Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
LILY
How is he always saying I’m a mess? Sure, I throw shit everywhere but not like this.
I stare at the blood on Tristan’s hands and shirt. It’s even smudged across his jaw like he wiped some away.
“You have very aggressive orchids.” I giggle. “Why does he kind of look like that right now?” I ask Teddy.
“You’re drunk,” Tristan says. Not accusing. Stating a fact.
“And you’re a psycho stalker.” If we’re stating the obvious. The crown slips over one eye, and I push it back up. “Happy drunk girls don’t ask questions about blood. Happy drunk girls go home with their captors and make dinner.” I wiggle my brows at Tristan.
Teddy snorts behind me. “Tradwife Lily. I’d watch that show, but we should keep the fire department on scene.”
I mean, I might have daydreamed more than a few times about married life with Tristan.
“Shut up.” But I’m smiling, swaying toward him. “Take me home, Tristan. I want to be a good little wifey for you.”
Tristan stands there not moving, bloody and beautiful, watching me like I’m a math problem he can’t solve. “You’re not going anywhere alone tonight.”
“Then come with me.” I grab his hand, sticky with whatever happened in that greenhouse. “I need supervision. Clearly.”
“Go,” Killian says. “I’ll handle... gardening.”
Tristan starts to lead me back to the house. “Teddy!” I should be spinning back around. I almost fall, but Tristan catches me.
“You got blood on me,” I huff. “At least it doesn’t have a tracker in it.” He narrows his eyes on me. “Yeah, I know allll about that, buster,” I say, poking his hand and chest and then starting to rub.
“What!” Teddy shouts back. Oh right!
“Tell Reginald I said good night. I’ll miss him.”
“Who the hell is Reginald?”
“Oh, I can’t tell you that. Reginald gets his feathers ruffled when you talk about him and he’s not there.”
“He won’t give a fuck about his feathers when he’s dead.” I snort a laugh. I keep it to myself that Reginald is already dead. A girl has got to have her secrets, secrets that annoy the shit out of her man.
“Oh noes.” I stop.
Tristan nods curtly and pulls me toward the door.
“What do you want for dinner, husband? I could make... toast. Or cereal. I’m very domestic.”
“You’re very drunk,” he says, but his voice has that soft edge. The one he uses when he’s pretending not to care.
“I could help you wash.” I reach over and finger the blood dried on his collar. “You’ve got someone else’s DNA all over you. Don’t have any of mine. You’d lose your mind if I had another man’s DNA on me.”
“Lily.” He shakes his head at me. “It was a man, not a woman.”
“That’s what I said! If I had another man’s DNA on me.”
“That’s not happening. Now, in.” He opens a truck door for me.
“What’s happening? My room is that way.” That’s where I thought we were going.
“We have to go to my place. I’ll need clothes after I shower.”
“Your place?” I ask. “Wait?! Your place! Where the hell do you live?”
“Get in and I’ll show you.”
“Oh, you bet your ass I’m getting in.” I hop into the truck. “I can’t believe I’ve never seen your house. You’ve been sneaking into my room all this time, but I don’t even know where you live.”
“Lily, you used to live with me.”
“Don’t change the subject.” I fold my arms over my chest. “I’m a concerned tradwife. I should know about your home.”
“If you’re my wife, then that means you live with me.”
I ponder this. “You got a safe with a gold bar?”
“I can get one if you’d like, princess.”
“Ahh, you pet-named me.” I adjust my crown. “Hold on,” I say when we pull out of the gate but don’t get far down the road.
“Stay put.” I don’t get a chance to ask; Tristan hops out, moving bushes around to reveal a dirt drive.
“What’s happening?” I ask when he pulls through but hops out again to put everything back.
“Couldn’t let you know how close I was.”
“You were next door! All this time!” I say way too loudly. He pulls up in front of a small but cute house. “You know, you’re not the worst stalker,” I tell him. He doesn’t half do it. Tristan is all in with it.
“You’re only saying that because you met Killian.”
I burst into laughter. “You got jokes now?”
“Every now and then.” He winks, being playful, blood spattered all over him. I ignore that part, enjoying this lighter side of Tristan.
He takes my hand, leading me up to the steps so that I don’t face-plant into his door. He punches in a code for the keypad before he pushes it open, reaching in to flip on lights.
“Holy moly,” I breathe.
I don’t know what I was expecting. Obviously not a penthouse, but this space, one he threw together quickly, while small, is warm and lived-in.
There are books stacked up in random places.
A blanket is thrown over one couch arm. There are coffee cups in the kitchen sink.
It looks like someone actually lives here.
The penthouse seemed cold at times with how pristine it was.
“It’s cute,” I tell him. “I approve.”
“Really?” He lifts a brow.
“Kinda romantic.”
“I need a shower before you start talking about romance and being my wife.” He grunts, heading straight for what I assume is the bedroom.
“Is that an invitation?” I tease, following him. “Because I’m very helpful. I could scrub your back. Your front. All the bloody bits off of you.”
“Lily!” He stops in the hallway and turns. “You’re drunk.”
“And you’re a psycho stalker. We already played this game.” I step closer. “It’s only fair. You snuck into my room and got me all naked. I don’t even know what that looks like.” I point to the front of his pants. “And it’s been inside of me.”
He stares at me. I can see he’s tired and trying to be good, but he’s close to cracking, so I puff out my lower lip and stare up at him through my lashes. I’ve seen Teddy get away with murder when she does this move.
“Fine,” he says finally. “But you’re keeping your clothes on.”
“Sure.” I cross my fingers behind my back. There’s no way in hell that’s happening, but I’ll go along with this farce for now.
The bathroom is small, steam quickly filling it as he turns the water on.
I watch as he pulls his shirt over his head, and I stop breathing.
My eyes scan over every inch of him, taking in the blood on his chest and his arms. The muscle underneath.
There are faint white lines, old scars I’ve never seen before. Barely noticeable.
“You’re staring,” he says.
“Yep.” I hop up on the sink.
Tristan reaches down and unbuttons his jeans, pushing them down and kicking them to the side. I stare as he removes all his clothes and then steps under the water in all his naked glory. How had he never had sex before?
The muscles, the scars, the water running down his chest, to his stomach, and then lower. Washing all the blood away. He’s beautiful and terrifying.
“You’re still staring,” he says, not glancing my way.
“Still doing that, yep.”
He turns, water hitting his back. “Happy now?”
“Getting there.” I pull my shirt over my head. Drop it on the floor.
“Lily—”
“What? I might have blood on me too.” I step out of my shorts. “And don’t ‘Lily’ me. I’m helping. That’s what tradwives do, I think.”
I’m naked before he can argue or I chicken out. I step into the shower, and he doesn’t move back but also doesn’t stop me. He simply watches me with dark eyes, water running down his face, and I can see he’s close to cracking. I have him right where I want him.
Tristan fills up most of the small space. I reach for the soap, lather my hands, and press my palms to his chest.
“Let me,” I whisper. “Please.” I want to explore him the same way he did me.
He doesn’t answer. Just stands there, breathing hard, as I wash the rest of the blood away. His chest, his shoulders, down his arms. The water runs clear between us. I go lower, to his stomach and hips, and he catches my wrist.
“Lily.”
“Shhh.” I sink to my knees in front of him. “Let me try something. If you hate it, I’ll stop.”
“If I hate it?” He lets out a humorless laugh. “You’re drunk,” he says again, weaker this time.
“You’re going to let me,” I tell him. “Because you can’t really say no to me.”
I don’t wait for an answer. I wrap my hand around his hard cock.
When he was inside of me, I felt incredibly full, but I’m still shocked it fit.
Thinking about that sweet burn when he first thrust into me makes me have to press my thighs together.
I want to taste him first, though. I peek up at him through my lashes.
Tristan is beautiful. Terrifying. And all mine. Every single part of him.
I slide my hand down to the base, feeling it jerk in my palm, hot and heavy. Tentatively, I lean forward and drag my tongue up the underside, slowly, learning the shape of him, the salty sweet taste that is all him.
The groan that leaves him sounds painful.
“Lily,” he gasps, his hand finding my hair, not pulling, just holding. “Fuck.”
I take him into my mouth, as far as I can. I suck experimentally, and his hips jerk forward before he catches himself, freezing before he tries to pull back.
“No,” I mumble around him, and he stops, breathing hard.
I find a rhythm, hand stroking what I can’t fit, mouth working what I can. Watching him watch me on my knees in front of him makes me feel powerful. The pulse between my thighs has me squeezing them together.
Soon his hips start to move, small thrusts, and I relax my jaw, taking him deeper. I want this. I want to watch him lose control, want him using my mouth, doing all the dirty things he’s held back over the years.
“Lily.” His hold in my hair tightens. “You’re swallowing it.” I whimper, not letting up. It only turns me on more when he gives orders.
I suck harder, stroke faster, and he comes with a ragged shout of my name, spilling down my throat. I swallow and keep sucking as his entire body shudders.
I pull back, wipe my mouth, and look up at him smugly. “Told you.”
I watch his expression change, the last thread of his restraint snapping clean through.
He grabs me under my arms and lifts me like I weigh nothing, my back hitting the tile wall. The shock of cold against my heated skin makes me gasp, but his mouth crashes down on mine before I can make a sound.
Then he’s everywhere, consuming, his tongue forcing my lips apart, tasting himself on me and groaning. His urgency for me can’t be denied.
“You’re going to kill me,” he growls against my mouth, but he’s already positioning himself, hands rough under my thighs, spreading me open.
“Good,” I breathe, wrapping my legs around his waist, feeling the head of his cock pressing into me. “Do it.”
He thrusts into me in one hard stroke, no warning, no gentle build, and I scream against his shoulder.
The stretch burns so good I see stars, my nails digging into his back.
This is it. What I’ve always wanted from Tristan, for him to let go and take what he wanted.
For him to be so obsessed with me that it drives him to the brink of insanity.
“Fuck,” he chokes out. “Lily—”
“Don’t stop.” I roll my hips, encouraging him. He’s so deep inside of me I can barely breathe. “Don’t stop,” I say again. He doesn’t.
Tristan pulls back and slams into me again and again, his grip on my thighs bruising, and I love it. Love that he’s finally stopped pretending, finally taking what he wants, finally treating me like I’m his in every way that matters.
He’s fucking me like he hates me, like he loves me, like he can’t tell the difference anymore. I cling to him, moaning his name, feeling the pressure build with every thrust. Feeling so many other things that I can’t even put into words at the moment.
“You’re mine,” he snarls against my neck, teeth grazing my pulse. “Say it.”
“Yours,” I gasp, arching into him. “Always yours, you psycho fucking stalker.”
He laughs, broken and wild, and drives into me harder, chasing his own release, chasing mine. I feel it building, coiling tight, and when his hand slides between us to find my clit, I come apart with a scream that echoes off the tiles.
He follows seconds later, burying himself deep, spilling inside me with a ragged groan that sounds like surrender.
I press my face against his neck, breathing hard, and feel his arms tighten around me like he’ll never let go.
“Still think I’m drunk?” I tease, smiling.
“You’re a disaster,” he says, but he’s smiling against my hair. “My disaster.”