Chapter 3 Viviana
VIVIANA
Never in my life have I felt so desired that I could burst out of my body. Never in my life have I experienced a passion so intense that it clouds my judgment.
In just a flimsy thong and heels, I stand naked in front of this stranger who feels like anything but. Tristan stares at me as if he can’t get enough, awakening goose bumps on my feverish skin. Being the center of his focus is such a heady feeling—empowering me.
His deep brown eyes gleam with a heat that burns me up. I melt under his gaze. His presence awakens my senses, pulverizes my shyness, and allows the goddess trapped inside me to emerge.
I’ve never seen a man like him. He’s gorgeous, mouthwatering on all accounts. A male piece of art crafted by the hands of a patient god who found immense pleasure in creating him. Sharp elegance carves every feature.
From his rich eyes to those thick sculpted brows, and straight nose, to the most cutting cheekbones, and a cute mole on the corner of his sinful mouth, he is breathtaking. Behind the tailored suit, his body ripples with strength, revealing the contour of fine muscles made of steel.
His scent envelops my senses, a combination of musk and something spicy, drugging me.
I swallow hard, and so does he, as if we’re a reflection of each other. Nothing makes sense, yet everything clicks into place. Strange, terrifying, yet exhilarating.
I know I should not be here.
I know I should put a stop to this sheer madness.
But I’ve lost my mind over this man.
I am losing control of my body, of my mind, of my heart, turning into a puppet on his strings.
He palms my face, and I lean into his touch on instinct. Caressing my cheeks with his thumbs, an odd sense of belonging washes over me, making me wish to please him, be whatever he desires.
“You’re stunning, Viviana. The most beautiful woman I have ever seen,” he says low, tugging at my heart that beats a song of forbidden desire and seductive temptation.
“You too,” I murmur, overwhelmed by him.
This surreal moment feels like a dream but can’t be. It would be impossible for my brain to have conjured him, even as a fantasy.
“If you say so.” His deep voice trails over my body, heating me up, making me long for more. He’s the cause and the cure, a sinful perdition rolled into sweet oblivion.
Eyes locked, his darken, revealing his desire, eliciting hummingbirds to break free in my belly.
Secluded in our own little world, nothing else exists but us. Everything else vanishes but this raw need unfurling in my core, addiction wrapping around me like a temptress, hiding its destructive capacity.
No wonder I am about to do something monumentally stupid. Give my virginity to him. Not even that is mine, but I yearn for it—an experience I can tuck in a corner of my heart so I can relive it once I’m trapped in a loveless, passionless marriage.
I doubt anyone else could come close to making me feel the things he does. Even with Dario, that kiss felt like amber, while Tristan’s kiss fired my entire being up, fireworks lighting up my insides.
For a moment, I wish he’d be the man I would marry. To have it all.
What would it feel like?
Impossible. That’s what it is.
I shake my head to erase the silly notion that only makes me nostalgic for things I won’t experience.
As if he notices something bothering me, he snakes his arm around my waist and pulls me snug to his hard body that burns under my palms even through his suit—a furnace ready to combust; the fabric brushing my skin in sheer decadence.
Fever has taken the reins, and neither of us can stop the ride.
Brushing his index finger under my chin, he tips my face up. My lips tingle in anticipation as he lowers that sinful mouth onto mine, eradicating every thought, disintegrating my reason one string at a time.
The kiss starts slowly once again. Through soft nibbles, he savors my lips to the fullest, not greedy like me knowing time is not on my side.
I whimper into his mouth with a passion that overpowers me—for more, for everything.
I doubt I will survive intact once he gives in to my silent request. As if he knows exactly what I want, he licks the contour of my mouth, sending a current through me, jolting my dormant core that throbs incessantly.
I open to him, intoxicated.
“That’s my good girl,” he groans. The praise intensifies the desire coursing through my veins, making me shiver.
He devours my mouth, ravishing me from the inside out. I am floating in sensations, drifting somewhere else where I would lose myself gladly.
Palming my ass, he lifts me up his torso. My core meets his hard abdomen, and I cross my arms and legs around him in my need to get even closer to him.
He carries me down a long hallway, his feet thumping on the marble floor, each step etched in determination, echoing what is about to transcend.
Inside his bedroom, he places me on a king-sized bed, the softest black silk engulfing me.
At the foot of the bed, he tilts his head. “You look good in my bed.”
“Maybe you should keep me then,” I tease, surprised by my playfulness. With him, I act more like myself. It’s liberating.
He cocks an eyebrow. “Watch out what you wish for. It could be dangerous.”
I giggle, resting on my forearms. “I’m not afraid of danger.”
I’ve lived in its shadows my entire life.
“What are you afraid of then?” he asks, continuing to hold my gaze captive, my body a willing prisoner to his bed.
I open my mouth, but no words come out as he throws the suit jacket onto the armchair by the window. Unbuttoning his shirt, he reveals a patch of skin that leaves me sucking in a breath.
“Focus, baby.”
That endearment makes my belly flutter just like my heart.
“It’s kind of hard,” I gulp, gesturing at his mouthwatering body.
He chuckles, continuing to undress, uncovering more skin that glistens in the moon’s light, unraveling me. He’s so cruel.
What was the question again?
He has an uncanny ability to scatter my thoughts away like they’re leaves barely holding onto trees in the fall. A gust of wind could uproot it from the familiar and thrust it into the unknown.
“To never know,” I say, proud I still have a grip on my brain as frail as it is.
“Know what?” he asks, discarding his shirt that falls on the floor like my inhibitions.
“What passion is, what love feels like… what it is to live…”
Once he removes his shoes and pants, I ogle his chiseled body in utter rapture—my personal work of art.
From his broad shoulders and trim waist to his powerful thighs, he’s exquisite.
My fingertips itch to trace every dip of his six-pack, down to that V-line that dips low in a sensual trail, causing saliva to gather in my mouth.
I catch the evidence of how much he wants me, and gulp. Tristan’s boxer briefs tent, appearing like a monster ready to pounce. He’s huge, and when he palms his cock, I realize how much. He can’t fit it in the palm of his hand.
A shiver skitters down my spine, and I remind him. “I’m a virgin.”
How will it even fit without me needing medical care afterward?
“I haven’t forgotten,” he groans as if that’s something he both loves and loathes. “I’ll make it fit.”
That one sentence obliterates any argument.
He crawls between my legs, and they spread on their own as if inviting him—no self-preservation instinct left in my bones.
Lowering his forehead onto mine, he whispers, “I’ll be gentle even if it kills me.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.” He says it like a vow, warming my chest.
I cross my arms around his neck, playing with the ends of his hair. “I’m nervous.”
“I get that. Should I stop then?”
I shake my head. “I don’t want you to stop,” I sigh, terrified that once we begin, the end will come, and I won’t be able to face it.
“I might not want to stop once I start,” he says, voice low as if sharing my inner turmoil.
And then he grins, casting his features into a relaxed pose, making him appear even more handsome. That single gesture brushes away my nerves. I surrender to him, knowing he will most probably ruin my pussy and devour my soul.
“Tristan.”
“Viviana.”
We gaze at each other.
“Let me have you. I need to have you,” he says, sounding pained, like nothing will ever be enough with me.
I cradle his face and place a sweet kiss on his lips. “You can have me.”
I have little to give. Everything I could give a man is not a choice but a duty. In my world, virginity is this sacred thing. But in his arms, wrapped up in him, I ignore the repercussions, trusting fate. It brought me to him. God must have something else in mind for me.
He kisses me back with fervor, and engulfed in his rich scent, his hard body pressed on mine, his skilled hands mapping every inch, there’s no tomorrow. It’s only this moment—the final push to thrust me from teetering on the edge into a freefall.
He peppers kisses along my neck and the valley of my breasts as his palms travel along my sides in a sensual exploration. This overload of sensations drives me mad with lust, increasing the throbbing in my core.
Sucking on a nipple, he rolls the other between his thumb and fingers. I arch up, needing more—a wanton mess at his mercy. Arousal drenches my thong, the pressure becoming unbearable.
I clench my thighs to soothe the ache, but he’s between them. “I need…” I don’t even know what I need. I just know he’s the cause and the cure wrapped in one sensual package.
“I know, baby. I know, but I need to prepare you.”
“No. Now. Right now,” I whine, writhing—feverish.
His hand comes around the base of my throat, squeezing lightly. The gesture should terrify me. He could cut off my air if he wanted. Instead, it causes the fire smoldering in my core to blaze.
“Be a good girl and be patient,” he commands.
Should that be so hot?
I offer a noncommittal sound, afraid I will open my mouth to say I’ll be whatever he wants.
He smirks, revealing that he knows that already.
The power he wields over me mixes with something darker, more dangerous—primal.