Chapter Twenty-Two Tristan #2
We made the rounds. Polite goodbyes. My parents.
Marcus and Eloise. Even Wolfe, who seemed genuinely disappointed I was leaving, asked whether I might stay for the after-party.
I declined, declaring I had a mound of case files to prepare for Monday’s court.
He’d smiled. Called me a “terribly good boy” into my ear and winked.
Henry and I shared a car. My place was on the way.
He spent the journey dismantling Zara’s dance partner.
About him not having a real job. An investment banker, though I suspected he’d switched a consonant somewhere on purpose.
Henry saved lives, apparently. That man ruined them.
The usual rhetoric. And when the car pulled up outside my building, I braced myself for another quiet night.
Another unanswered message. Another exercise in restraint. And told myself I deserved it.
“There’s a man on your doorstep,” Henry slurred, glancing out of his side window to my building.
I glanced passed Henry and my heart stilled.
“Oh, God.” Henry leant back for me to get a better look. “Did I have that look?”
I edged back to my seat as the car slowed. “Sorry?”
“That look. When I saw Zara.” He swallowed. “Is that what I looked like?”
I paused, hand on the door. “Probably, Hen.”
“Bugger.” He tipped his head back against the seat and shut his eyes.
I opened the door.
Henry grabbed my wrist. “Be careful, Tris.”
“I will. And if I’m not, well, it’s a good job I know a really good doctor.”
He didn’t smile when he let me go. “There are some wounds that even I can’t fix.”
“I know.”
I got out and shut the door, peering over the top of the car as it rolled on and away, allowing Razor to step out of the shadows.
But I didn’t give him the chance to say anything, as it had been weeks.
Weeks of not knowing. Of holding my breath.
And I crossed the distance between us and kissed him.
Hard, unthinking, needing the proof of him there.
His arms came around me immediately, solid and familiar, pulling me close as he kissed me back.
“Trick…”
“You’re okay?” I braced my hands on his chest so I could see his face. “You’re okay, yeah?”
“Yeah.” He pressed his forehead to mine. “I am now.”
I kissed him again, tugging him towards the door, keys fumbling in my grip as if urgency alone might make them behave.
We barely made it inside. Stumbled up the stairs, laughter breaking through the tension when he caught me and lifted me clean off the floor. I wrapped my legs around his waist, forehead pressed to his as he carried me down the hall and laid me out on the bed as if I were precious.
Clothes followed. His first, then mine. I had to help him with the tux, the buttons and fastenings beyond him, but eventually there was nothing between us but heat and skin and need. We kissed, stroked, pressed together until it was so good it bordered on painful. I could have cried from it.
Then I rolled him onto his back and straddled him, sliding my palms over his chest as his hands roamed freely, confident.
I reached for the lube, slicked him properly, and took my time easing myself down on him.
And when he breached me, I dropped my head back, a moan tearing out of me as he slid his hands up my thighs.
“Fuck, Tris…” He gripped my hips, digging his fingers in, then propped himself up on one elbow to thrust up while working me, guiding me up and down on him. “That’s it. So good. Fucking ride me.”
I pressed my palms to his chest and took over, rolling my hips, setting a rhythm that had us both making noise. Every sound from him felt like encouragement. I wanted him to say it again. Wanted baby on his tongue. Wanted, stupidly, for him to fall in love with me so I could save him.
But he kept slapping into me, as if trying to work off whatever he’d been through.
And I let him because that’s what I was for.
He then sat up, locking his arm around my waist, pulling me down against him.
He traced my throat with his mouth, teeth scraping, then took over completely.
He spread me open with his hands, lifting me, slamming me back down onto him, again and again.
“Fuck…fuck…Richie…”
“That’s it, pretty boy.” He fell back, pupils blown, wrecked. “Say my name. Scream it.”
“Richie…fuck, Rich…”
He slapped my thigh, and I gave him exactly what he wanted as he lay down and let me. “Oh, God, Tris, I’m gonna—faster. Fucking faster.” He then came with a fierce, animal sound, locking his hands on my hips to slow me as his body shuddered beneath mine. “Jesus,” he breathed.
But he didn’t give himself time to recover before he dragged himself out of me to lay me back down.
Then he wriggled between my legs and took me into his mouth.
I thought he’d take it fast. Go wild. Get me off quickly, as I was nearly there.
But he settled. Got comfy. Sucked on me slow.
Licking, gorging, taking my balls into his mouth to roll them around, then he shoved my legs apart and eased his fingers inside me.
I gasped.
“There?” He pulled off, tongue at my slit.
“Yeah,” I gasped. “Fuck. Yeah.”
Razor’s mouth curved in satisfaction. Then, with his fingers gently stroking my spot, he set a pace that made my toes curl as he closed his lips around my cock. “Get ready, baby.”
Oh.
God.
It was obscene. Overwhelming. Perfect.
He fucked me open with his fingers and sucked me apart until there was nothing left of me that wasn’t him.
No space to hide in. No part of me untouched.
And when I came, he held me through it, unflinching, swallowing every broken sound, every tremor.
Taking me not just into his mouth, but into him.
His heart. And it felt terrifyingly permanent.
I wasn’t coming back out.
And I knew it then. With brutal, aching certainty.
I was in love with him.