Chapter 24 Tristan #2
Undressing, the sound of rustling clothes must pique her interest because she rolls onto her side, peeking at me.
She’s so damn adorable, even if she doesn’t try to be. Pursing my lips to hide the smile that threatens to expose that I am onto her, I savor the knowledge that she loves my body.
I slip under the covers in just my boxer briefs. Her body heat, combined with mine, creates a furnace, the desire palpable and as impossible to resist as ever. Her breathing gets labored, and she scoots away from me once again.
Fucking great idea. Give me your back as if that won’t make my cock even harder.
I lace my arms behind my neck while my cock juts out like a pole, creating a tent around my groin.
As punishment for hurting her, I squeeze the head to kill the erection. We don’t deserve her. Yet.
She tosses and turns, squirming for long minutes. I can’t stand witnessing her battling demons alone. Whether she wants to or not, I’ll be by her side.
The moment my arms wrap around her body, she relaxes, falling into a deep slumber.
Until her, I never envisioned myself married. Picturing my wedding night didn’t cross my mind, yet it wasn’t this.
I roll out of bed, careful not to wake her up.
At the door, I peer at her to confirm I didn’t disturb her sleep, before going to the living room and straight to the bar. Plucking a bottle of scotch, I don’t bother with a glass.
I slump in the armchair and drink.
Think and agonize.
Drink and look out into space.
The night yields to dawn, yet a plan to woo my wife still eludes me.
“What’s the freaking point of you wanting me in your bed when you’re not there when I wake up?” my wife snickers.
I drag a hand down my face, voice subdued with turmoil. “I don’t want to drive you out of it when I finally got you back in.”
Her eyes turn to slits, seeking deception.
I will feed her the truth until she accepts it. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I couldn’t sleep, and I didn’t want to wake you up.”
She’s just as aware as I am that the only way to sleep longer is inside her.
My eyes sweep over her luscious body, gorging on her beauty while salacious thoughts invade my brain. I am hard once again—nothing new in her presence. “You know how I can sleep longer…”
Gulping, she shifts on her feet, trying to appear more composed than she is. “I want you to wake up next to me.”
Elated my woman is such a forgiving soul, I swallow hard, eager to test that. “So that means?”
“That means you’ll wake up next to me. Not inside of me,” she mumbles, raising her arms above her head in a clear sign of frustration.
She pops my bubble, blowing my excitement away. Torture it is.
Fine. If that will make her feel better, so be it.
“Would you like to visit the farm? I am sure you miss Altea.”
“I start work tomorrow.”
“I know. Just for today,” I insist, eager to prolong our time together.
She studies my face, eyes heavy with distrust. It fucking kills me, agonizingly slow, that she doesn’t trust my motives.
“You can go alone if you’d like to,” I say to evaluate the situation.
She tilts her head, the tip of her nose crinkling. “Why? Is married life already too much?”
I stand up, pinning her with an intense look. “Go change. Now. We’re going to the stables.”
She opens her mouth, but she must notice my resolve. Clamping her mouth shut, she storms into the bedroom. The primary one where my house manager folded her things in the walk-in closet.
She glares at me the entire time she decides on her outfit and then goes into the shower.
I need one too. And I want to test how far I can go, so I slip inside. It’s big enough that at least six people could fit in the shower stall.
Looking at me over her shoulder, she rolls her eyes. “I am sure you have more than one bathroom.”
“Yes, but you’re not in those,” I say matter-of-factly.
What happens next is not torture; it ranges on agony.
A teasing smile plays on her face as she lathers her skin in shower gel, foam kissing her skin when it’s my body to kiss. Possessiveness empties a lethal shot into my veins, annihilating reason, and I put a fist into my mouth, growling around it.
I am crazy for her—a disturbed fucker with no chance at regaining sanity.
I can’t believe I am jealous of her hands touching herself when I am dying to, the scent of peonies infused in rich vanilla teasing my nostrils—her smell, the kryptonite for my senses, making me so weak for her.
“Quite thorough,” I mumble under my breath, watching captivated as she washes herself.
I forgot I should do the same, but considering my blood has rushed straight to my cock, it’s impressive I can think at all.
She smirks, proud of herself as she steps out and dries herself, like she doesn’t leave me in a hard situation—literally.
My cock weeps, crying for her. I ignore it once again and dress casually.
The day to reclaim what’s mine will come. Patience. And then, I will fuck her straight to heaven and back to earth to surrender to her true god. Me.
Soon. I can almost taste the sweet flavor of her submitting to me as I lick every inch of her skin, feel her tight pussy constricting around my cock as I pound her into oblivion, her moans of pleasure echoing in my ears as I coax another orgasm until she’s a whimpering, shaky mess—my good girl craving me.
“Ready?” she asks, already wearing her riding gear, yanking me out of my fantasy.