CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
We were only a few minutes from the van when we found the pool of water. We could hear it on the side of the road. We’d been driving for over an hour in the heat, pausing only once to look at the map when I heard it.
It was tucked between rocks, fed by a trickling stream, shaded by tall pines that filtered the sunlight. The water was clear, cool, and inviting. I didn’t hesitate. Neither did Tristan.
We’d given up finding a place to dip our feet into, but it had found us.
We stripped down and slipped in, the shock of cold against our skin making us gasp and laugh.
This morning’s meltdown was needed. I felt the weight of guilt ease when I thought of June. Tristan listened to my grief, and he hadn’t tried to feed me beautiful verses to ease the pain. He was just there. And I didn’t know how much I needed that until then.
We swam, splashed, floated. And then, as we drifted closer, our bodies brushed. His hands found my waist. Mine found his shoulders. We kissed, slow and deep.
As my hand traveled down his hard abdomen, I bit his lips teasingly. “Hello,” I whispered, finding his length hard and ready. I wrapped my hand around it, and he let out a groan that warmed my lower belly.
“Hi,” he said, raggedly. I squeezed him and in response, he kissed me hard, his hand finding my breast, squeezing back. When he broke away from the kiss, he looked down at my floating breasts, his eyes drunk.
“The things I want to do right now,” he said.
“So do them.”
His kiss was all tongue, his breathing hard and erratic. His other hand slid between my legs, running delicately between my folds. I moaned at the pleasure, and he swore, breaking the kiss, teeth chattering.
“Are you cold?”
He let out a harsh laugh. “I’m shaking because I want you, but I don’t want to race to the finish line.”
“Just want to edge me?”
“You’re edging me too.”
“Isn’t it hell?”
“The best kind.”
We played with each other like that for some time.
I stroked him and he worked that nub of nerves in response.
We moaned in unison. Our tongues became one.
Our breaths hard and unsteady. If we wanted to, we could have climaxed, but this was so naughty, so enjoyable.
It promised the most amazing fuck for later, and I couldn’t resist reducing Tristan to his basic needs.
When he fucked like that—when his want for being gentle on me was replaced by the overwhelming urge to dominate, I lost myself to the pleasure. I was addicted to it—to him.
“I love the sounds you make,” he gritted out. “Love when you come around my finger or dick, your walls so fucking tight around me, Daze. It does my fucking head in.”
He verbalized what he loved between kisses, between licks and sucks. Tristan never held back. I loved that about him. How much he needed me. Somewhere along the way, it stopped terrifying me. I shared in his desperation. In his feverish desire. I couldn’t get enough of him, either.
Eventually, I climbed out, dripping and breathless, and reached for the towel. Tristan followed, his eyes never leaving mine. We couldn’t stop touching—fingers tracing skin, lips brushing damp shoulders. It was torturous and beautiful.
Then I nicked my hand on a jagged rock.
“Shit,” I muttered, inspecting the thin line of blood.
Tristan’s glazed eyes immediately focused on my cut. He took my hand gently. “Stay here. I’ll grab the first aid kit from the van. Want me to bring back the sandwiches I made?”
I nodded, watching him shrug on his briefs and jog off up the trail, his wet hair clinging to his neck, his back strong and sure.
I sat on the edge of the pool, the breeze cooling my skin. Despite the sting in my hand, I was still throbbing for Tristan. Still pining for his touch and cock.
Looking around, I was still smiling when I saw him.
A man.
Tall. Dark clothes. Standing just beyond the trees. Close. Very close.
I froze.
He stepped forward slowly, hands visible, face unreadable. “Didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, voice smooth. “Just passing through.”
Passing through from where?
I looked around, uneasy.
Immediately, I grabbed the towel and wrapped it around myself. I clutched it tightly to my chest. “You startled me.”
He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Beautiful spot, isn’t it?”
I nodded, heart pounding. “It is.”
He stepped closer. Too close.
“Camping nearby?” he asked.
I glanced toward the trail Tristan had taken. “Just hiking.”
He tilted his head. “With your boyfriend?”
I didn’t answer. I thought about leaving. About getting up and running. But he was so close now, he might catch me.
He smiled again, this time with something darker behind it. He was a little older than me, but stocky. Not so unkempt that he’d lived out here in the woods like a transient camper. “You know, you guys were at it for a while. Looked like a lot of fun.”
My stomach dropped.
“How long have you been watching?” I asked, voice barely steady.
He shrugged, his eyes tracing along my skin. “Long enough.”
I stood, trying to move past him, but he shifted, blocking my path.
“Relax,” he said, eyes scanning me. “I’m just being friendly.”
I looked toward the trail again. No sign of Tristan. My pulse quickened as I backed up, heart racing. “You know I’m not alone.”
He smirked. “Doesn’t look like he’s here now.”
“Don’t come closer.”
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Stop,” I gritted out, ears whooshing from the adrenaline as he took another step. “Not. Another. Fucking. Step.”
But there was sick intention in the man’s eyes. He looked me over again, musing, “I can just sit here and watch. You didn’t know about me a few minutes ago and it didn’t bother you. Why should it bother you now?”
“You’re sick,” I spat out. “You need to leave.”
But he took another step closer, and like all the times before in my life, I fucking froze.
Again. Instead of running. Instead of screaming.
I just fucking froze. Not even my mouth would work as my teeth began to chatter.
Coldness washed over me as my heart thundered, as my brain sizzled with familiar thoughts.
Eyes—Eyes—Eyes everywhere—All the time—
Then Tristan appeared.
He didn’t speak. He didn’t hesitate. He lunged.
The man barely had time to react before Tristan slammed into him, knocking him to the ground.
They struggled, fists flying, but Tristan was faster, stronger, furious.
I’d never seen him move so fast. The rage rolled off him.
He didn’t speak or curse. He was utterly silent; the only sounds were their harsh breaths and grunts.
He pinned the man down, landed a final blow across his face that made a cracking sound, and the stranger went limp.
A low groan escaped him as Tristan pushed to his feet, chest heaving, blood on his knuckles and chest.
He turned to me, eyes wild.
“Are you okay?” he asked, voice raw.
I nodded, trembling, but I couldn’t speak. Tristan glanced around like he was looking for something. I felt my skin tingle as I looked around also, wondering if he was searching for others.
Had this man come alone?
Were there more people watching us?
Eyes, eyes, eyes, everywhere—
Suddenly, he grabbed my hand, pulled me close, and hurried me back to the van.
Tristan was crouched in front of me, his hands steady as he cleaned the cut on my palm. The first aid kit lay open beside him; its contents scattered across a towel. I watched the way his fingers moved—gentle, precise, reverent.
The adrenaline hadn’t worn off yet. My body was still humming, my breath shallow. But it wasn’t just fear anymore. It was something else. Something deeper.
He tore open a Band-Aid and pressed it over the wound, smoothing the edges with his thumb. “Does that feel okay?” he asked, voice low.
I nodded. “It’s fine.”
He looked up at me then, and I saw it—his jaw still tight, his eyes still burning. Not with anger but with something protective. Primal.
“You’re shaking,” he murmured.
“I know.”
He didn’t say anything for a moment. Just sat there, watching me. Then he reached out and brushed a damp strand of hair from my face. His touch was featherlight, but it made me shiver.
“I didn’t think,” he said quietly. “I just saw him near you and I… I couldn’t let him touch you.”
I swallowed hard. “You didn’t hesitate.”
“Why would I?”
I stared at him, heart thudding. “You knocked him out.”
He didn’t flinch. “He deserved worse.”
I let out a shaky breath, trying to make sense of the storm inside me. I should’ve been scared by the violence. By how fast Tristan had moved. By the way his fists had landed with such force. I knew he was strong. I’d seen hints of it but seeing him use his brute strength was jarring.
But I wasn’t scared.
I was in awe.
He had fought for me. Without question. Without pause. Like it was instinct. Like keeping me safe was the only thing that mattered to him in that very moment.
And I liked that.
I liked the way he looked at me now—like I was his. Like he’d do it again. Like he’d burn the world down if it meant I’d be okay.
“I’ve never had anyone do that for me,” I whispered.
Tristan’s eyes softened. He sat beside me, his arm brushing mine. The silence between us was thick, and it was charged. Intimate. I could hardly focus.
I looked down at my bandaged hand, then up at him. “You didn’t even ask what happened. You just… lunged at him.”
“I saw your face,” he said. “That was enough.”
I turned to him fully, my voice barely a whisper. “You were terrifying.”
He smiled faintly. “Good.”
I laughed, breathless. “I liked it.”
His gaze darkened. “You did?”
I nodded. “It made me feel… safe.”
He leaned in slowly, his voice low and rough. “I’ll always make you feel safe, Daze. No matter what. I’d take a fucking bullet for you.”
I believed him.
And that scared me more than anything.
Because if I let myself fall into that promise—into him—I didn’t know if I’d ever want to climb back out.
But after being watched without my knowledge, I needed this next moment to belong to me.
I took his hand into my own and looked down at it.
I studied the lines, the long fingers. There was still blood on his knuckles.
My body heated. Hunger unlike anything I’d ever felt for a man surged through me.
With my other hand, I undid my towel and let it fall around my hips.
Then I brought his hand to my breast and looked up at him.
He watched me, eyes glazing, his breathing slowing as I made him knead my breast. It felt full in his hand. I whispered, “I want it hard, Tristan. Harder than ever before.”
For the second time that day, Tristan didn’t hesitate.
When he took me to bed, he dropped me down and took me hard and fast. There wasn’t an inch of me that escaped his ravenous attention.
He fucked me face down, his cock buried so deep, I let out a scream every time he pushed in.
His unapologetic thrusts were met with my needy whimpers.
I found myself begging for him to never stop.
To fuck me until I couldn’t move anymore.
I wanted to be used. To be coated in his release.
To be covered head to toe by his licks and kisses.
To be seared both inside and out by this protective man that had done nothing but want me every step of the way.
I felt it in him as he ravaged me. The intent behind his touch. The raw, unmasked statement in his brutal thrusts.
I was his.
I was only his.
There would be no one else.
Time ebbed away. Disappeared from our existence. It wasn’t welcome here. In this very moment, we were forever tangled as one, marked and owned and possessed.