Chapter 22
Lucia
It’s a long walk to Tristan’s place, and by the time I arrive at his door, my arm muscles burn from holding the tote back in front of me. I press the button to alert Tristan that I’m outside, but a kindly older gentleman and his wife open the door for me, inviting me in as they exit. I’ve seen them before, and I’m certain they recognize me.
Tristan’s private elevator opens into the foyer. The light from the foyer casts a warm glow over the open living area. A clock on the oven gleams green. I listen, but hear nothing.
“Tristan?”
I toe off my shoes in the foyer, and pad through the space.
“Tristan?”
I set the groceries on the kitchen counter and listen intently.
Didn’t he hear the buzzer?
On my way to the stairs, light beneath a door catches my attention. Ah, he’s in his office.
I stride quickly to the door to let him know I let myself in and he can continue working while I fix dinner.
From the kitchen, my mobile rings. In the quiet, the ring jars loudly. On instinct, I rush toward the sound. It’s library quiet in Tristan’s home and the ring feels offensive.
Behind me, the office door creaks and slams.
I spin again, and Tristan’s shadow creeps across the floor.
“How’d you get in?” By the time I’ve shut off the mobile and stood, he towers over me.
“A lovely?—”
His lips pressed to mine, effectively hushing me. It’s a quick kiss, but his hands claim my hips.
“Hi,” I say, resting my arms against his chest, stunned by his sudden appearance. “Good day?”
“Now that you’re here.”
The look on his face is one I recognize. It’s one that says he has indeed missed me. The hungry gaze I’ve grown to recognize lights my skin. His hair is unkempt, like he’s been running his fingers through it repeatedly. He lowers his lips to my neck, and his hands lower from my hips to my bottom, pulling me up against him.
My belly rumbles and he must hear, because he pulls away, amusement playing in his cool gray eyes. “Did you forget to eat lunch today?”
I push up on my toes and press a kiss to his cheek. The stubble pricks at my lips and he lifts me off the floor, walking me backwards to the counter.
“Let’s get you fed.” He sets me down and asks, “Why do you do that? Forget to eat? Does Peltz expect it?”
“No. Not at all.”
I suppose it’s possible I’ve become spoiled by Tristan. Each day he returns from lunch, he discreetly drops off something for me. Today I missed my food delivery.
As Tristan pulls food from the refrigerator, I check the mobile to see if Kehlani left a message. She didn’t. I switch over to What’s App, just to be sure.
“I like this outfit you’re wearing.” His palm soothes my thigh with familiar ease. “Another Zara find?”
I’m wearing a short black skirt with black tights and a sweater with a short faux pearl choker.
“I’m guessing it’s the hem line you like?” His fingers trail the hem of my skirt and up my inner thigh.
“I was beginning to think you only owned pants and long skirts and dresses.”
I rarely wear skirts above the knee, mainly because I’m quite conscious of the length of my skirts at work. In meetings, I don’t want to give the colleague beside me an eyeful of thigh, and I never know which meetings Peltz might drag me into as his preferred note taker. But this skirt isn’t too short.
There’s no text from Kehlani, but it’s noteworthy she called. Messaging is our go to. I tap out a quick response to her.
Me: Sorry I missed your call. All ok?
Tristan nuzzles my neck, and I add…
Me: Can I call you tomorrow?
“What’s the ringtone of yours?”
“It’s Kehlani’s ring tone.” I drop the phone back into my bag. “We both use the ring tone for each other.”
“Cute.” He squeezes my ass one last time and steps away. “Do you have a ring tone for me?”
“Absolutely. It’s called Lover Boy.”
He grins, but I think it’s more in response to the teasing grin plastered on my face than to my jest.
“Would you like to assign a ring tone for yourself on my phone?”
“No, you do it. What would it be?”
I glance up from unloading the tote bag to find Tristan’s gaze locked on me, thoughtful. A chill slices through me, but I’m not sure why.
He blinks, breaking free of whatever captured his thoughts, and steps away, striding to a cabinet. He pulls out a wooden tray and sets it on the island.
It’s late, and I’ve gathered that Tristan has a thing for charcuterie, so I picked up a variety of items for us to pick at for dinner. Sliced meats, cheeses, pickles, almonds, a loaf, peppered crackers, and three different varieties of honey.
“Is this all you brought?”
I scan the spread. It’s more than enough for two people. “Should I have brought more?”
“Not food, love. Did you pack a bag?”
“I didn’t make it home after work. Came directly here. I can’t stay over tonight.”
He frowns. “If you wanted, I could clear a section in the wardrobe for you. Or a drawer.”
I drag a piece of cheese through honey and hold it out for him. He nips directly from my fingers.
“Want me to move in, do you?”
The reaction on his face is classic male panic.
I bark out a laugh. “Christ. I’m joking. I know that’s not what you meant.”
He narrows his eyes and shakes his head slightly, but focuses on adding a slice of meat, cheese and mustard to a cracker, then hands it to me.
“This is fun for now, and there’s no long-term future for us. I know the score.” I bite down on the cracker and it splinters, forcing me to catch the crumbs in my palm.
“No future, huh?”
I don’t know why I said it. Or I do. I need to remind myself that while this is fun, it would be foolish to lose sight of reality. Tristan and I come from two different worlds. I’ve been independent my entire adult life. I don’t need a man because I am self-sufficient. This is fun. And that’s all it is. And the panic he displayed shows he’s on the same page.
“The only way I’ll keep my hands off you is if we’re in different countries.”
What does he mean by that? I bite down on a petite crunchy pickle, a distraction from the confusion. Of course, we will be in different countries soon enough, and then I’ll be out of sight and out of mind. This is temporary and I cannot read into his flirtatious statements.
He sets about opening a wine bottle. “By the way, I’m looking into your Visa situation. There’s nothing to be concerned about.”
“What do you mean?”
“The attorney says he’ll handle it.”
“He did?”
“Might take some time, but it’ll happen. You simply need to know the right people.”
The lights in the room brighten and the itchiness of my sweater intensifies as the room seems to warm. “But Lumina is my sponsor. He can’t go around them?—”
“He didn’t. My attorney is a friend of Graeme’s.”
“How did…” A tremor crosses over me and suddenly the food before me loses all appeal. “Graeme is the head of Human Resources. Did?—”
“Calm down. He wouldn’t out us to Graeme.”
“He wouldn’t have to. Graeme’s smart. He’s going to know that you didn’t hire an attorney to help me because we’ve become friends.”
“I might.” His face contorts as if he’s affronted.
“Seriously?” I’m totally right on this. “How many others have you offered to help in this manner?” I pace the floor, imagining what Graeme must have thought. “How much does that cost?”
“Come here.” I force myself to breathe, and the panic dissipates. Those gray eyes of his are dark, yet calm, and I step forward.
He trails a finger from my throat slowly down my sweater and I watch as it descends between my breast.
He smirks, and I brush his hand away.
“Don’t be like that. Even if Graeme connects the dots, he won’t care if we’re seeing each other.”
How dare he? His attorney probably totally outed us. Tristan might not care about this job, but I do. My hands ball into fists, not that I would punch him, but I might jump out of my skin otherwise.
“Graeme is retiring before the end of the year. The man is as apathetic as they come. And he’s been a family friend for as long as I can remember. He will do nothing that would jeopardize?—”
“You.” I glower, pacing the floor. The logical part of my brain weighs in, saying that his logic isn’t off. Tristan might view the world differently, but he’s intelligent and has considered all angles. And he’s doing this for me, which is kind. That he’s attempting to help me tempers my anxiety. We might not be forever, but he cares. And what he’s saying makes sense. Graeme won’t do anything that poses a danger to Tristan’s ascension to the corporate throne. “But your mother. Can you imagine your mother’s reaction if he mentions it to her?”
He brushes it off like I’m speaking gibberish. She’s one that definitely won’t hurt her son’s career prospects, but she won’t be pleased others know he’s dipped his quill in the company ink well.
“What about your father?”
He stiffens. “What about him?”
“Would he be angry at you? If Graeme mentioned something to him? You know, your father has lunch with Graeme and Nelson regularly. I make the reservations.”
“My father dines with anyone. And I can assure you. If Graeme mentioned you to my father, he’d call to ask me about you. And he hasn’t.”
“Do you see your father often?” I’ve spent so much time with him, but I rarely hear of him spending time with his father. If I lived in the same town with my father, I’d meet up with him regularly.
“Let’s not talk about my parents.” He swirls his wine. “This conversation got off track. We live far enough apart that it would make sense for us to keep a change of clothes at each other’s place, don’t you think? Or, since you insist on arriving at the office before anyone else, you should at least keep some options here.”
I roll my eyes at him, mainly because of his lackadaisical attitude. If he stays at my place, he has no problem strolling through the door close to noon.
It’s troubling actually. In my life, everyone I’ve known worked hard, as if our very survival depended on it, and it has. And here he is, loaded beyond my wildest imagination, and he treats work like it’s an afterthought.
But none of that matters. Earlier, I spoke the truth. We’re having fun. Enjoying one another. And as scared as I have been about the office uncovering whatever is going on between us, the Wagner name offers a shade of protection. It’s office politics. The rules exist for some, not all.
He bites on a cheese slice, then drags the tip of my finger through honey, and brings it to his mouth. He licks, then sucks my tip. I feel the suction through my center, straight to my core.
“Take off your clothes.”
I swallow, hesitant. His steele gray gaze unnerves me when I’m the sole object of his attention, but then I remember who I am. I won’t be intimidated by him as I’ve come too far. Worked too hard to make it on my own without the benefit of having a prestigious family or heritage. If we’re going to play, we’ll play as equals.
I lift the sweater over my head, and place it on the kitchen island. His gaze falls to my breasts, supported by a plain black bra.
“Continue.” One eyebrow lifts and heartrate kicks up a notch.
I reach behind me and unbutton my skirt, unzip it, wiggle my hips and let it fall to the floor. I’m in thick tights, which aren’t exactly the sexiest, but you wouldn’t know that from the heat in his gaze.
He steps forward and bends to his knees, His hands go to my waist, and his lips to my waist, then lower. His warm breath caresses my sex through the tights, and he presses his lips right there. Every muscle clenches. He pulls the tights down, and peers up me.
“Lift.” He caresses my right calf, and I follow his instructions. He tenderly removes the tights, and kisses along my thigh, before caressing my left leg. “One more.”
I obediently lift my left leg, mesmerized as he slides the tight down from my knee, over my calf, to my ankle, and then over my foot. He’s like a prince, kneeling before me. I half expect him to present me with a crystal heel.
I’m completely bare to him except for my bra, and the way he’s looking at me, you’d think I’m the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.
“Up.”
I don’t understand.
“On the counter. Here.” He grips my hips and lifts and I find myself seated on the island.
“What–”
“Tut tut. You said you brought me dinner. Lie back.”
The marble cools my skin.
He twirls a small spoon in honey and drips it along one thigh. “Lean back.”
Entranced, I do as he says, the unforgiving marble hard on my elbows, but the pleasure of drizzled honey over my bare skin, lapped with heat from his tongue, and the skin sucked and nibbled conquers any discomfort.
“God I love your scent.”
Heat envelopes me. It’s a heady mix of desire and need.
He drizzles honey over me and licks.
My clit pulses in time with my heart.
And then his mouth claims me. Bringing me to the brink, edging me close, and then breaking away to kiss my thighs, to drizzle honey, jam, dragging cheese across me. Feeding me, and then himself. The only pleasure I give him might be my fingers in his hair, scraping his scalp. But my pleasure is his pleasure. The realization pushes me closer to the brink, but then he pulls back, once again.
We go through this routine as bit by bit, my body is a live wire of need, so close to release, teased and toyed.
“Please.”
He smooths his lips against my inner thigh, and his teeth clench on sensitized skin. Goose bumps line my body. I’m soaked. Desperate.
“Please what?”
“Fuck me.”
The sexy as fuck sly grin is my only warning. His head dips, and his teeth graze my swollen clit, and the blinding orgasm that erupts has me mindlessly shouting, body curling, muscles a fury of contraction.
The world blacks out as my body quivers, and the next thing I know, he’s on me. Plates clatter, china shatters, my backs flat on the island and he’s over me, thrusting inside, drawing out my orgasm. And when I don’t think I can take any more, I’m lifted to the sofa, where he somehow gives me another orgasm. It’s later, in the soaking tub, beneath the glow of the fire and held by his arms, that I’m lazily aware I’ve slipped. I let him claim my heart.