17. Tristan
TRISTAN
I wake to the sound of Winter’s breath. My favorite fucking sound. Soft. Hitched. A sound that makes something low in me tighten until I’m fully awake.
My mouth is on her neck. My lips sucking, tongue dragging over the delicate skin just beneath her jaw. I don’t even realize I’m doing it, lost in some dream where she’s already mine. But she moans, quiet and unguarded, and the sound shoots straight through me.
I jolt, eyes flying open, but it doesn’t matter, because she already knows what I need.
I’m hard as fuck, my cock pressed up tight against her pussy through the thin barrier of our clothes.
I’m lying between her legs, body holding hers down and caging her in, aching so bad for her I think I could break apart.
Every nerve in me is screaming to push forward, to bury myself so deep she’ll never forget me.
“Fuck—” I brace myself on my forearms, terrified I’m crushing her, terrified I’ve crossed some line even in my sleep. My voice is gravel when I rasp, “I’m sorry.” I start to push up, to get off of her because I don’t want to scare her. I don’t want her to remember the way I hurt her.
Winter’s hands come up, gripping my shoulders like she’d chase me down if I tried to leave.
Her eyes are glassy, burning into mine. “We need this. We both do. I wasn’t asleep the other night when I made you come.
” Her voice cracks with truth, and my whole body freezes.
“We both need each other, Tristan. I don’t want sorry, I just want you. ”
The confession wrecks me. She was awake.
She knew. Shame and want crash together inside my ribcage, but I don’t have time to think, don’t have time to build a wall between us this time.
I lower my head, just enough to brush my lips against hers.
It barely qualifies as a kiss, but heat spills through me like gasoline finding fire.
My hips flex without my permission, grinding up against her still-clothed pussy, and the friction makes me groan into her mouth.
Winter’s fingers knot in my hair, yanking me closer, and I break.
My hand finds her breast, cupping, squeezing gently, and then I find her nipple and she arches up into my touch.
She’s so fucking soft. I kiss her the way I’ve wanted to from the very moment I met her.
Our mouths are parting, tongues colliding, every secret in me unraveling on her tongue.
I whimper into her like I’m starving for her. I am. She’s right. I needed this, needed her, so much. I just never considered that she might need me this way too.
When we finally tear apart for air, my chest is heaving. And then I hear it…Josh stirring in the other bed. The sound is like a bucket of ice over my head. There is no fucking way I’m going to touch her like this with anyone a few feet away, let alone these weird fucking strangers.
I don’t speak. I don’t need to. I push up off the bed, grab her hand, and pull her with me. She follows without hesitation, her delicate feet softly padding against the carpet as I drag her toward the door.
I’m taking her back to her room. Because even if this doesn’t go all the way, I need to be alone with her.
I need to hear the sounds she makes for me without anyone else listening.
Those soft moans are meant for me and me alone, and I’ll be damned if I’ll share her in any way with anyone.
I need my mouth on every inch of her until she’s begging me to let her come.
I need to be so deep inside her she’ll forget what it felt like to ever be separate from me.
Her door clicks shut behind us, and I swear it’s like the whole world disappears.
It’s just her. Just me. My chest is heaving, my pulse so loud in my ears I can barely think, but none of it matters when she looks at me the way she is right now.
Her big eyes are so focused on my face, and I can’t believe what I see in them.
Winter LeBlanc wants me as much as I want her.