closer to the edge. I’m so close, so unbearably close, and all I need is for it to be him inside of me, him groaning my name as I?—
The thought of my name on Tristan’s lips as he thrusts into me sends me spilling over the edge.
My mouth falls open in a cry, his name coming out as I come hard, fluttering around my thrusting fingers as my entire body clenches with pleasure.
My back arches, pillows spilling to the floor as I buck and writhe on the couch, desperately wanting it to be him that I’m coming with, coming for.
And then, as quickly as the pleasure hits me, it recedes. I come back to myself, realize where I am, and how easily someone could have walked in on me. My face flushes hot, and I yank my hands away, dragging my skirt down as I sit up quick enough to make myself dizzy for a moment.
Tristan could have walked in on me. My face flushes deeper, embarrassment burning through me… and something else, too.
A part of me thinks I wouldn’t have minded so much if he had.
If my husband knew that, despite everything, I’m starting to want him as much as he wants me.