Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-two
TRISTAN
The back door creaked open, and Tristan felt a rush of relief.
He stayed where he was at the table, casual as anything while he pretended to work on his laptop, trying to look as if he hadn’t spent the last thirty minutes fighting off the irrational anxiety that something might have gone wrong.
Karl was kind, in his way, but the pack’s safety was as serious as a blood oath to him, and his standards were almost impossible to meet, though they all tried.
He’d had to let Colby go with Karl, no matter how it turned out.
If he tried all the time to stop Colby falling, how would Colby ever learn to walk by himself again?
Those words from Bryce, about trying to be Colby’s world, had stung because they were true.
He’d been doing so from love, but also from fear.
Tristan had to trust Colby, and he had to trust himself. They were mates, yeah, but that didn’t make them halves of a whole. It made them two wholes, choosing to be together.
Colby stepped into the kitchen, hair tousled, cheeks pink from the cold, looking—fuck—looking so good. Best of all, he looked happy. Tristan’s heart gave a ridiculous little flutter.
“You’re back,” he said with a smile.
Colby nodded. “Pretty sure Karl didn’t sign up for babysitting, so he dropped me off after one loop.”
“I saved you dinner.” Tristan took a covered dish off the warming plate and gave it to him, like it was nothing. Like he hadn’t hovered and checked it three times to make sure it would still be warm.
The surprise in Colby’s face made Tristan want to hit something—preferably Nico. A small kindness like this should never seem out of the ordinary, especially when Colby had missed dinner because he was working for the pack.
Colby glanced at the plate again, like he wasn’t sure it was for him. “Impressed you kept it from Jesse,” he said, washing his hands.
He joined Tristan at the table, breathing in the scent of herb-basted chicken and garlic potatoes as he lifted the cover off the plate.
When he took his first bite, he closed his eyes for a moment and chewed with something that looked close to reverence.
Tristan leaned his chin on his hand, watching him.
“You’re staring,” Colby said without looking up, his ears definitely pinker than they had been a second ago.
“I like watching you,” Tristan said simply. “You look like you’re enjoying this.”
Colby shrugged, but the corners of his mouth curled up. “It’s good.”
“It’s not just the food, though,” Tristan said, quiet now. “It’s seeing you here, at this table, like you belong.”
Colby’s fork paused halfway to his mouth. He didn’t say anything at first—just looked at Tristan like he was trying to figure out what to say. Finally, he set the fork down.
“I wish I did,” he said, low and serious.
Tristan reached across the table, palm up, and Colby took his hand without hesitation. His fingers were still chilly from the night air, but they fit perfectly in Tristan’s.
“You will,” Tristan promised. Because while he might have lost his na?ve belief the pack would love Colby almost immediately, he knew they were all decent men, and they’d come to realize he was too.
There would be a place for him here, if everyone kept working at it.
And if Matt agreed. And if Colby wanted to stay beyond the time Matt thought was necessary.
Colby’s thumb brushed over Tristan’s knuckles. “You were waiting for me?” he asked softly.
Shaking himself from the thoughts that had turned slightly uncertain, Tristan smiled. This, he knew for sure. “I’m always gonna wait for you.”
That seemed to undo something in Colby—his eyes softened, his shoulders dropped another inch, and when he stood, he didn’t let go of Tristan’s hand. “Come to bed?”
The words weren’t urgent or heavy with implication. They sounded hopeful.
Tristan rose to his feet, still holding his hand. “Yeah,” he said. “I was hoping you’d ask.”
Then he paused, knowing he was about to interrupt a romantic moment but unable to stop himself from worrying that Colby was going to go hungry. “You haven’t finished your dinner.”
For the first time, Colby didn’t look uncertain when faced with a decision. “Fuck dinner,” he murmured, moving close against Tristan and looking into his eyes.
“Yeah, okay,” Tristan got out breathlessly. Because the intent in Colby’s eyes, the way his pupils were beginning to swallow his irises—he didn’t even know what he was agreeing to, just that he was finding it hard to breathe and he needed Colby, pressed against him naked.
They left the plate on the table, forgotten.
When they reached Tristan’s room, Colby paused just inside the doorway like he needed to take a breath.
Tristan didn’t rush him. Now they were private, the edge of urgency had softened. He intended to draw this out, to savor every moment he had like this with Colby.
“I don’t want to be careful tonight,” Colby said suddenly. His voice was low, rough, but steady. “Not... not like there’s something wrong with me.”
Tristan’s chest tightened. “Okay,” he said. “Whatever you want.”
He stepped forward, crowding into Colby’s space slowly. Not uncertain and no more careful than he’d be with anyone else, but still giving him time to say stop if he changed his mind. But all Colby did was tip his head slightly, eyes steady, lips parted.
Tristan leaned in and kissed him, their mouths fitting together like they were made for this.
Colby groaned into the kiss, his hands sliding up Tristan’s sides, under his shirt, strong and searching. “Been thinking about this,” he murmured against Tristan’s lips. “All night. Longer.”
Tristan’s breath caught. He tugged his shirt off, tossed it somewhere, and helped Colby out of his in quick, clumsy movements. Their bodies pressed together, skin to skin.
Colby’s hands slid down, gripped Tristan’s hips as if he couldn’t bear to let him go. His kisses turned messier as his tongue slid deeper into Tristan’s mouth, like he was trying to memorize every part of it. Tristan answered with his whole body—arching, thrusting, gasping into Colby’s touch.
They didn’t make it to the bed right away.
Tristan stumbled back against the wall, dragging Colby with him, laughing breathlessly into his mouth until Colby’s thigh slipped between his.
The urge to laugh suddenly disappeared, replaced by hot, hungry need as Colby pressed in tight, all muscle and heat and intent, his hands roaming like he needed to touch all of him at once.
“You feel so fucking good,” Tristan whispered, half in disbelief, as he kissed along the edge of Colby’s jaw, down his throat. “Every time.”
Colby let out a sound that was almost a growl, low and wrecked. “Tristan, bed. Before I lose it right here.”
Tristan grinned, breathless. “I wouldn’t mind seeing that.”
But he let Colby pull him toward the bed, his heart hammering, his skin shivering with heat.
They stripped out of their jeans before tumbling onto the bed, laughing and breathless, legs tangling as they shifted to fit together.
The cool sheets were a jolt against overheated skin, but it only made Tristan press closer, chasing Colby’s warmth.
Tristan rolled on top of him, straddling his hips, palms braced on either side of Colby’s shoulders. For a long moment, he just looked down at him, taking in the flush across Colby’s chest, the way his pupils had blown wide, his parted lips as he breathed unevenly.
“You’re beautiful,” Tristan murmured.
You’re the one who’s beautiful,” Colby said, voice unsteady.
Tristan bent down and kissed that ache from his voice, slow and deep, and slid his hand down between them, fingers wrapping around Colby’s cock.
The way Colby gasped and arched into his grip spiked heat low in Tristan’s belly, his own cock growing even harder.
He stroked once, slow and firm, and Colby’s hands flew up, clutching at Tristan’s hips like he couldn’t bear to let go.
“You okay?” Tristan whispered, even as his thumb brushed the head, already slick.
Colby’s voice shook. “Yeah. Just—keep touching me. Please.”
So he did. He shifted lower, kissing down Colby’s chest, dragging his tongue across a nipple and feeling the way Colby twitched and moaned beneath him. His hand never left Colby’s cock, keeping up a lazy rhythm as he explored with mouth and teeth and tongue.
When he finally knelt between Colby’s thighs and took him in his mouth, Colby made a sound like a sob and fisted both hands in the sheets.
“Fuck, Tristan—God, that’s—” He broke off, hips twitching up before he forced them still, trembling with the effort.
Tristan sucked him slow and deep, using his hand to stroke the base, and when he felt Colby getting close, he pulled off with a wicked smile and slid back up his body, catching his mouth in another kiss.
“I want to feel you come on my skin,” Tristan whispered, grinding their cocks together, slick between them.
That was it—Colby’s whole body locked up for a second, then he cried out, hips jerking up as he spilled.
Tristan held him through it, his hips still rolling, chasing his own high with short, desperate thrusts until he came too, gasping against Colby’s throat.
They lay tangled together in the aftermath, hearts pounding, skin cooling in the quiet. Tristan tucked his face against Colby’s neck, breathing in the smell of him, all salt and cedar and his.
“You okay?” he asked again, because he always would.
Colby’s hand came up to thread through his hair. “Yeah,” he whispered. “More than okay.”
Tristan smiled and pressed a kiss to his skin. “Good,” he murmured.