Inescapable

Chapter 14

Trystan’s words confused her, maybe even scared her a little, and she ran her fingers through his silky hair, still much longer than he usually wore it—at least that was still hers alone. She kissed his beautiful, stubborn jaw, and ran her tongue up the line of his scar.

He tensed.

“Every part of you is beautiful, Trystan,” she murmured against his mouth. “Inside and out.”

He exhaled, a soft, shuddering sound that resembled a sob, and his kiss was filled with reverence.

“I adore you,” he whispered, peppering her neck with gentle, lingering kisses. He unhurriedly dragged her T-shirt up, and those same kisses followed the trail of exposed skin, starting at her belly button and moving up over her torso, skirting around her bra, just skimming over the skin above the lacy cups before he whisked her shirt up and away.

Then he knelt between her legs and simply stared at her for a long, long time. His eyes falling to her balconette bra, where her dark nipples were beaded and visible through the white lace. He swallowed loudly, his chest starting to visibly heave as his large hands moved to completely engulf those small mounds. Her nipples scraped against the lace of her bra as the weight of his large hands settled on her breasts and she cried out at the unbearable sensation.

His lips quirked wickedly as he thumbed aside the lace of one cup and exposed her breast to his lascivious gaze.

“Fuck me, you’re gorgeous,” he groaned, lowering his head until she could feel his warm breath on the puckered tip of that breast. “You have the prettiest little tits. I need to taste them, to suck these tempting dark brown peaks into my mouth. I want to swallow them down, scrape them with my teeth, bite them, suck them, fucking devour them…”

God, if words could make her come, those ones would… she was panting by now, thrusting her chest toward that achingly close mouth, needing him to do what he said he wanted to do.

“Please,” she begged, her hands trying to tug his head down toward her chest. “Trystan, please, please… do that.”

“Do what, baby?” he asked sweetly, and she glowered at him.

“The kissing and biting and devouring,” she said, and he chuckled before lowering his mouth to her breast and sucking her nipple into his mouth.

It was so wonderful that Iris nearly came out of her skin.

“Aah, my God, please, more.” She felt his lips widening into a smile, before he increased the suction, adding just the smallest scrape of his teeth to the sensation. The top of Iris’s head just about blew off, her back bowed as she tried to push herself closer, and she frantically rubbed her clit against his hardness, wanting so much more than this, while at the same time finding just this to be exactly the right amount of stimulation to set off a bone melting orgasm.

Her breath caught and held in her chest for a long fraught moment as her climax washed over her in a tsunami of sensation.

Trystan groaned when he recognized what was happening to her and he shuddered while she came against his cock with his mouth clamped over her nipple. When she finally went limp, he lifted his lips from the distended nub and removed her bra wordlessly, chucking it aside before tugging her leggings and sodden panties down her limp legs.

He quickly removed his own shirt and sweatpants and his cock landed, hot and heavy and naked against her thigh.

That was when he froze.

“Fuck,” he said, along with a few other things that turned the air blue, and Iris blinked up at him in hazy confusion.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t have condoms. I didn’t think I’d be having sex on this trip, it?—”

“Oh,” she blinked as she struggled to think. No condoms. That was bad but… “Wait, I have one. In my handbag.”

“Your handbag?” he repeated, his eyes immediately sparking with hope. “Where?”

“Room, hurry up,” she urged, slapping his taut arse to get him moving. He laughed and leaped from the bed naked and magnificent, his angry-looking cock swaying as it led the way out of the room. He was back thirty seconds later with her tote in hand.

“Christ, it’s cold out there,” he said with a shudder, tossing her bag at her. She sat up lethargically, annoyed at being forced to move while in the middle of her glorious post-orgasmic haze, and rummaged around until she found the one sad little condom that had been in her bag for nearly a year.

“This is the only one,” she said. “So, you’d better make it count, mister.”

He grinned.

“Miles might have some stocked around here somewhere. I’ll dig them out later. But for now…” He took the foil square from her and tore off the corner of the packaging with his strong white teeth. He removed and donned the condom efficiently, then knelt between her splayed thighs, cock twitching while he stared down at her wet, pulsing femininity with an appreciative gleam in his eyes.

“Damn it, I wanted to taste that pretty pussy,” he muttered regretfully, then perked right up. “But it’ll be my little treat for later.”

He lifted one of her legs to his shoulder and leaned over and into her.

“You ready to come on my cock, sweetheart?”

“Confident bastard, aren’t you?” she laughed and he gave her an unrepentant grin, which faded when he pushed into her. It was a snug fit as he was bigger than she’d expected, and it verged on discomfort as the broad head of his penis wedged itself into her tight channel.

“You okay?” he asked, beads of sweat popping up on his forehead, as he focused on her face, seeming attuned to the minutest change in her expression.

“Hmm,” she moaned, not quite capable of speech.

“If you need me to stop or slow down, tell me, okay? I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Don’t stop,” she said quickly, immediately worried that he’d withdraw.

“Only if you tell me to.”

“I won’t.”

He smiled. “Okay, then I won’t.”

He worked his way into her, slowly, as gently as he could. His thumb was on her clit, while his mouth alternated between her nipples, making her wriggle in reaction to the overstimulation. Her hips were moving, tiny micro thrusts that sent him deeper and deeper into her body until—at last—he was there, fully buried inside of her.

He grunted in satisfaction and she sighed, as she adapted to his magnificent size.

“You feel so good,” she whispered and he gave her a strained smile.

“Iris, you…” He didn’t seem able to complete what he wanted to say and merely shook his head.

Iris would have pushed him to say whatever it was he wanted to, but she was so immersed in sensation, she couldn’t form a coherent thought of her own. He dragged his length all the way out of her slick, sensitive channel and she sucked in a harsh breath, which she released when he slammed his way back in.

Her free leg bent at the knee and she planted her foot on the mattress to give herself purchase as she raised her hips to meet his hard, demanding thrusts. Her hands were exploring his chest, back, and butt, while her mouth licked and sucked at his nipples, neck, and mouth.

She was in bliss, orgasm followed orgasm and she never wanted it to end, but shortly after her third climax, Trystan shuddered in her arms, his head dropped to her shoulder, and his thrusts lost all rhythm. He plowed into her one last time and kept his throbbing length buried deep inside of her as he came with a low, helpless cry that Iris only barely recognized as her name.

Trystan woketo the wet heat of Iris’s soft mouth on his cock. Her small hand was encircled around the base, while she suckled on his glans like it was the sweetest of lollipops. Her tongue snaked around the corona, sending him arching off the bed with a helpless groan. His hands went to her hair, his fingers twining themselves into the soft, bouncy curls.

“Iris,” he murmured, reverently, his eyes fixated on that plump, suctioning rosebud of a mouth as it drove him to distraction. “I swear to Christ, you’re killing me, baby. Murdering me with that perfect mouth of yours.”

She lifted her eyes to his and grinned, a huge, satisfied shit-eating grin, before she quite deliberately snaked her tongue over the weeping slit of his dick.

A shudder worked its way up his spine and he made a sound that would have embarrassed him at any other time. A helpless, weak, almost keening sound.

“This isn’t fair,” he groused. “If you get to feast, I should too. Slide that pussy on over here and plant it on my mouth, I’m starving for you.”

She made a little sound of denial and to his utter devastation lifted her lips from his pulsating penis to say the most absurd thing, “I haven’t showered yet.”

“Neither have I. What the fuck does that matter? I guarantee you’ll still taste as sweet as sugar. Now stop saying ridiculous shit and shimmy on over.”

She hesitated for a split second longer, before thankfully complying. Trystan made a deep sound of satisfaction, when he finally had access to the mauve and pink perfection of her pretty little pussy, and immediately went to work. Using his tongue, lips, and teeth to devour her tender, sensitive flesh.

He kept her on the edge, making it last, taking her to the brink and then bringing her back down. He lost track of how long he worked on her. He was so wholly engrossed in giving her pleasure, he almost forgot about his own.

She moaned, her hips pistoning wildly whenever he did something that she really enjoyed and he lingered in those spots longer, driving her to distraction. She gamely tried to keep sucking his painfully hard, throbbing cock, but she kept losing concentration, and Trystan figured if he ever wanted to get off, he’d have to finish her first.

He relentlessly consumed her spasming, delicious flesh, suckling her distended clit while plunging his fingers into her dripping, hot pussy. He felt her clench around him and hooked his fingers upward, finding the spot his cock had discovered last night, and sending her tumbling wildly over the edge.

She was screaming his name, forming incoherent pleas for mercy, while simultaneously begging God to release her. She was wild and beautiful, and he was fucking awed by her.

When she finally came down from what had—to all intents and purposes—looked, and felt, like an epic orgasm to Trystan, she dropped her head on his thigh, her small body shuddering, while her soft flesh quivered gently against his lips. He continued to kiss her and lap at her, loving the taste of her creamy spend, as he eased her out of it.

She lifted her head and looked back at him.

“I think you literally killed me for a few seconds there,” she said breathlessly, and he grinned. Her hand was still possessively curled around his hard shaft, and she murmured a soft oh as if she’d only just remembered what she’d been doing before.

“Did you forget about my poor, neglected cock, baby?” he asked with a laugh. “I don’t know if my ego can stand that.”

“Please, I’m sure your ego will survive,” she said with a scoffing little laugh. “If your insufferable little smirk is anything to go by, you know that you just rocked my world.”

“Only fair, since you’ve been rocking mine from the moment you showed up on my doorstep, so—” She shut him up by taking him deep into her mouth and he groaned in helpless pleasure, his head dropping back on the pillow.

She was as ruthless and relentless as he’d been and by the time she eventually swallowed down every last drop he had to offer, Trystan was a wreck who barely knew his own name. Afterwards, as he gathered her close, he knew he was so far gone for this woman he would never be able to let her go.

Four days later,Iris was writing in the solarium, her feet propped on Trystan’s lap while he read a John Grisham novel. His free hand was idly playing with her toes while he read. Luna was sprawled on the floor next to the couch, contentedly snoring away.

It was a comfortable and domestic routine that they’d fallen into these last few days. They made love every night—Trystan had thankfully found a box of condoms in one of the rooms in the Hollingsworths’ private section—they made breakfast together in the mornings and walked Luna after the meal, exploring their beautiful surroundings. It hadn’t rained since the night she’d fled into the storm, and every day—while still cold, and often blustery—revealed more and more of the beauty and appeal of this place.

After their walk they usually retreated to the solarium where she would write and he would read. They often sat close to each other, petting, touching, stroking… as if it was unbearable to be apart and without physical contact for too long.

Trystan’s phone rang. Sadly they’d never found Iris’s, even though they looked for it every day on their walks. The sound of the ringing phone was so rare—he usually only received texts or emails—and so intrusive that Iris’s head shot up in surprise.

Trystan set the book face down on his lap and picked his device up from the side table. He stared at the screen then his face lit up with a grin as he swiped to answer.

“Dazza, mate! How the fuck have you been?”

“Tryst, nice to see you’re still alive, you wanker.” The voice coming from the speaker had a broad Australian accent. “I thought we’d lost you to the wilds of South Africa. I heard the weather has been fucking dire in your part of the world.”

“Yeah, we’ve had some major storms, been cut off, spotty Wi-Fi, y’know the deal.” Interestingly, Trystan’s accent thickened while he spoke to his friend. He looked up from the screen and noticed Iris’s attentive expression and his grin widened. “Hey, Daz, you wanna meet my girl?”

Iris’s eyes widened and she frantically shook her head and mouthed no. She was wearing one of his hoodies, which was miles too big for her, and her hair was a mess as usual. She self-consciously patted at her curls and shook her head again, more adamantly this time.

“Girl? What fucking girl, Tryst? You went up there alone and you’ve been cut off. Have you lost your marbles out there in the isolated wild, mate?” There was genuine concern in the man’s voice.

“Iris, say hi to Dazza,” Trystan said, his grin huge and beautiful, and Iris narrowed her eyes at him, promising him swift retribution, before plastering a smile onto her own lips just moments before he swung the phone around to face her. She stared into the startled face of an attractive brown haired man about Trystan’s age, his jaw covered in light brown scruff, his blue eyes wide in surprise.

“Oh hey, so you’re an actual woman.”

Iris burst into laughter at the trivial observation.

“Hi, yes, my name’s Iris. I’m happy to meet you.”

“Yeah, I’m Darryl… how the fuck are you there? When I spoke to that wanker last he was all alone, with a storm bearing down on him.”

“I showed up in the middle of that storm. I’ve been stuck here with his grumpy arse since then.”

“Hey,” Trystan exclaimed in mock outrage, and she threw him a happy smile.

“But how? Why?” Darryl looked confused and justifiably suspicious. Iris couldn’t blame him. If her emotionally fragile, vulnerable—not to mention world famous—friend suddenly introduced her to an utter stranger who seemed to have appeared out of thin air under questionable circumstances, she’d be wary as well.

“I’ll let Trystan explain,” she said softly. “I really am happy to meet you. Trystan talks about you a lot. And I have to confess, I kind of harbor a secret love for Night of the Killer Wētās.”

He still looked wary but said, “Aah, so you’re one of that lot.”

She laughed at his disgruntled response and handed the phone back to Trystan. She closed her laptop, swung her legs from Trystan’s lap, and got up. He caught her hand as she passed him and brought it to his lips to plant a tender kiss on her knuckles.

She reciprocated by ruffling his hair affectionately and leaving the room.

But not before she heard, “What the fuck, Trystan? Who is she? You can’t simply let?—”

She winced and shut the door behind her, knowing her presence here would take a lot of explaining from both Trystan and Hunter Quinn. And even then, Darryl Constanza would probably still doubt that she and Trystan shared anything real.

Iris sighed as she put her laptop on the kitchen table and stared out at the immense yellowwood tree in the backyard. Not that she could blame the man for his suspicion and doubt, when Iris herself harbored similar doubts about this thing between her and Trystan.

She found herself falling deeper and deeper for him every day, but how could it possibly be real? She hesitated to call it love. Just days ago, he’d been imprisoning her in her room. Now she was entertaining notions of love. It was laughable, it was incongruous… but oh God, it felt so real.

They were in each other’s company twenty-four hours a day. And such propinquity could well be responsible for amplifying every emotion. It was hard to trust your feelings in a situation like this.

And yet when she looked at him, Iris wanted to believe that what they had could work, that what they had could survive the skepticism of family and friends. And worse still, the close scrutiny of the public and press. Iris didn’t think she could handle the publicity of being seen on Trystan Abbott’s arm. She was an innately private person, and she didn’t respond well to being the center of attention.

But that was part and parcel of who and what he was.

His strong arms wrapped around her waist and his warm, hard body slotted against her back. She hadn’t heard him come in, but she welcomed his embrace, leaning back against him while he bent down to notch his jaw in the nook between her shoulder and neck.

“I’m sorry about that. Quinny and Dazza have been protective since the accident.”

She smiled and turned her head to plant a kiss on his stubbled cheek. He’d stuck to being clean-shaven, and part of Iris still missed the wild man who had met her at the door that first night.

“I don’t blame him. He doesn’t know me. I’m just a random stranger you’re suddenly introducing as your girl. If you were my friend, I’d find that totally sus too. Besides, you’re you and I’m me. It would be hard for anyone to reconcile the idea of the two of us together.”

He made an impatient sound at the back of his throat and turned her around to face him. His arms remained loosely wrapped around her waist.

“The fuck does that mean?” he demanded to know once he was able to glower down into her eyes.

“Trystan, your friend’s reaction is just a sample of how it would be in the real world. We don’t make sense together.”

“We make sense to me,” he said vehemently. “You make me happy, Iris.”

“Yes, I make you happy here. Now. In this place. Out there, I feel like I’d hold you back. I don’t want your life, Trystan. I don’t want the limelight, the glamor, the premiere parties, the press, the invasive questions about myself, my family, and friends. I can’t do that. Not even for you.”

“Iris, I’m falling for you. No, that’s not true. I’ve already fallen for you. Hard. I don’t want to consider a life without you. I refuse to.”

“How can you say that? You barely know me. You don’t know my family, my friends. You don’t know if I like sushi.”

His lips quirked at the last one.

“What? Why sushi?” he asked, momentarily diverted. And she shrugged irritably.

“It feels like the type of thing that could make or break a couple. You have two types of people, those who love sushi and those who don’t. There’s no in between.”

He laughed and the sound rang with pleasure.

“You’re full of enchanting surprises, sweet, I can’t remember the last time I laughed as much as when I’m with you. And you wonder why I love you?”

She went silent at his words, and his eyes darkened at the question he saw in hers.

“What did you think I meant when I said I’ve fallen for you, Iris? I’m in love with you.”

She stared up at him, wanting to believe, not knowing how it could possibly be real. “You can’t, it’s too fast.”

“It’s been ten days. My parents fell in love after two dates, they were married a month after their first meeting. Nobody thought it would last. They celebrated their thirty-fourth wedding anniversary this year. They’ve had three kids and are sickeningly happy together.”

“See? I didn’t know that about you, about your family. There’s so much we don’t know about each other.”

“Well, you know now because I told you. These are things we’ll learn as we go along. I just want you to give us a fair chance, Iris. Don’t give up because you think the obstacles are insurmountable. They’re there to be overcome and we can do that together.”

“You’re a romantic, Trystan Abbott. Who knew?” she said, her words laced with affection. “Let’s not talk about this now, okay? Let’s just enjoy each other and our time together.”

He dropped his forehead on hers, his warm breath washing over her lips.

“We’ll have to talk about it sometime, sweet, but I’m happy to put the conversation on hold for a while.” He hooked his hands beneath her armpits and lifted her onto the counter so they were, happily, at the same eye level. “Now, how about you tell me more about this sushi theory of yours?”

“Sam saysthey’ve started working on the road and bridge,” Trystan told Iris a couple of days later over breakfast. She’d been reading an email from her parents filled with news of work, Mum’s arthritis, and Robbie’s crush on one of the new waitstaff her dad had hired.

“What?” she asked, still focused on the email.

“Looks like the road and bridge will be fixed soon,” he repeated, and her stomach dropped as the specter of what she now thought of as The Real World loomed ever closer.

“Oh.”

“I was wondering,” he began, sounding tentative, which was unusual for him.

When he didn’t continue, she bumped his shin with her toe, “What, Trystan? Spit it out.”

“I was wondering if you’d let me read what you’ve been working on,” he muttered, and her lips quirked at the almost shy request.

“Why?”

“Because you look so engrossed when you’re busy with it, and so excited at times. I don’t know if you realize how often you smile when you’re writing. And it’s a part of you I want to know more about.”

She chewed at the inside of her lip as she considered it.

“I mean, it’s rough. And incomplete… and it needs editing.”

“I’ll bear all of that in mind.”

She swallowed and stared into those earnest eyes. And then she sighed.

“Do you have an e-reader?” She’d only ever seen him read physical books borrowed from the Hollingsworths’ extensive collection.

“I do.”

“I’ll email it to you and you can send it to your e-reader.” His lips stretched into a broad grin.

“I can’t wait to read it.”