Chapter 2 Tristan #2
“All I think of is how beautiful you are and that I want you.”
“I’m a virgin, and I only kissed Dario,” she blurts out, her eyes widening.
This woman is too pure—too good for me.
She’s about to move when my grip on her tightens.
If I were a better man, I would tell her not to waste her first time on a man like me. All I care about is having her and erasing the fucker’s memory. My kiss will replace his. So even if he had her first kiss, mine will be the one she remembers from now on.
I can’t explain this deep-seated desire to steal a piece from her, claim a part of her so neither of us will forget the other.
“Experience or lack thereof, it wouldn’t have changed the outcome. You would have caught my attention and landed in my bed anyway,” I say, dipping my head to claim her mouth.
I press my lips on hers—gentle—a contrast to my nature.
She’s a rose blooming under my kisses, revealing her core, petal for petal. There is nothing that isn’t sweet about her. Damn, I could get addicted.
She fists her hands in my lapels, trembling as I nibble on her lower lip. My tongue slips inside her mouth, and I groan at the exquisite feeling. She tastes of ambrosia, and I am a man experiencing paradise. I can’t stop. Don’t want to stop.
She moans in response, and I trace my tongue just like I want to trace my hands all over her, ravishing her from the inside out. She’s so responsive—following my lead, unleashing the beast pummeling at its cage to break free and devour her.
My rhythm changes, charged with unbearable demand. Greed overpowers me, the kiss turning ardent, burning with desire.
I kiss her until she gasps for air. I kiss her some more, becoming the very air she breathes. I kiss her until I know for certain no one else has or will ever kiss her like me.
Lips fused together, our tongues move in a sensual dance of surrender and passion.
I end the kiss before I lose my goddamn mind for good and take her right here and now, forgetting where we are. I want to savor her in the privacy of my home—she’s just for my eyes only.
She looks at me with glazed over eyes, pressing her fingers to her swollen lips in a daze.
“The night is not over,” I say, breathing hard.
I offer her my hand in a silent invitation, ready to consume her—eager to feast on her and satiate the need she carved in me and wait.
Restlessness makes me a jittery mess as I let someone else decide. If she refuses me, I don’t know what I will do. I am not ready to let her go.
She slips her hand into mine, her trust undoing me.
“You decide what will happen. You’re in control,” I assure her.
She nods, not realizing that I’ve never done this before. Let someone lead, but I don’t want to scare her.
Masks back on, and hand in hand, I rush toward the elevator, ignoring everyone and everything in my quest to have her for myself.
The elevator pings downstairs with the same impatience that runs through my veins. I doubt I have ever coveted a woman with sheer abandon, as if being with her would wash away my sins. Desperate, like I am drowning in an ocean of darkness, and she is my lifeline of light.
It feels like the last bits of humanity I possess have been saved for this encounter.
This shit happening inside of me electrifies me as much as it terrifies me. And nothing ever terrifies me. I am the one people fear, not the other way around. It’s just desire, I tell myself.
Then why the fuck do I urge her on toward the other side of the street and bring her to my place, where no woman has been.
The moment the elevator stops at the top level, she whips her head from me to the interior. “Wow, your place is something else.”
Her awed expression fills me with unbelievable pride that my home elicits an even stronger reaction than the skyline.
Her heels clack on the marble floor, and she stops in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, revealing a view of Central Park. “This entire night seems surreal.”
“Would you like something to drink?” I ask, before I forget about manners and desire overpowers the gentleman, I try hard to be for her.
“I think I’m drunk enough on all this…you. I’m losing my mind, Tristan.”
I don’t even know what part affects me more: my name flowing out of her mouth in sweet surrender, or that she joins me in this madness I can’t make sense of.
I cut the distance between us and grip her chin, forcing her to look up at me. I could gaze forever into those greens that swallow my soul piece by piece.
“Tell me you want this,” I say, voice hoarse with unrestrained lust.
She wets her lips, her eyes shining as if she’s indeed drunk on my presence. Nothing has made me feel more powerful than this. That’s dangerous because I might not let her go.
“I want this, but…,” she says, sounding unsure, yet there’s something else present, pure desire laced with uncontrollable curiosity.
“No buts, just you and me.” I slam my mouth on hers, wanting to erase any doubt.
Have I ever felt the need to kiss someone? No, never.
With her, it’s like she feeds me life while I feast on her, my hunger overwhelming me.
For the first time in my life, my brain stills. There are no plans I concoct, no strategy I follow, no new ideas on how to grow my empire. Just this all-consuming, all-encompassing sensation. There’s freedom in letting go. Nothing matters but her in my arms.
I unzip the corset, my fingers moving slowly as if unwrapping a gift—precious, unique. I don’t rush through it, but wish to prolong, savor each second, knowing it can’t repeat itself.
My touch leaves a trail of goose bumps on her skin, and I nibble along her neck, needing to have more than my hands on her—connect with her in every way, so she can feel what she does to me.
“Why does it feel so good when it’s so bad?” she breathes out, holding on to me.
“I don’t know.” Nothing but having her matters—in all ways. It is the only cure for this insanity.
I can’t afford to allow someone to wield such power over me. It would be catastrophic to my well-laid life plan. Even that sounds like a distant, flimsy thought, the consequences are irrelevant.
Nothing matters more than making her mine—taking her and trying to satisfy my hunger for her, the ache growing inside of me with each passing second.
I slip the dress off her, seeing her reflection in the window—perfection. She’s the picture of feminine grace, those soft curves undoing me. From head to toe, she’s a masterpiece I could watch for eternity and never tire.
“You’re so beautiful,” I rasp.
“You think?” she asks, the hint of disbelief clear.
“I know,” I say, brooking no argument.
She looks at me over her shoulder, gifting me with the softest smile. “I’m not used to getting attention, receiving compliments.”
Her vulnerability cracks through the facade, or maybe it’s just another honest moment transpiring between us.
“It’s not a good thing wanting my attention, Viviana,” I warn her, even though it’s too late. For her and for me.
“And yet, it feels like I have it completely.”
I chuckle, utterly fascinated by her.
“I really shouldn’t,” she says, but the reservation sounds weak.
I brush my knuckles over her breasts, my mouth watering at the two puckered cherries, ripe for me to taste. “The best things in life are the worst for us.”
A tremor rocks her. “Sounds like the ultimate hedonist.”
I am a bastard; my conscience was stabbed to death a long time ago, but I refuse to take advantage of her. I couldn’t, even if I wanted to.
Taking a step back, I cock my head and shove my hands in my pants, trying to restrain myself. “You want me? You want this? Then show me.”
“Even if I regret it, I don’t want to say no. I can’t say no.”