Chapter 46
KATIE
Our mouths meet in a desperate, searching kiss that quickly turns deep, then deeper, then slow and claiming. My hands are in his hair as I stand on my tiptoes. Tristan holds me up. He tastes like rain and whiskey, and the way he groans into my mouth makes me feel drunk.
“Katie,” he breathes. His hand clutches at my hip, then my ass, dragging my dress up and pressing me against him.
I make a shattered sound when his teeth find my bottom lip. “I can’t think, Tristan. I want too much.” I sob out a desperate sound as he pulls me flush against him.
“Don’t think,” he says raggedly. “There’s no such thing as too much when you’re with me.” His mouth finds mine again, or mine finds his, and we sigh at the same time. Each restless press of our lips draws warmth up inside me.
I want more. I kiss him harder, then dig my hands into his shoulders. I feel like a rubber band that’s being stretched too tight. “Tristan,” I urge. He sucks on the crease of my jaw.
“Yeah,” he hums, sounding lost.
I scrape my nails over his chest and arch against him, wanting more of what I felt on the dock, more of that wild, clawing need.
He’s hard against my stomach, and when I reach down and find his erection pulsing in his sweatpants, he groans.
“Fuck.” He presses his face against my throat, stubble scraping, until I can feel his pulse and the shallow breaths he’s taking.
“Katie, fuck.” Each curse sounds a little like a prayer, and I feel like I’m floating.
I did this. I’m doing this. He makes me insatiable, but I might make him that way too. I can’t stop touching him, from damp, smooth skin to soft hair and back again. I’m melting, warmth spilling through me.
He raises his head and kisses me again, and then we’re stumbling through the grass, his mouth fused to mine, his hands pushing at my coat, mine on his sweatpants.
It’s not enough. I need more. I’m trying to climb him and kiss him all at once, until I trip over a knot of grass and Tristan steadies me.
“Careful.”
“More,” I beg, my lids fluttering.
His lips slide briefly over my own, then he pulls back. “Your first time with me will not be in the rain where anyone could see.”
Frustration swirls in my stomach, my body arching and grinding and seeking purchase against him and coming up with nothing.
“Please,” I say again. “I feel like I’m coming apart at the seams.” I gasp as his fingers tweak my nipple.
“I know, sweetheart.” His hands are urgent but gentle as he slides the strap of my dress up and grabs my hand. We stumble to the side of the main house, where the cliffs are closest and no one ever goes. I’m shaking when he sinks to his knees.
“What are you doing?”
He pushes the drenched material of my dress up my thighs, his fingers shaking. His stubbled cheek brushes against my skin, then presses, like he’s soaking me in.
“Tristan. Come on.” My fingers tangle in his wet hair. My hips are arching against his face.
He spears me with a glance, his eyes gleaming in the half light, his shoulders tense. He looks like a feral god on his knees, and I feel like a sacrifice. His broad chest is moving with his shallow breaths and the muscles of his arms are taut. My pulse stumbles.
“Let me have this.” His fingers skate over the front of my underwear, and I shiver.
“Let you have what?”
His fingers hook into the top of my underwear, and I tilt my hips to help.
My heart is thrashing in my chest now. He’s not looking at my body as he slips my soaked underwear down my legs.
Instead, he’s holding my gaze, trying to tell me something with his eyes that I don’t understand.
But the moment is stretching, and I gasp at the feel of rain sliding down my stomach and over my clit.
His gaze finally traces my bared skin, and a breath pushes unsteadily from his throat. “You have no idea how much I—”
His sentence is swallowed by the slick delve of his tongue between my legs.
I make a strangled sound that I try to muffle with my hand.
The world slides sideways.
Tristan’s tongue is hot and clever and so, so good as he circles it gently around my clit.
He makes a pleased sound as I shift restlessly against the cool stone, then shoulders my legs wider.
He licks me with slow, patient drags, then the other side, then a curling flick against my clit that makes me whimper.
He laughs, and I clutch at his hair. “Tristan.”
My hips arch against his face, and he goes back to teasing me with gentle strokes that get me nowhere.
Finally, I sag against the wall and accept that he’s going to do this the way he wants and I’m along for the ride. I let my head tip back, and right as it meets the cool stone, he sucks my clit, and I sob his name.
His shoulders shake, then his frame shifts, and I see one large hand wrap around his cock before his shoulders block it from my view.
“Let me see,” I pant.
He laughs against my skin before he starts fucking his hand in earnest. His tongue works insistently between my legs, and I start to melt, crumpling against the wall as pleasure builds.
I can’t close my eyes because I don’t want to miss the way his veined forearm moves and the bunch and release of his biceps, but my lids are heavy and my body is trembling and the heat pooling below my stomach keeps growing.
His finger’s at my entrance, teasing me with the promise of being filled, when he pauses and looks up at me with those dark green eyes. “You want this?”
“Please,” I choke, trying to work myself onto his hand. I exalt when he pushes that finger inside me.
“Tristan,” I gasp. “Fuck.”
“Not practice.” There’s something darkly possessive about the way he says it.
“Not practice,” I agree. The word sends my stomach into free fall.
He holds my gaze as he pushes in one more inch. He looks like the man those women were describing, the one who can go all night, who loves this, who smiles at me like he wants to tear me apart and touches me like he wants to remake me.
Not like a best friend.
His teeth flash white in the dark. “I’m going to make you lose control, Katie Bailey.”
I groan as his finger stretches me, rubbing against my inner walls, sliding in easily with how wet I am. “This should be—” Another inch and I moan softly, catching my lip in my teeth. “Weirder than it is,” I manage.
“Why weird?” His voice is strangled. I look down to see his teeth gritted and his shoulders taut.
“Because we’re friends.”
He pauses. “Don’t you think that makes it better?”
My stomach flutters. “Yes,” I pant, wriggling for more. “Come on, Tristan.”
“In fact,” he says conversationally, “I think it means I’ll be the best you’ve ever had.” His finger slides in all the way and I sob a breathless sound.
He thrusts gently, his eyes on my face. My lip is grasped between my teeth, my stomach jumping. “Tell me, Katie,” he coaxes. His lips press against my thigh. “Am I the best you’ve ever had?”
He is the best I’ve ever had. It’s never been like this with anyone else. Never been this hot or this urgent or this right.
“Yes,” I say simply, chasing his hand with my hips. There’s a world of meaning behind that word. Fear that I won’t have this with anyone else. Knowledge that he might ruin me forever. Longing for what I suspect I’ll never have again.
His face softens, like he sees this knowledge in my eyes. “I know exactly how you feel,” he says gently before he thrusts again, then again.
Heat builds where his hand presses in. His finger crooks and rubs exactly where I touch myself—that spot that makes my legs shake.
“I’m going to come, Katie,” he says hoarsely. “Are you close?”
I nod again, my body strung too tight for words.
“Relax,” he croons.
“I can’t. I’m so—”
“I know.” His lips move over my thigh again, then his tongue moves languidly between my legs. “Breathe, Katie. Sweetheart. Breathe. Trust me.”
I let out a long, shaky breath, and the pleasure twists.
“Tristan, I—”
“Again,” he coaxes. “Again, for me. You’re so close and I am too. I want us to come together.”
“Don’t come like this.”
His gaze meets mine, glazed and heavy. But his hand stops.
I lick my lips. “I want to finish you.” My stomach flutters at the slow grin he gives me, the way he lets me see him slowly remove his hand, the proud jut of his erection.
“Hurry,” I whisper. I take a long breath in as he fucks me with his hand, and heat explodes between my legs.
It’s not just his hand that gets me there. It’s the way his throat works and his shoulders go taut. The way his lids flutter and the soft “fuck” that slips between his lips as he watches me.
It’s the way he looks absolutely agonized that sends me over the edge.
My orgasm twists my body, jerking my hips forward, arching my spine, washing through me in a wave of heat and need that seems endless and impossible to satisfy.
It’s nearly painful in its intensity, and I feel my hand clenching against his head and my pussy contracting hard around his finger.
I shake and then slump, and our labored breathing is so loud that I can hear it over the rain.
“Well?”
My eyes slit open to see Tristan rising off the ground, his leanly muscled form all grace as he pushes the sweatpants off his hips.
“Well what?”
“Best you’ve ever had?”
His voice is casual, but I know Tristan.
When he’s at his most nonchalant, he’s also at his most vulnerable.
He cares.
He’s worried.
My heart twists in my chest. Affection, warmth, and something foreign and gooey fill my insides.
“Adequate.” I shrug and tug my dress down. My lips twitch.
He chokes a laugh. “Mind-blowing.” He leans against the wall next to me, his breaths heaving.
I glance around for my underwear. “Satisfactory at best.”
He bumps me with his shoulder. “Best sex you’ve ever had.”
I glance over to see him grinning and twirling my underwear on his finger.
“Tristan.” I grab for them, but he raises his hand in the air.
I nip at his bottom lip. “Give those back.”
“Admit it,” he murmurs against my mouth.
“Best sex I’ve ever had.”