Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
DAPHNE
Tristan’s lips yield to mine as a growl pulls from deep in his throat. His hand cups the back of my neck, thick fingers twisting in my curls as he keeps me still. His tongue slips between my lips.
Champagne mingles in his kiss. God, I want to get drunk off his taste.
His strong body pins me to the wall, his leg slipping between the slit of my dress to keep my legs apart. Need builds as he grips my hips and tilts them toward him until my core presses against his thigh.
Desire tingles where we touch, and his hand rolls my hips, grinding me against him. Sweet, delicious friction ripples up my core, and I gasp against his mouth.
His lips coast lower, freeing mine to moan his name as he scatters kisses down my jaw. He finds a sensitive spot above my collarbone. I whimper as his teeth gently graze under the strap of my halter.
“I’ve imagined fucking you in this dress since I saw you on stage.” His wicked words tickle against my skin, and there’s a pause as his hand slips from the back of my neck to unclasp my halter strap.
The fabric plummets down, my breasts relieved of the confining fabric.
He pulls back with a satisfied smirk.
I glance down, and both my nipples are covered in nude pasties. I quickly discard the little stickers and toss them aside, exposing myself to Tristan’s hungry stare.
He rolls my hips again, and my lace panties scratch against my sensitive clit.
I moan, my eyes fluttering closed. Over and over, he rolls my hips, sending my desire soaring, an orgasm slowly building in my lower belly.
His lips find my nipple, and he sucks it into his warm, inviting mouth. Pleasure pricks across my breast as his tongue flicks along the tight peak.
My hand weaves into his hair, but it feels wrong. The synthetic, plastic texture between my fingers douses me in a chill of disappointment as I drop my hands.
But then his tongue sweeps across my other nipple, sending a fresh wave of desire tickling through me. I press my hands to the wall to stop myself from touching him and ruining this feeling.
“Your breasts are fucking perfect.” His words rumble against my flesh.
“You called them perfect the night you kidnapped me,” I remind him.
He chuckles against my skin. “And I was right, Princess.” He sucks my nipple back into his mouth harder, drawing a moan from deep in my throat.
Somewhere outside our dreamy bubble, the quartet starts playing a waltz. “The… the first dance. We should be out there.” My words shake as Tristan drops to his knees.
He shoves my dress higher to reveal my panties.
“I paid for a dance,” he reminds me. “So, I’m going to get what I paid for.” His fingers glide over my mound as he pushes the lace aside. “You’re going to dance on my face, Princess.”
Before I can find words, his tongue flicks across my clit, and heat bursts between my legs. His hands grip my thighs, spreading them wider as he raises one leg and settles it onto his shoulder.
My hand grips a table beside us to keep steady as his tongue flicks and licks and teases and does the most wicked things to my body. My eyes close, my head lolling against the wall, and I surrender to the pleasure building in my core.
I’ve received oral before, but always rushed.
A requirement before entry, like paying for a ticket to an amusement park.
But Tristan takes his time, like he’s getting off on each lick and suck and kiss against my pussy.
His cologne mixes with the smell of my arousal, and this moment feels so otherworldly that I can’t think straight.
Only feel what his talented mouth is doing to my body.
I want more. I need more. I don’t care who he is, or who I am, or what he does to other people. I need Tristan inside me. Tonight.
The tip of Tristan’s finger slides into me. “You’re so wet for me, Princess.” He moans the words into my pussy.
His finger coasts against my inner walls, filling me. But not enough. I still feel so empty. “Tris…Tristan.” I gasp as his finger skitters across the sensitive spot above my entrance. “More. Please. I need more.”
“More? You greedy girl.” He slips a second finger in me. As a reward? To prepare me for his cock? I don’t know what he’s planning. I don’t want the feeling to end. His tongue teases me in slow strokes, flicking across my clit as my hips roll in time with his finger.
My orgasm crests, ready to break over me.
“Tristan,” I warn as the crescendo builds.
“Look at me, Daphne.”
I fight to open my eyes against the sensations building and look down.
And brown, lifeless orbs stare up at me. Those fucking contacts. They’re not Tristan’s eyes. The man between my legs looks nothing like the man I’ve tried to picture in my bed night after night.
“No,” I shake my head, letting it loll back as some of the pleasure ebbs away, my orgasm dying down before it breaks.
Without question, he withdraws his fingers and mouth but stays on his knees. “What’s wrong?”
“I… I…” I can’t catch my breath, and my pending orgasm disappears.
My limbs shake with unspent energy, and I rest my hip on the table to keep upright.
“Your eyes. You don’t look like you.” I shake my head at him as unexpected tears well in my eyes.
“It’s not you.” Finally, I catch my breath.
“I only want you, Tristan. The real you.”
“Do you want me to stop?” His voice strains, like it’s the last thing on Earth he wants to do, but he starts to stand before I even respond.
I give him a nod. I don’t know what else to say except, “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize, Daphne.” He presses a soft kiss to my cheek, and I smell myself on him. “I’ll be here when you’re ready for me.”
“I’ll be here when you’re ready to be you,” I counter.
As I gather my thoughts and try to get myself back under control, Tristan lifts the straps of my halter and clips them back into place. His hand shifts down, and he readjusts my panties, careful not to touch my clit before he tugs my skirt back down. Sticky arousal coats the inside of my thighs.
Regret edges the surface of my brain as reality comes slipping back in like a cold draft. Why did I stop him? Why couldn’t I have just closed my eyes?
The music outside comes to a screeching halt, drawing our attention away from what we’d done. “Ladies and gentlemen, may I please have your attention?”
“We should go,” I whisper. I don’t look back as I bolt out of the empty ballroom without a backward glance.
The bright chandelier lights flood my vision, like stepping into a bright summer day after being shrouded in darkness. I make my way into the main ballroom, hovering along the edges of the room, not caring if Tristan follows.
“As many of you are aware, there’s been an attack in Georgetown this afternoon.
It’s been confirmed that several members of Congress were in the attack.
After discussions with the Secret Service, we determined that, as a security precaution, we will evacuate the building and end the event for the evening.
Our valets will be bringing your cars around, and we ask that you please remain calm and be patient as we evacuate as quickly as we can manage. ”
“Did you hear what happened?” A familiar voice echoes beside me. Ice floods my veins as Brent stands between me and the main exit.
“No.” I cross my arms and keep my eyes fixed on the throngs of people making their hurried way out of the room to try and reach the valets first.
“An empty restaurant exploded. They think AGF was behind it.”
My head whips around, and I’m staring into dazzling green eyes that veil a man full of hate and loathing. “Guess who died?” Brent asks.
“I’m not in the mood for guessing games.”
“It’s all over the news. Apparently, some of the Committee members reviewing the Bradshaw Bill were there for lunch. And guess who invited them?”
“What a surprise,” I mutter to myself. “He still hasn’t learned that when a woman says she’s not in the mood, it means she doesn’t want it.”
Brent ignores my barb. “They thought the President invited them for some sort of secret lunch at an abandoned Pink Salmon. Some sicko made up a fake website and all for it. The news reports got hold of Witherspoon’s Chief of Staff, who confirmed it. Someone set them up to be killed.”
My muscles freeze at each word, realization clicking in like puzzle pieces. Tristan. He didn’t arrive for dinner or dessert. No, he showed up at nine o’clock, when everyone else would be preoccupied.
He wasn’t here for me. He wanted to see how people would react to the news.
I look around for him, but see no sign of Tristan. Did he leave? Sneak out in the middle of the chaos?
God, I’m an idiot. Of course, he wasn’t here for me. I’m a means to an end for him. Nothing more.
“Your lipstick’s smudged,” Brent points out. “Lucky for you, I’m not a jealous guy.”
Disgust boils over in my belly, and I seriously might puke. “I need to go.” I walk over to the bar and signal to the bartender, who reaches down and hands me my silver clutch bag. I slip him a hundred-dollar bill and open my purse, unlock my phone, and check.
News updates flood my feed, pictures of the total destruction of an empty building as firefighters race to douse the flames. Smoke. Videos from local storefronts depict a fireball explosion.
Shock reverberates through me, threatening to split me apart at the thin seams until I glance up. Tristan stands across the room as it empties out, his eyes fixated on me and Brent, who still lingers beside me.
“Your mom said you had something to discuss with me tonight?” Brent’s voice layers with fake concern as he rests a hand on my shoulder, his fingers scraping across my collarbone.
He glances over at Tristan, and I can see the imaginary dick measuring going on between them.
“I’m sure you’re in shock. We’ll chat next week.
” He leans in and plants a kiss on my cheek where only a few minutes ago, Tristan’s lips were.
I’m going home and scrubbing every inch of my skin on my body
Without another word, he blends into the crowd that makes its way out of the ballroom.
Tristan strides over to me and takes my arm. “Come with me.”
“Tristan,” his name slips from my lips before I can stop myself. “Tell me it isn’t true.”
He says nothing as he leads me towards the back of the group to exit the ballroom, but I don’t follow him.
“Tristan,” I hiss. “What did you do?”