Chloe
Later that night, I find myself in the sanctuary of Tristan’s—our—en suite bathroom, the tension of the day slowly melting away into warm water. The room is spacious, with a large shower and a deep, inviting tub that I’ve been meaning to use ever since I moved in.
I lean back, closing my eyes, and let the warmth envelop me. The soft scent of lavender from the bath salts mingles with the ocean breeze that floats in from outside. I take deep, slow breaths, trying to let go of the shitty feeling that’s been knotting my gut since seeing that stupid picture.
As I let my hands float and my mind wander, my thoughts keep drifting back to the sex.
Of course I can’t stop thinking about it. I’ve never had sex like that before in my life. I didn’t know sex like that was even possible.
I sink a little deeper into the water, feeling the heat rise within me again.
The way he touched me… every movement seemed driven by an unspoken desire to connect, to reassure, to claim.
It was unexpected in its intensity but so fucking good.
It was as if he was trying to erase all my doubts with his touch.
I take a deep breath and blow it out slowly. Despite everything, despite the hurt and the anger, there’s no denying the way Tristan makes me feel. The way he can reach into the deepest parts of me and bring them to life. It’s both exhilarating and terrifying.
For years, I felt like I was broken. Past trauma left deep scars, both seen and unseen, and I withdrew into myself, building walls so high and thick that no one could get through.
I became the ice queen everyone whispered about behind my back.
Cold, distant, untouchable. It was a defense mechanism, a way to protect myself from more pain.
But Tristan has chipped away at that ice, slowly, patiently, persistently. With every gentle touch, every whispered word, he reminded me that I am a flesh and blood woman, capable of feeling, of desiring, of loving. It’s a good feeling, one that I never thought I would experience again.
The way he fucked me today, with such intensity and passion, was a stark reminder of that. It wasn’t just about the physical act. It was a declaration, a promise.
I sink a little deeper into the warm bathwater, letting it soothe the lingering soreness in my muscles.
The aftermath of our intense encounter has left me tender in places.
I can still feel the marks he left on me—where his fingers dug into my hips, the places where his lips and teeth grazed my skin.
A grin spreads across my face, unbidden. The feel of his hands gripping me, holding me close, grounding me in the moment. There’s a primal satisfaction in the evidence of his touch. Even now, hours later, I find myself savoring it.
I trail my fingers over the spots on my hips where his grip was the strongest, feeling a slight ache there. It’s not an unpleasant sensation. Rather, it’s a reminder of how deeply he wants me, how fully committed he was.
I stretch out in the tub. The water feels like a cocoon, softening the edges of my thoughts and easing the tension from my body.
The bathroom door creaks open, and I open my eyes to see Tristan standing there. The heat in his eyes has settled from an open inferno to a low smolder, but I can still see it in the mesmerizing blue of his irises.
“I could never get enough of that,” he murmurs.
“Of what?”
“You.” His eyes go hooded. “Wearing nothing but those dimples and a smile.”
I didn’t even realize I was smiling, and his words make me grin harder, a blush creeping up my cheeks.
Something passes across Tristan’s chiseled features, and he moves closer to the tub, kneeling beside it.
Without a word, he reaches for the shampoo and begins washing my hair.
I blink in surprise, but the feel of his strong fingers massaging my scalp is too good, and my eyelids droop as I relax into it.
He works the shampoo into my hair with a tenderness that makes my heart ache in the best possible way. As he rinses the suds out, he breaks the silence that’s settled between us.
“I put in a bid on the space.”
My eyes fly open, and I turn my head slightly to look at him, water cascading down my shoulders. “You did?”
He nods. “Yes. I know it’s a big step, but I believe in Eclipse Studios and in us. I think this is the right move.”
“Do you think we should’ve checked out more spaces before putting in a bid?” I trail my fingers through the water. “I mean, I loved it. Really. But—”
“No,” he says firmly. “I liked that one. It felt right. And besides, that corner office? The one we were in today? That’s mine.”
A little shiver goes through me as he says that word, mine. “You’ll never even be there,” I point out teasingly. “You’re the CEO of Thorne Enterprises. You’re not going to be hanging around Eclipse Studios once it gets off the ground.”
Tristan shrugs, his expression unbothered. “Doesn’t matter,” he says with a grin. “No one else will get to have that office.”
I raise an eyebrow, amused by his possessiveness over a mere office space. “And why is that?”
“It’s where I fucked my wife for the first time.” His voice drops. “So it’s mine.”
“Wow,” I tease, “it’s amazing you’ve made it this far in business, if that’s how you make all of your decisions.”
Tristan smirks, his eyes glinting with amusement. “I wouldn’t say all.”
I laugh, shaking my head as the bathwater shifts around me a little. “Well, I guess if that’s your criteria for office space, I should be curious about the rest of your choices.”
Tristan chuckles, his hands moving to rinse out the last of the shampoo. He leans in close, and I can feel his lips lingering near the top of my ear, his breath warm. “I assure you, not every decision is based on what you do. Just most of them.”
His fingernails scrape my scalp lightly, sending a shiver of pleasure down my spine.
His hands slow in my hair, fingers trailing down to my shoulders…
and then keep going, sliding down my chest and disappearing under the surface of the water.
His fingers slide between my legs, and I drag in a slow breath.
He’s gentle, much gentler than earlier, one finger working slowly into me while his eyes stay on my face.
The warm water and his touch together make it very easy to stop thinking about anything at all.
His thumb finds my clit and moves in small, soft circles while his finger curls forward, stroking in a way that makes my toes flex against the bottom of the tub.
“I know you’re sore,” he says quietly. “Just let me make you feel good.”
I let my head fall back against the edge of the tub and close my eyes. My legs fall a little farther apart, the water shifting around me as I reach out and find his arm with my hand, holding on. He adds a second finger, and I make a soft sound that echoes off the tile.
He’s methodical in the most torturous way, building the pleasure gradually and then easing off just before I come, until I’m rolling my hips against his hand without meaning to, chasing the sensations.
He does it several times, getting me right to the edge and then backing off just enough, until my fingers are digging into his arm and my breathing is choppy.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, his lips brushing my temple. “Relax and let your husband take care of you. I’ve got you, you don’t need to think about anything. Just feel. Just be.”
His thumb starts to move faster, his fingers curling forward on every stroke, and the pleasure winds tighter and tighter until it finally crests and spills over.
I reach up and pull him down toward me, pressing my mouth to his as the orgasm moves through me.
He kisses me back, his fingers still moving, drawing it out until I sigh and go still against the side of the tub.
When I open my eyes, his shirt is soaked, dripping onto the bath mat, darkened with water from where I pulled him against the edge of the tub.
He looks down at himself, then back at me with a slight smirk. “Hm. Seems like I’m not the only one in this marriage who gets the other one wet.”
I laugh, pressing my lips together to try to contain it and failing completely.
He reaches over and pulls the drain plug before standing and lifting a towel from the rack.
He holds it open for me, helps me out of the tub, and wraps it around me, his hands moving over my shoulders and arms to dry me off.
I stand there and let him, which is not something I would have been comfortable with a month ago.
He walks me through to the bedroom, where I find something soft to change into while he peels his soaked shirt off and trades it for a dry one from the closet. I watch him do it without making it too obvious that I’m watching, and look away when he turns back around.
I pull a comfortable sweater over my head, relishing the soft warmth of the fabric against my skin. Now that I’m settling in more at Tristan’s place, I can allow myself to be a bit less perfectly dressed. It’s okay to relax in my own home without that pressure weighing on me.
As I adjust the sweater, I glance over at Tristan, who’s getting dressed nearby. My breath catches in my throat as I take in the sight of his broad shoulders, the defined muscles of his tattooed arms flexing as he pulls on his shirt.
He’s always been attractive, effortlessly so, but there’s something about these quiet, intimate moments that makes it different.
Seeing him like this, stripped of his hard-edged CEO persona, stirs something inside me.
My heart races, and for a brief moment, I’m caught off guard by how affected I am.
Before I can overthink it, I blurt out, “Hey, I want to show you something.”
Tristan glances over, the shirt half-buttoned, his brows raising in curiosity. “Sure, what is it?” His deep voice is tinged with a kind of interest that only intensifies the fluttering in my chest.
I swallow nervously. “Come with me.”