Chapter 44
Chapter forty-four
Tristian
My fingers mapped the valley of her waist, my hands memorizing her body.
Usually, the gym was my sanctuary—the place where I bled out my anger and grief.
But waking up with Ingrid’s warmth pressed against my skin, the scent of her drowning out the old memories, I knew I wasn’t going anywhere.
I didn’t need the punching bag, didn’t need the boxing gloves or the ring; I needed her. I’d always fucking need her.
I hadn’t dreamed that vividly of my mother in years. I was always better at blocking it out.
But the dream wasn’t a memory anymore. It was a warning. The silence of that hospital room had followed me home, heavy and suffocating, but looking down at Ingrid, I realized the silence had finally met its match.
Hearing Ingrid’s soft whines, I looked down at her, my gaze finding her among my racing thoughts, finally dragging myself out of the nightmare still clawing at the back of my skull. Now, I wouldn’t have to face that silence alone.
Her thighs shifted beneath the sheet, bare and soft, and I dragged my palm up over the curve of her hip, slow and greedy. I leaned in, brushing my lips over the space behind her ear, feeling her, breathing her in. Letting her warmth pull me in.
Her skin shivered under my touch, the vibration sending a surge of pure, unadulterated possession through my veins. Her mouth parted as she made the softest noise, half-asleep, sounding needy. My cock stirred against her thigh, the sound fueling me as she bit her lip.
I nudged her legs apart with my knee, slow, lazy, claiming the space between her thighs. My fingers cupped her heat over the fabric first, feeling the warmth there, the softness, the faint damp spot she’d already made.
Fuck.
I palmed her through the cloth, slow circles that had her breath stuttering in her sleep.
Her hips tilted up, chasing me as I pulled down her little shorts with ease, her tight little pussy already glistening wet and ready.
“Must be a pretty good dream,” I muttered as my dick strained against my joggers.
I ran two fingers through her folds, slow and greedy, gauging how thoroughly I’d already ruined her sleep.
“Fuck,” I muttered under my breath, watching the way she shifted toward me.
“You always this sweet for me in your sleep, doll?”
Her eyes fluttered open just enough to meet mine, still half-dreaming. My finger pushed into her little cunt, her eyes watching me sleepily as I looked at her with a hooded gaze. She arched into my hand, her thighs parting wider like her body remembered me even before her little brain did.
“What’re you dreaming about, doll?” I muttered, low. She didn’t answer, just let out another little noise that went straight to my dick. Her little pussy clenched hard around my finger, and something dark and possessive twisted inside me.
Deciding I couldn’t fucking take it anymore, I shoved my sweats down and freed my cock, the need to be inside her damn near painful.
Leaning over her, I kissed her softly, running the tip along her slick slit.
My lips pressed against hers, and I swallowed her whimpers, pushing into her heat as her legs trembled, her stomach fluttering softly.
“Fuck... there she is,” I groaned into her mouth as I pushed deeper, her walls fluttering around me like her pussy missed me in her sleep. Like it knew who I was. She whimpered again, that soft little gasp catching in her throat, and I kissed her harder.
“You’re so fucking good for me,” I muttered against her lips, dragging my mouth along her jaw.
Pressing her thighs to the mattress, I fucked her hard, deep, and slow. Her tits bounced beneath me with every thrust, her hips twitching, thighs shaking, but I held her still.
Her breath hitched, her body clenching around me like she was trying to pull me deeper. Eyes barely open, lips red and parted. She looked so fucking gone I could barely hold myself back. Then her voice, tiny and trembling, slipped out like a whimper.
“Don’t stop...”
I groaned at the sound, dragging my cock even deeper as she gasped beneath me, my thrusts going even harder.
“P-please,” she whispered, voice cracking, her hands reaching up. I felt her fingertips grazing my forearms. “...Y-you can do whatever you want to me.”
That was the invitation I’d been waiting for. My jaw locked, my rhythm turning into something more primal, more punishing and brutal.
“I know I can,” I seethed, my thrusts punching deeper as she choked on another moan, her little pussy dripping down my cock as her stomach tensed. Her walls clenched again, hard. So tight it made me grunt, my thrusts faltering for just a second as I felt her flutter around me.
“You close?” I murmured, voice thick, my lips brushing against her cheek. “You gonna cum for me, doll?”
She nodded fast, too fucked out to speak. I could feel it in the way her legs trembled, the way her pussy clenched like it didn’t want to let me go.
“That’s it,” I groaned, cock pulsing, grinding even deeper into her soaked heat. “Cum for me. Make a mess. Show me how bad you need it.”
She came with a soft, broken cry, her nails digging into my forearms as if I were the only thing keeping her from shattering. I didn’t stop; I drove into her until the world narrowed down to the pulse of her climax and the heat of her surrender.
I watched her try to catch her breath, chest rising fast, face flushed and dazed. She blinked up at me, and I could see it in her eyes. She needed more.
“Do it again, please,” she whispered, barely a sound.
Always polite, my little doll baby...
My head dipped, a smile gracing my lips. “Yeah? Want me to use you like my little fuck doll, huh?”
She nodded quickly, and a light chuckle vibrated through me. Placing a soft kiss on her lips, I hummed. “You’re soaked, baby,” I murmured, dragging my hands down her thighs. “If you wanna be used like that, you better keep taking it.”
“I will,” she breathed. “I promise.”
And from the look in her eyes, I could tell she fucking meant it.
I watched Ingrid from the kitchen. She was sketching again, working through a study of the objects on my coffee table to improve her form and shading. Some YouTube artist talking her through technique on her phone, her charcoal moving slow and focused across the page.
Kane and James stood beside me, kept their voices low as we talked.
“Tell me you’re not actually thinking about going through with this?” James muttered.
I nodded. “I am.”
I’d made the decision this morning. Darragh had ruined too many lives. Marco had said it himself: most people would be happy to be rid of him, even if that created new problems. For me, that would mean my mom’s hospital bills.
But I couldn’t live under his thumb my whole life, and I couldn’t expect Ingrid to either.
We needed to be free. To do that, there was only one way forward.
He had to go. No trace of him could remain.
I’d freed myself before, but the man had come strutting back into my life, making fresh demands and threats. This time, the break had to be clean.
Darragh had to die.
I kept thinking of ways to make it quick and easy… but I didn’t want quick. I wanted to feel the life leave him, to watch the light flicker out of those eyes that had seen too much of my weakness. I was tired of playing his bullshit game.
Kane leaned against the counter, arms crossed, expression unreadable. “You know once this is done... there’s no coming back from it?”
“Wasn’t planning on it,” I muttered, sipping my coffee.
But the image of Darragh’s lifeless eyes as I finally took back the soul he thought he owned? That was a high I was willing to die for.
James glanced at Ingrid over my shoulder, engrossed in the movement of the charcoals on the sketchpad—completely unaware of the shitstorm I was about to walk into.
“Are you gonna tell her?” he asked.
“No.”
You don’t tell the woman who just let you fall apart in her arms, who trusts you with her entire being, who let you fuck her slow like she was the only goddamn thing tethering you to this earth... that you’re about to kill someone.
Kane shook his head. “Never thought I’d see the day we go as far as killing a man.”
I set the mug down. “I’m not asking for help.”
James shrugged. “Too bad.”
I was both annoyed they were planning on tagging along, and relieved. Truth was, I’d need all the help I could get against Darragh and his street dogs.
But I didn’t want a clean execution. I wanted to look the bastard in the eye, show him the monster he created and realize, too late, that he’d taught me far too well.