20. Isolde
Isolde
Isuccessfully renegotiate my contracts back. Which means I’m actively seeking better pay to end someone’s life.
“That’s so fucked up,” Sammie’s ghost tells me. She’s got her feet dangling over the arm of a chair. “But a girl’s gotta grow her nest egg somehow.”
Tristan is in the kitchen, occasionally walking back and forth to his room. After lunch we went to a bookstore, loading up on new reading material. Then we stopped at a bakery. He bought me sugar, which means he really does like me.
The sun is starting to set, and he’s made no move to fuck me like he promised.
Every time he shows up in my periphery, my heart beats with anticipation. Then he’ll walk away into the kitchen or to answer a phone call.
I wilt like a flower, though I’m aware he’s doing it on purpose. His smirk gives it away.
“What are you going to tell Ren?”
I jump, the book in my hand falling into my chest. I’m wrapped up in a blanket on the sofa, trying to read instead of focusing on the depressing fact that Tristan hasn’t fucked me yet.
“Huh?” I try to understand the question.
“Ren?” Tristan asks, sitting down in the brown leather chair that’s become his. He picks up the book he left on the coffee table. “When she gets back. Are you going to talk to her?”
Ren pissed me off when she cut off my contracts. I never asked her to hide out when her ex-boyfriends were found. Instead, I hired her some backup.
“I know she’s worried,” I admit. “But this is business.”
“You convinced Ben to sack Todd because he became a liability. Isn’t Cade?”
My shoulders sag.
He opens his book. “It’s a fair question.”
“Good thing I’ll have a bodyguard with me.”
“You really couldn’t make my job easier, huh?”
I sink into the sofa, curling up. He’s cute when he’s protective. And I swear his eyes are burning a fucking hole in me. My insides squirm, waiting for him to satisfy me.
“Tris. . .”
He hums under his breath as he reads.
“Are. . . Are you going to fuck me?”
He turns a page. “When I’m done reading.”
“But I want you to fuck me.”
“When I’m done reading.” Tristan checks his watch. “Want to do pizza for dinner later?”
My mouth tumbles open. “Pizza?”
“It’s your favorite.”
“Would we actually get it delivered?”
“I’ll have Luis fetch it.”
A flare of protectiveness sparks. “We’re not sending Luis off like an errand boy.”
“So you don’t want pizza for dinner after I fuck your ass?”
I untangle myself from my blanket. “That would require you to fuck my ass!”
He doesn’t look up from his book. “Go get the lube.”
My heart flutters as I hurry to comply, stripping off my clothes as I go.
“Come here,” he says when I scurry back into the room. He’s put his book down but remains in his chair. He motions for me to come sit on his lap.
I fall into him, kissing him greedily and pulling his shirt off. His smile as he kisses me back lights something deep inside me.
He shifts, pulling at his sweatpants. When I try to move off his lap, his fingers dig into my waist. He spreads my cheeks and twists the plug before pulling it out.
I jerk forward in his lap. “You don’t want to go to the bed?”
He simply pulls his cock out, opening the lube bottle and squeezing some out.
Dry-mouthed, I watch him stroke himself. “No, right here.”
“On the chair?” I startle, unable to look away from his hand wrapped around his cock. “Like right here?”
He snorts. His fingers run over my pussy and then find the tight muscles. “You don’t like the position?”
I bite down on my lip.
“Iz?”
“I-I’ve just never. . . done this face-to-face before.”
I try to lean forward, wanting to place my head in the crook of his neck, but he stops me. His warm brown eyes are serious as he scans my face.
In the past, I’ve always been situated with my arse in the air while the man takes me from behind.
This is different. I’ve begged him all day to fuck me, but now it seems too much. Too intimate to take his cock up my arse while those brown eyes pierce into me the whole time.
He adds another finger into my ass, and I clamp down harder on my lower lip.
“I like looking at you, baby,” he says, licking his lip. “I like filling you up with my cum. But I want you to enjoy it too. Okay?”
I nod, slightly too dazed as he adds another finger, working my arse.
“Get me ready,” he orders.
I pour more lube on his cock, jerking him off. He takes the bottle from me, and my breath is sharp when the cold liquid splatters on my arse.
He grabs my waist, positioning us. I tense when I feel his thick cock at my back entrance.
“Breathe,” he whispers, pulling me down on his cock. It’s just an inch, and my legs shake. He brushes my hair back, his voice soft. “That’s it, baby. Take what you want. Whatever you need.”
I sit down further, my breath catching. His fingers pinch my nipples, and I sink further.
“Fuck, Isolde.” His eyes close, and his jaw clenches. The look on his face is all my doing. “Just like that, baby.”
I pull his hands away from my nipples, placing them on my hips. He pulls me down on his cock, and I gasp. For several seconds, we breathe together, adjusting.
I fall forward, my nipples rubbing against his hard chest.
He runs a hand down my back. His thrusts are shallow at first, the metal of his piercings rubbing inside me.
“So fucking tight,” he breathes.
“Fuck me,” I plead, clinging to him.
He drives into me, his fingers bruising my waist. I let him use me, let him control the pace. My nipples are extra sensitive, and I’m panting as he takes what he wants.
“Tris. . .”
He tilts my body so my clit rubs against his groin, and I cry out. He slaps my arse, fucking through my orgasm.
“Please. . .”
I want him to come inside me. I want to feel his cum coating my arse. I’ve never had a breeding kink—I don’t even want kids—but I want his cum to mark me.
His kiss is brutal as he thrusts so deep, I’m afraid I’ll tear. But I don’t care when he pinches my clit and I come again just as he fills me up.
“What do you like for aftercare?” I ask him as I’m rubbing moisturizer on my cheeks. “Do you want me to get you some pajamas?”
He smirks. “Baby, I don’t wear pajamas to sleep in.”
“Oh.” My toes curl into the bathmat.
I swap my towel for the giant T-shirt he brought me. “Do you want me to get you some water? Or food?”
We could send Luis out for pizza like we discussed earlier.
“No.”
“Then what do you like for aftercare?” I ask again. I don’t think I’ve ever been an ungrateful lover. But if the man stays over after an encounter, rolling over to sleep is the extent of what happens. With Tristan, I want to do better than that.
“I’m fine.” He soaps up quickly, his cock hardening again. One hand wrapped around it, he raises a brow.
I turn on my toes. “I’ve already showered!”
I hear his deep chuckle, so I know he’s only joking.
My bedsheets are cool under my touch. The noise of Tristan in the shower helps me drift when I feel the mattress dip.
Tristan is in my bed.
“Oh.”
His head snaps up at my reaction.
“You want to sleep in the bed?” I ask, needing to clarify his intent.
“That okay?” he asks slowly.
“No, yeah,” I reply quickly. He lifts a brow. “No, I just mean. . . Of course you deserve a cuddle.”
I reach a hand out, stretching over the bed, and place my hand right on top of his heart. That’s comforting, right?
He bites down on his lip. “You don’t like cuddling, do you?”
I smush my face into the pillow. “I’m just not much of a touchy-feely person. But I get it. I mean, you deserve to feel taken care of after all of that. . . hard work.”
Did I just thank him for fucking me in the arse?
He cradles the back of his head. “If I’m fucking you, then I want to share a bed. But if that freaks you out or you need the space, then tell me. I can handle it.”
“I want you to stay in the bed.” It’s the highlight of my life. “I don’t want you to get upset because I don’t like spooning, is all.”
I separate our pillows by a few inches and then draw an imaginary line down the middle, between us, so he understands the boundary.
“I won’t touch you if you don’t touch me,” he promises, not annoyed that I’m not a cuddler. The few past boyfriends I’ve had in the past thought it meant I didn’t like them. Or that I wasn’t feminine enough because I didn’t like being the little spoon.
“Good night, Tris.”
“Night, Iz baby.”
I smush my face to my pillow, hiding my smile.
I’m drifting off into wonderland when I open my eyes and see Sammie’s ghost.
She doesn’t look like how she normally does. She’s not sitting or standing. She’s lying, floating beside the bed, her eyes vacantly staring at me.
My body goes cold. I roll over in the bed.
“I warned you not to get handsy,” he rasps in a sleepy voice. But he lifts his arm, tucking me into his side where I fit perfectly.