Chapter 33
Thirty-Three
Astrid
There were several balconies lining the room, and Tristan headed toward one, but someone stopped him, an older man and woman who looked familiar to me.
"Tristan, great to see you," the man said. "It's been a bit, hasn't it?"
"Mr. and Mrs. Jarrett, great to see you too." He sounded genuinely happy about it, even though his eyes conveyed his impatience as he turned to me. "This is Astrid Stratton."
We shared a bit of small talk and discovered that they knew my parents, which explained why I recognized them.
After telling us about their recent trip to see their grandkids, the conversation turned to work, first mine, with them oohing and ahhing over my recent successes, and then to Tristan's company.
"How is Hawthorne Properties doing?" Mr. Jarrett asked.
Tristan hesitated, and I studied him, wondering what the strange expression on his face meant.
"Honestly," he said, "I wouldn't know. I quit last week."
There were gasps and surprised looks all around, but the biggest gasp came from me. Tristan quit his job? What on earth was going on?
"Sorry," he immediately said to me. "The timing hasn't been right to tell you, and I didn't want to mislead Mr. and Mrs. Jarrett."
The kind man patted Tristan on the shoulder. "We'll let you two talk. I'll call you sometime next week though because I'd like to hear the rest of the story."
We said our goodbyes, and this time, Tristan walked like a man possessed toward one end of the ballroom where there was a humongous floral arrangement in front of a velvet rope. He whisked me behind the flowers which were hiding a long hallway.
"What is this?" I gasped. "What are you doing?"
"I have no idea," he admitted. "I just need you. Alone."
A swell of emotion swept through me at the desperation in his voice.
He needed me. Alone.
Tristan had no idea, but those words were such an aphrodisiac to me.
Shoving open a door, he fumbled for a light switch, and once he found it, I couldn't believe what was in front of my eyes—a beautiful old dressing room of sorts, complete with plush velvet chairs and an overstuffed couch, mirrors outlined with large vintage-style bulbs, and even an old garment rack shoved against a wall with a few forgotten scarves hanging from it.
While I stood in awe at the space, Tristan apparently had other ideas because the next thing I knew, he slammed the door shut and shoved me against the wall, caging me in with his arms.
"I know we need to talk about so much," he said. "I know. But I can't think rationally any longer. I want you so fucking much. The thought of you walking around with my baby, our baby, inside you, inside that glorious body you have, it's been driving me crazy."
He leaned his forehead against me, and I was officially a goner. His words. That move. The vulnerability, the want and desire, in his voice.
I dropped the letter. I dropped my questions. All I could think about was this man in front of me and what he was offering.
And the biggest thing of all? Tristan D. Hawthorne was not who I'd thought he was. He wasn't a bully. He was the opposite of a bully.
And now he'd quit his dad's company too.
But wait, why? Had it been for good reasons, because he wanted to do better? Or had he moved to someplace even more cutthroat?
"I have one question," I managed to get out. "Why did you quit your job?"
"Because I fucking hated it. Because it's cruel and I want to be better than that. Because I want you to be proud of me."
My heart melted. And so did my soul. And that was all I needed to hear. I was now all in.
He'd been so patient with me, so caring and thoughtful, despite all that I'd done to him, despite not even knowing my real name for so long. He'd seen the real me though, for the first time in my life, and the feeling was indescribable.
"I am proud of you," I whispered. "And I believe you. I believe in you."
Those words seemed to break something in him, and the next thing I knew, his mouth crashed into mine, his fingers in my hair pulling me in closer as his tongue swept into my mouth with such passion, I couldn't breathe.
"I need you," he growled. "Right now. I can't wait."
"Then don't."
It was like the dam had been broken because his kisses turned even more passionate, fiery, tongue plunging, mouth devouring, lips worshipping. His hard body pressed into me, his stiffening cock against my stomach, my whole self melting into him.
With another growl, he lifted me, like I weighed nothing, my legs going around his hips, his hands gripping me, my ass, my thighs, as he carried me over to the couch then gently let me go, my body sliding against his.
"Do you know how beautiful you are?" he asked, pulling back to look at me. "Like truly beautiful, the most beautiful woman I've ever known. Not just outside. But inside too."
I swallowed, the emotion inside me almost too much to bear. "You really think so?"
"I don't think so. I know it." His breathing was heavy. "Look what you do to me."
He gestured downwards and I could easily see his thick bulge straining beneath his pants, impossibly large.
"Oh." I sighed.
He toyed with the straps of my dress, pulling them down, not exactly gentle as my breasts popped out, heavy, aroused, nipples already puckering in the cool air.
"God," he hissed. "You have no idea how obsessed I am with your tits. Every time I'm in the shower, this is what I'm thinking about, wishing like crazy you were in there with me."
My gamble to not wear a bra had paid off because Tristan was all over me, his hands, his mouth, his tongue, kneading one breast and sucking the nipple of the other.
He let go, then swirled his tongue around before sucking again, this time harder, groaning like he couldn't get enough, sending a zing of pleasure directly to my clit.
"So fucking perfect," he groaned.
All the breast achiness I'd felt transformed into pure pleasure, pure ecstasy at what he was doing to me.
And then one of his hands slid lower, down the side of my dress-covered waist, skimming my hip and then ghosting between my legs, making me absolutely insane for this man to touch me there.
"Please," I begged.
Thank the universe he didn't make me wait any longer, because suddenly I found myself sitting on the couch, my panties flung to the corner, and Tristan's firm hands parting my thighs, his eyes devouring me.
"Goddamn," he said. "Can you see yourself in the mirror?"
Looking past his shoulder, I could indeed see myself, and I hardly recognized the woman before me, my cheeks flushed, my lips kiss-swollen, my dress hiked up to reveal my pussy.
"I can't wait to fucking taste you again," he groaned, right before his head lowered between my legs.
My eyes rolled to the back of my head as he licked me in one long, slow stroke before his tongue circled my clit, then flicked me over and over.
I forced my head up, because my God, I needed to see this. Tristan on his knees, my legs spread wide for him, his face buried in my wet pussy.
His tongue plunged inside me then, and it was everything I could do to keep my head up as I bucked against his mouth, my body twisting and writhing as he held me open with his strong grip, tongue-fucking me into oblivion.
When he sucked my clit into his mouth, a loud breathy moan escaped me. "Tristan, oh, my God."
"Yes, baby," he answered, his voice a rasp. "Come on my tongue. I want to feel it, feel you fall apart against my mouth."
My thighs clamped around his head as he plunged two fingers into me, curving them just right.
"Tristan..." I cried out.
But he didn't answer, too busy sucking my clit, fingers plunging in and out, stroking me in a way that made my toes curl.
And then it crashed into me, an orgasm so strong it turned me into a gasping, trembling mess, and Tristan got exactly what he'd asked for, me coming against his mouth, which was hopefully not too much.
"That was so fucking hot," he mumbled, his deep voice rumbling through my still-quivering pussy.
This man. How did he always seem to know exactly what I wanted to hear?
The feeling was beyond words, and I realized there was nothing more I wanted in the world right now than to have this man inside me.
"Please," I whimpered. "I want you. I need you."
Standing up, towering over me, he shrugged off his suit jacket, then made short work of his shirt, tossing them both aside without a care.
After toeing off his shoes, he impatiently shoved down his pants along with his boxers, not wasting any time revealing his long, thick cock.
I gulped at the sight of it, at the pre-cum leaking from the tip, how impossibly large he was, how much I'd missed that first time in the dim room and how magnificent he truly was.
The man was a god. Pure and simple. Muscles for days, abs that made my mouth water, thick thighs, and this cock. This cock.
"You see what you do to me?" he asked, giving himself a slow stroke.
I did. I certainly did.
Just above his hipbone, something caught my eye... the tattoo! I'd completely forgotten about it. But there it was, a small, black compass, perfectly etched, and oh so sexy.
My gaze went to the mirror, where I could see his tight ass, his perfect back, broad shoulders. He was stunning. More stunning than I could have ever imagined.
"When you look at me like that..." he growled, kneeling between my thighs.
He rubbed his tip all around my pussy, both of us breathing hard in anticipation.
"You can come inside me this time," I said.
"Fuck, Astrid. You have no idea what that does to me."
Those words were music to my ears. "Then show me."
He was at my entrance before I could form my next thought, pushing inside me slowly, inch by incredible inch, until I was stuffed full of him, until he bottomed out, oh so deep.
"You feel that, baby?" he whispered. "That's my cock all the way inside you."
I couldn't answer, only able to nod, my hand gripping his straining bicep.