Chapter 24 Tristan
TRISTAN
The moonlight floods the living room, casting a spotlight on her, making her appear ethereal—the epitome of beauty, a goddess.
I can’t peel my eyes off her, gorging on the sight of my wife as she walks toward the window, placing her palm on it.
Tipping her chin up, she looks straight at the sky as if praying. For what? I don’t know. And it’s irrelevant. She can’t escape me.
Rooted in place, I cock my head, the silence chock full of restrained love and pure hurt.
I had no choice with her. It was beyond my capacity to stay away from her.
She thinks my betrayal is an elaborate scheme, part of a strategy. It’s not. It wasn’t. She couldn’t be more wrong. I am just a man who fell, and fell some more—in love, in obsession, reaching the bottom of madness.
“What now, Viviana?” I sigh, pulling her out of the trance.
She slants me a hard gaze that is etched in bitterness. I would raze this world and build one from scratch to make her agony disappear.
She stomps down the hall, stepping inside a guest bedroom.
I clench my hands at my sides, anger lashing at me.
Patience is paramount, but with her, it’s impossible to shut down the impulse to have her, show her who she belongs to.
I follow her inside. “You can take the main bedroom.”
She smiles so sweetly, reeking of fakeness. “No, I’ll let you live with the ghost of my memory.”
“Pretty confident when I don’t have my hands on you. Shall we test that?”
She swallows, panic warring in her eyes with desire.
That look betrays her inability to reject me. In a twisted irony of fate, we met and fell in love—made to belong. Made to come together.
Her intention to stay away is infinitely less powerful than her need to give in.
It’s just a matter of time.
“I’m perfectly fine. You can do whatever you want. This marriage is on paper only,” she says haughtily.
“Is that so?” I ask, folding my arms over my chest. “You wouldn’t mind if I had someone beside you? Or several?” My voice is cool, the opposite of how I feel inside.
Give me something, mo run.
The spark blazes into a raging fire, her jealousy hot enough to incinerate me. “I didn’t stutter.”
“You aren’t truthful either,” I say, not wanting her to ever doubt my loyalty or my love.
In three long strides, I reach her, and she remains frozen in place. Lifting my hand, I give her time to stop me, but she doesn’t, resurrecting the embers of hope.
I brush my fingers along her cheek in gentle strokes, down her neck and along her shoulders. “I don’t notice other women, don’t desire another one. I love you, mo run. Even if you punish me for the rest of my life, that won’t change.”
“Big words. You say that now,” her voice cracks as if not believing me.
She’ll see. I have forever to prove to her that while I deceived her, my love has been truthful.
“Stop touching me,” she says, but the bark lacks any bite.
My arm drops, and she sighs in relief. It will be a constant tug of wills, a war of seduction.
“Let me help you with the dress.”
She opens her mouth ready to protest when I say in a matter-of-fact voice, “I’ll help you with the dress.”
She must notice how serious I am, aware she’d rather sleep in it than let me help her, but her comfort is not debatable to me.
Turning around, she presents her back to me. I gather her dark curls in one hand, pushing her hair over her shoulder.
The moment my fingers latch onto the first button, she sucks in a breath, just as affected as I am.
I imagined our wedding night differently. Not letting that thought depress me, I focus on undressing her. One after the other, the delicate buttons give, making it harder for me to distinguish between unwrapping my gift and solely solving a task.
“Very thoughtful of you to wear this dress. I would have ripped this thing off,” I say, voice thick with annoyance, but the underlying desire is unmistakable.
“And here I thought you were patient,” she smiles under her breath, rejoicing in my frustration.
“You did it on purpose,” I grumble.
She tilts her head, looking at me over her shoulder and batting her eyelashes with fake innocence. The gesture would be cute if I didn’t know the truth. “I’m thoughtful like that.”
“Yeah, you love to torment me.”
“And that’s on you,” she snaps and looks ahead, crossing her arms over her chest.
She wants to torture me? Let’s see how she deals with my type of torture.
Burying my face in her neck, I rub my nose against her skin, evoking goose bumps. “I think you forgot who the fuck you’re playing with.”
Another button follows, giving me a bit more wiggle room, but the task is far from finished. “You said not to touch you, but I have my ways, Viviana.”
She gulps, her entire body constricting, tightening into a ball of repressed desire. A touch of mine and she’s bound to unravel. I need her to give in since she’s the one waging the war. I’ve long surrendered to my need for her.
I unbutton some more, and she squirms every time my fingertips brush along her spine.
“You do it on purpose,” she whines.
“Do I? You picked this dress, wife.”
“Especially for you, husband.”
I chuckle. “Yes, to drive me mad.”
“I’m not that lucky,” she huffs.
“No, you’re not. You’re the cause. You’re the cure. You’re fucked either way, mo run.”
After an eternity and a hundred breathing exercises not to maul her, I unbutton the last one.
Even if she tells me otherwise, deep inside, she wants me to have my way with her. But that could end catastrophically, setting a wrong precedent. If I take her now, she’ll only feel entitled to continue keeping her love buried.
I might be a monster. But I won’t be one to her.
Taking a step back, she wriggles out of her gown, presenting me with the delicate arch of her spine. In white lingerie, she looks exquisite.
She turns to me, exposing more of herself, her two pebbled nipples greeting me. I salivate on the spot, starving for a taste.
I thought I knew what torture was, but I was wrong.
She twirls in a slow pirouette, and I watch my fantasy come to life.
“Like it, husband?”
“I would like it more if it came off,” I groan.
She pats her chest in faux sympathy. “But of course. How inconsiderate of me.”
My wife is up to something, but for the life of me, I can’t think clearly.
Her beauty enraptures me; her every gesture captivates me, holding my gaze hostage, roping in my attention.
“Let me,” I say, my voice sounding hoarse, the undertone of despair weaving through.
I drop to my knees, peeling down her thong.
She looks down at me, her silky hair falling down her chest like black gold, crowning her a queen.
In this moment, it’s clear who holds the power—her.
She lifts one foot and then the other, and I bring her thong to my nose, breathing in her sweet scent that drives me wild.
She sucks in a breath, the telltale sign of her arousal threatening to burn up my reason. Mending comes before fucking, I repeat that like a mantra, not to lose control.
I toss the thong aside, discarding it like any chance of surviving without her. “I’m on my knees for you. It’s not the first time, and it won’t be the last. You want power. Have it all. I relinquish it to you. I’ve kneeled for no one else, but I will die on my knees for you.”
Her eyes tear up, and she stretches out her hand. I reach to take it when she snatches her arm away, and the moment vanishes, sucked into the place where past mistakes and constant remorse rule.
She shakes her head as if wanting to clear her mind. “You must laugh your ass off at how pathetic I am, so easily giving in to you.”
I’ve lost her once again, my insides roaring with despair.
The path to earning her trust again eludes me.
Exhaling a sound chock-full of dejection, I stand up, retreating. “Good night, Viviana.”
“What? Won’t you fuck my ass? Wasn’t that what you planned?” she shouts, her pain piercing my chest.
Her eyes bore into mine, tears falling, letting me see the damage I caused. How I utterly broke her heart.
Striding toward the bed, she bends over, spreading her ass cheeks. “Come on. There’s one hole left. Take it and let’s be done.”
“Not like this,” I rasp, overwhelmed by the avalanche of emotions burying me under. It’s getting more difficult to breathe by the second.
Seeing her destitute wrecks me, the true cost of my deception dawning on me.
I rush to her and gather her in my arms. Cupping her cheeks, I kiss her teary eyes. “Let me hold you. Just one moment, mo run.”
“Do you think you can manipulate me?” she asks, the fight in her vanishing as she slouches in my arms.
“No, I’m trying to hold my world together.”
“This world is shattered, cuore mio,” she whispers.
I bury my face in her neck, and she holds onto me, crying while tears gather in mine.
I hold her until she stiffens—my cue to let go while every fiber of my being rebels.
“You think you’re strong enough to withstand me?”
I know I am a fucking asshole. I am not even trying to hide that I am challenging her on purpose. But I need her too much, and my wife needs me too. She is just too stubborn to accept or confirm it.
“I don’t think so. I know so.”
Eyes locked, I jerk my chin at her, holding in a breath. “Fine, prove it. Sleep every night in my bed.”
She crosses her arms over her chest, narrowing her eyes at me. “If you think this will make a difference, you’re wrong.”
Slipping through the first crack, I will decimate every obstacle until I get my wife back.
My chest expands as I release the breath, the pressure on my lungs easing, and I smirk under my breath.
Lifting her up, I carry her into our bedroom and gently place her down on the left side of the bed—hers. I’ve slept alone with thoughts of her keeping me company since I took her virginity. Now she’s back in the place she should have never left—my bed.
She turns her back to me, and the predator stirs to life, taking it as a challenge to chase. Taming the desire throbbing under my skin and not following my instinct to claim her demands immense willpower. Let’s see how long she can ignore me.