33
Demi
“All alone with an empty drink?”
The voice comes from behind me, but I know who it is without looking, and everything in my body that was relaxed and warm a moment ago goes cold and rigid.
Goddamn it. Owen.
He comes into view, standing at the end of the booth, looking down at me where I sit.
His eyes are squinted, and he’s a little wobbly, a half-gone beer in his hand.
Probably an IPA. He uses his thumb and forefinger to smooth the somewhat failed mustache growth over his upper lip, but he smirks with the confidence of a man capable of growing proper facial hair.
I slide out of the booth and stand to put us on a more even playing field, uncomfortable with being looked down on by him. The beer on his breath hits me in the face in a warm puff.
“Want some company?” he asks.
“Yours?” I ask, crossing my arms at my chest. I doubt he even notices the attitude in my tone or the look of disdain on my face.
“Yeah. Let me get you another drink, and we can catch up.” Owen’s eyes are fixed on my tits. He’s not even trying to hide it.
How was I with his man for so long? Now just seeing his face makes my stomach roll and my entire nervous system cringe.
I truly can’t have been so blind for so long.
Three years with ?him ? As he stands before me, I try to pick out his redeeming qualities, but all I can see is someone who struggles to be even mediocre.
When compared to Tristan, my ex seems so small .
“We have nothing to catch up on, Owen,” I say.
He pouts. “Aww, don’t be like that.”
“I’ve made it clear that you and I are done.”
“Never say never,” he says with a sloppy grin. I’m sure in his beer-bloated mind, he thinks he’s being charming. There’s nothing less charming than guys who refuse to take no for an answer.
“Well, I’m saying never. I’ve been saying never.”
“And I’m not giving up.”
“That’s a problem for me.”
“Why’s that, Demi?”
“Because you were a shitty boyfriend, and I’ve moved on.”
Owen takes a step back, and the expression on his face changes. The unqualified arrogance dissolves, replaced with something even uglier—rejection, petulance, and a little bit of rage. He huffs a joyless laugh.
“Really? I was a shitty boyfriend?” He says this with a sneer, like he can’t believe it.
“Yeah, Owen. Pretty shitty. Even shittier since we broke up.”
It feels good to be so blunt. I spent so much time protecting Owen’s feelings and managing his emotions, bolstering his ego when he felt low and offering patience as he remained driftless, siphoning off my ambition as if it were his own. In hindsight, I should have left him much earlier .
Thinking about the way he’s behaved since we broke up, I realize I’ve still been treating him with kid gloves.
Ignoring his harassing calls instead of confronting them has done the opposite of what I’d hoped.
I thought he’d give up and get bored, get the hint.
But apparently, it’s just given him a belief that this would all blow over.
I thought I’d been clear when he stopped by Gold Dust Woman all those weeks ago, but it seems like he heard what he wanted to hear, and not what I actually said.
“I was always good to you.”
“No. ?I ?was good to you ,” I say. Then I channel my big sister’s energy when I tell him, “Even at your best, you were just okay.”
“You know what?” he says, swallowing the last backwash of beer, and taking one step closer to me. Too close now. “Maybe I dodged a bullet.”
“You need to back up,” I say.
He points a finger at me, an inch or so from poking it into my chest.
I don’t like this.
My calves are against the booth seat, so I can’t back up any further to put space between us. I don’t like how close he is to touching me. I don’t like the look in his bleary eyes.
“Owen, back up,” I repeat, but he doesn’t hear me. Not even a flicker of recognition across his face.
His fingertip presses the pendant of one of my necklaces, and all my defenses go up, alarm bells ringing in my head.
“You turned out to be a real bitch, you know that?” Own slurs.
As I open my mouth to speak, a tall shadow falls over both of us .
“That’s enough.” Tristan’s voice is deep, firm, devoid of inflection, and his sudden presence feels like a warm bath.
I turn to look at him, and there he is, in all six feet, five inches of his corporeal glory.
One big hand cradles our two drink refills.
The other is wrapped around Owen’s wrist, pulling that finger away from me.
Tristan’s hair falls into his face, but his eyes are bright and hot, molten silver in the dim light of the pub.
“This is none of your business, man,” Owen says, but he takes an unconscious step back, giving Tristan enough space to put his body between me and my ex.
“I said, that’s enough,” Tristan responds, still stoic, voice unraised and steady but dark and unmoving as stone. He releases Owen’s wrist but still has a hold on him just the same, with his presence alone.
“Yeah? Or what?” Owen takes another step back. He has to tilt his chin up to look Tristan in the eyes, but he doesn’t look long. His confidence shatters, and his gaze flitters everywhere but Tristan’s face.
“There’s no ‘or what’. You’re interrupting my date, so it’s time for you to go.”
“Your date?” Owen asks, looking at me.
“My date with my girlfriend.”
“ Your ?girlfriend?” Owen seems surprised, horrified even, at the idea that I could be anyone’s girlfriend but his.
At the idea that I’d have the audacity to move on.
He looks younger, like a little boy who didn’t get his way, shoulders slumped and pouting.
The look on his face is priceless and will stay with me, like a trophy, for a long time.
As will the next thing Tristan says.
“Yes. Mine . ”
Goosebumps skitter across my skin. The word “mine” comes out between clenched teeth in a tone that’s as low as a thunder-rumble. My core clenches, and I feel my blood heat.
Mine.
His.
I barely even notice that Owen walks away. I can’t focus on anything but the wall of man in front of me and the way he just handled this situation with such quiet power. I’ve never seen anything like it.
I’ve never seen anything so hot.
When Tristan turns toward me, his expression softens, and he searches my face as if making sure I’m unharmed. Meanwhile, I’m overheating from the inside out like a fever, induced not by illness but by that one half-growled word.
“You okay?” he asks, voice much more tender than it was a moment ago.
That sweet tenderness does nothing to quench the fire in me for him. My heart is knocking against my ribs. Let me out , it says, let me be with him .
I nod toward the drinks he’s still holding (two drinks in one big hand, Jesus Christ).
“Would you be offended if we got out of here without finishing those?” I ask.
I barely recognize my own voice. I’m a woman possessed.
I don’t know what I need, but I know I can’t get it in here, in front of all these people.
The dim lights are suddenly too bright, the fire in the hearth too warm.
My clothes are scratching against my skin.
I know whatever it is that I need, I can only find in some slice of darkness alone with Tristan .
He looks at me curiously and leans down to set the drinks on the table behind me. His neck brushes my nose, and the scent of him almost kills me.
Tristan grabs my jacket from the hook and takes my hand. “Let’s go.”
My head’s a blur as we leave The Foggy Witch and step out into the chilly night air. My nipples pebble, and a shiver moves through me, and not just from the cold. He glances over his shoulder at me, eyes raking down my white tank top, and he stops walking.
“Here, baby,” Tristan says in a breath that fogs the air in front of him. He holds out my jacket, and I slip my arms inside.
The last thing I want to do is put on more clothes.
He takes my face in his hands. “Are you okay? You seem—”
I don’t let him finish. Standing on my toes, I grip his jaw, drawing his lips to mine.
I lick at his teeth, and he opens his mouth for me with a shuddering gasp.
My kiss is frenzied and messy and the opposite of anything resembling “cool.” I’m way past cool.
I’m feral, lost, consumed by his words echoing in my ears.
That’s enough.
My girlfriend.
Mine.
Tristan grips my jacket lapels and first pulls me even closer, then lifts me off my feet so he can better angle our kiss.
I don’t have the brain power to process the fact that he’s lifting me by my goddamn collar.
I am brainless. My arms wrap around his broad shoulders, my legs wrap around his waist.
Vaguely, in some peripheral sense, I know we’re moving. He’s carrying me somewhere, but all I truly see or hear or feel in this moment is our kiss. My chest presses into his, and we’re breathing in sync. Fast and desperate, lungs heaving.
Tristan lowers me and presses me against a wall. He breaks our kiss, and I take a second to get my bearings. We’re in the alley behind The Foggy Witch, cobblestones underfoot and flickering, warm gaslights overhead.
I meet Tristan’s gaze, and he looks just about as wild as I feel. There’s a sort of needy devotion in his eyes that I fear I will never recover from. His pupils are blown, his chest is heaving. He drags his thumb across my bottom lip.
“Take what you need,” he says quietly.
I sink to my knees in front of him.
“Oh, fuck,” he growls.
My eyes stay fixed on his face as I undo his belt, unzip his jeans, and take out his cock.
Oh, god. It’s beautiful. Heavy and hard and leaking for me.
I lick a teardrop of precum from his tip and savor both the sweet taste of him and the sound he makes.
I drag my tongue slowly up the length of him and swirl my tongue around the head, teasing him.
“Please,” he begs.
“You want more, Daddy?” I tease, and his eyes flare when he looks down at me.
“ Demi. ” He says my name like a warning.
I stifle a grin and keep my gaze locked on his as I suck his pretty cock into my mouth. Above me, Tristan groans and leans forward, bracing a hand on the wall. His other hand curls around the back of my head, fingers combing into my hair.
“Is this okay?” he asks between clenched teeth .
I relax my throat, hollow out my cheeks, and moan my consent around his dick.
Moving in a merciless rhythm, I pull him in and out between my lips before his restraint breaks, and he grips my head a little harder.
I let him take over, using that big hand to direct my movements, fucking my mouth like he’s been dreaming about this moment forever.
Maybe he has.
My eyes water, but I relish it as I take every goddamn inch of him. I can feel him swelling and pulsing against my tongue; I can hear him growling and gasping above me.
“Slow, slow, slow,” he breaths. “It’s too good, baby. Come here.”
Tristan guides my mouth off his cock, and he ushers me to my feet. He looks half-crazed, lost to all reason. He kisses me, and I can feel the way he’s trembling for me.
“What else do you need? Do you need me to fuck you?” he asks.
I nod.
“Tell me, Demi.”
“I need you to fuck me,” I whimper.
“Lift your skirt for me.”
Fuck.
I do as he asks, and he makes quick work of yanking my panties down my legs.
He stows the scrap of cotton and lace in his jacket pocket.
I watch as his trembling hands push his pants lower.
He’s breathing like he’s just sprinted up the side of a canyon.
When he lifts me up and notches himself at my entrance, I’m shaking with anticipation .
“Arms and legs around me, Demi. Hold on to me,” he grunts against my throat.
I wrap myself around him, and he pushes into me. A borderline feline noise erupts from me.
“Christ. You’re so wet. So tight.”
“Hard, Tristan. Fuck me hard.”
“Anything you want, it’s yours.” ????????He drives into me with one brutal move of his hips, and all my nerves light up with pleasure. His hands grip my ass and pull me down on his cock as he simultaneously thrusts up into me with unrelenting force.
“Yes, like that,” I sigh.
Tristan pounds into me, stretching my walls, giving me exactly what I asked for.
Pleasure so complete it nearly brings tears to my eyes.
Yes. This is what I needed. This is what my body was screaming for since the moment I heard him say “mine.” Because I am ?his, and he is mine, and nothing feels as whole as it does when we’re together. Body to body, heart to heart.
“Can you come for me like this?” he asks, kissing up the length of my throat, railing me with a tempo that doesn’t cease. “I want to feel you come on my cock. That’s all I ever want.”
I nod, and angle my hips until I find the right spot, the right tilt that lets me grind my clit against him as he fucks me.
The new friction feels like a drug, and I chase it like a high.
“There she is,” he moans. “There’s my girl.”
Tristan buries his face in the base of my neck and pounds into me. So deep. So perfect. The pleasure between my legs is a powder keg, ready to blow. The pressure builds. All I can hear is his shaky breathing and the sounds of our bodies moving together. Filthy, carnal sounds.
Anyone could walk by and see us, and anyone could hear. The thought makes this moment that much hotter, and I feel my pussy clench around Tristan’s cock.
“Oh, fuck, I can feel you, baby. That pretty cunt is gonna make me come.”
I’m almost there. I’m on fire.
“That’s it. Come with me.”
Two more exquisitely ruthless thrusts and I’m there, rocketing into oblivion. My name is a broken cry on Tristan’s lips as he follows me over the edge. I cling to him, and he continues to grind into me, coaxing me through my orgasm until, finally, we are both utterly spent.
He kisses me softly, then pulls back to look at me. His handsome face is a mask of barely contained bliss.
“I love you,” he says.
My heart stutters in my chest.
I must be quiet for too long, because his expression changes and he opens his mouth, maybe to explain, maybe to walk it back out of fear that I might not reciprocate.
I press my fingers to his lips before he can say anything else.
“I love you, too.”
I’ve never been kissed the way Tristan Beaumont kisses me now.