Chapter 16 Tristan #2
I tap the sofa’s arm, pondering for a moment. “If I were to choose, I’d prefer to be your last. It’s irrelevant, though. I was your first. I will be your last. It wouldn’t have mattered how many there had been before me. They wouldn’t be alive to tell. And sure as fuck no one will come after me.”
“So cocky.”
I jerk my chin at her. “How would that whole pigeon-blood thing work?”
Her eyes narrow in deep thought. “It would need a lot of dexterity. There’s also surgery.”
It takes enormous willpower to stay seated and give her some pretense of distance, but I need her to feel safe enough to open up. “Fuck if you’re getting surgery.”
“It’s just a hypothetical thing. My sister’s best friend is an author. A very famous one, and we were researching for a character. I am curious about a male perspective.”
She’s so full of shit, I could burst into laughter. Fuck, if she isn’t my match in everything. I might be the king of deception, but she’s my equal, the queen of pretense.
I am so proud of her.
“Hmm, let me reflect on taking your virginity for a second time,” I groan.
“It’s not about me,” she huffs.
“One time was enough. I prefer to give you pleasure than cause you discomfort, and we’ve been fucking a lot, and you still struggle to take me.”
She tilts her head. “So when do you think the pigeon blood should come out?”
“When do you think? I would be too overcome with pleasure to care about fucking blood,” I say, voice taking on a dark edge.
She giggles. “You’re inserting yourself into my hypothetical question.”
It is as hypothetical as I am truthful.
I can see her carrying a blood vial on our wedding night. She might be a soft kitten, but I think my deception will bring out the worst in her, and she will develop the claws of a tigress ready to rip through my flesh. If someone draws blood on that night, it will be mine.
“Okay, so I think after the first thrust. I would just spill it between my thighs.”
“What about the vial?” I ask, gulping some scotch before slamming the glass on the coffee table. The smooth, smoky taste does nothing to ease me. Even hypothetically thinking about her with someone else puts me in a murderous mood.
She taps her chin, shrugging. “I’ll bury it under the pillow and pretend I am just enjoying myself.”
“You won’t have to pretend,” I say through a set jaw.
She slaps a hand over her mouth, muffling her giggles, and I crack my neck, the talk about her with someone else making me rage.
Not even tipsy does she spill, which is impressive, and I am done trying tonight.
Needing my fix, with my index and middle fingers, I gesture for her to come to me. In a trance, she sashays to me—both of us at each other’s mercy. She changed everything, rewrote the rules. No wonder I forsake power. I have none when it comes to her.
When she’s within arm’s reach, I drag her onto my lap, and she ends up straddling me.
Her lips thrust out in a cute pout. “You’re so beautiful, Tristan.”
I chuckle as she cups my cheeks and smooches them together. Then she plays with the ends of my hair. “There’s nothing not to like, although…”
A line digs between her brows, and taking full advantage of her being tipsy, I ask, “What?”
“You don’t want a baby. I want a baby, Tristan. Not now, but eventually,” she sighs, the sound chock-full of dejection.
She looks so sad, and I hate to disappoint her even in her inebriated state. “You can have the world, whatever you want instead.”
“But I want a sweet little girl who has your eyes, your hair, your ‘I am bigger than the world’ attitude.”
I kiss the tip of her nose. “Sorry, mo run.”
“Neither of us had the family we needed, so let us create our own.” There’s so much desperation clamoring in her words.
I squeeze my eyes shut. “We don’t need a kid to be a family, a unit. You’ll be surrounded by enough kids at the preschool. You can get a dog.”
“It’s not the same, Tristan,” she murmurs and buries her face in the crook of my neck. “Why don’t you want one?”
“Because I don’t want to continue a rotten bloodline. The patricide ends with me,” I confess and expect her to look disgusted at me. Instead, her soft snores fill my ears.
Such a lightweight.
I gather her in my arms and carry her to bed.
Undressing her with careful moves, I inch her to her side of the bed. Even in her sleep, she calls my name, and I wrap my arm around her belly, slowly easing my cock inside of her.
She welcomes me in with a moan but continues to sleep. Sheathed in her tight core, I close my eyes, savoring being inside heaven, all my troubles forgotten.
It’s the pleasure shooting up my marrow that wakes me as she grinds her pussy on my dick, wanting more.
In one go, I roll her onto her belly, knowing that from this angle I can go the deepest inside of her.
She cries out a stuttered breath, her nails digging into the sheet. “So deep, Tristan… so good.”
“Couldn’t wait to get fucked?” I groan, instantly awake and driven by an all-encompassing instinct to possess her.
A playful smile teases her lips. “You were already hard inside of me.”
“How could I not be when I am buried in this fucking perfect pussy?”
She meets my every thrust by arching her spine, my body pressed against hers with no inch of space between us, just the way I prefer.
I pin her hands above her head, intertwining them, bodies joined, yet it’s not enough. I still try to cover all of her with my lips and hands, like a madman wanting to prove his sanity but only falling deeper into the proverbial rabbit hole.
“I know a part of you that is a monster,” she breathes out.
The muscles in my back tense for just a moment before she adds, “You have a monster cock.”
I burst into laughter, feeling at ease while filled with sheer pleasure. I didn’t even think this was possible—this intimacy mixed with passion. Playfulness mixed with sensuality.
“And what does my monster cock do?” I rock my hips hard enough to elicit a long moan.
“Wrecks my pussy,” she says into the pillow that muffles her moans.
“But you love it, baby.”
“I do,” she cries out. “You’ve turned me into an addict.”
“Stroke my ego some more.”
“It’s just as huge and doesn’t need much encouragement.”
I tilt her face and kiss along her cheek and jaw, but it’s not enough, so I pull out and turn her on her back.
“Hi, mo run.”
She kisses me, smiling against my lips. “Morning, cuore mio.”
At this exact moment, my life feels perfect. There’s no need for another achievement to fill the void in my chest. There’s no elaborate scheme I am trying to pull off to get ahead of others.
In this wondrous moment, I live, everything else ceasing to exist.
Holding the treasure of my life in my arms while I make love to her and she beams at me like I am her sun, nothing else could make it better.
She is my personal heaven on earth.
I must be one kind of sinner to experience that.
“Come for me,” I command, sucking on her neck.
Her mouth opens in a sensual O, and she closes her eyes, almost there, so I pinch her nipple to push her over the edge.
Needing to see the spark turning her eyes into liquid emeralds, I curl my hand around her neck, squeezing a bit. “Eyes on me.”
She immediately opens them, and I catch the orgasm tearing through her. Wanting to fill her right when she reaches the peak, I wait until she squeezes me, triggering mine. I shoot my essence the moment she breathes out my name in a murmur of surrender.
“You come so beautifully for me,” I rasp, our mouths locking into a sensual, languid dance.
We kiss for long minutes until I soften and her tremor subsides.
The lies hang suspended over our heads, ready to sever our connection at any moment. But today is not the day they will crash onto us, destroying our foundation.