Chapter Twenty-Four
Twenty-Four
Michelle
Another long day. Another day of Mark breathing down my neck, asking me to double-check everything that happens for the team, asking me to run numbers for sales—which they should be doing—asking me to look over contracts with the legal team.
Half of this shit is out of my purview, and he either doesn’t know or doesn’t care.
When he asks me to order him lunch, I almost tell him no.
Instead, I order the entire front office staff lunch, too, and send out an office-wide email inviting everyone to the impromptu team-building exercise in the conference room.
The look on his face when I set the lunch expense sheet on his desk instead of emailing it was totally worth the blood pressure spike when I typed in the credit card number.
A little malicious compliance never hurt anybody, right? God forbid a girl have hobbies!
It definitely boosted morale, too. I’ve had people popping by my office all day to say thank you, and when I tell them it was on Mark and they head over to his office to thank him, he finally locks his office door and leaves early without so much as a goodbye.
I had to shut my door so no one would hear the evil witch cackle I let out.
Which means I’ve had a blessedly Mark-free afternoon, during which I’ve caught up on so many little to-dos that I’m actually going to be able to go home and sleep in my own bed tonight, guilt free.
And yes, I really get how fucked that entire line of thinking is.
When I finally check the clock, crossing off the last thing on my list, it’s already later than I imagined.
I’m energized instead of tired, though. Turns out, without Mark breathing down my neck, I’m way less on edge.
Part of me knew it was bad, that it’s been bad—but it wasn’t until right now, when my to-do list is scratched through and I haven’t had him looming over me, that I realize just how fucking stressed out he’s made me for months now.
I haven’t even used the gym here, not in ages. It’s not something I do a lot, mostly because it’s usually filled with the guys and I like to maintain my professional appearance here, but damn, a workout sounds good.
A little extra endorphins to go with my stellar office power-play jockeying today? I think I will, thank you!
With no hesitation, I shut down my computer and grab the gym bag that’s been sitting in the cabinet optimistically for weeks and head downstairs. It takes me no time to get changed, and the leggings and sneakers feel like heaven after a day in a suit and heels.
Most of the players are gone, although Rossi and Marino are working out together and chatting in Italian. They both smile and nod as I walk in, then go back to their reps and ignore me as I get on a bike.
I look around, checking to see if anyone else is around, but it’s just the two of them.
Tristan isn’t here. Not that I was hoping he would be.
He’s probably already gone home for the day. Last night he said he’d find me today, but it’s probably better that he didn’t. Right?
The bike powers on, and I shove my headphones in my ears and pick a playlist and a course. Low impact is about all my knee can handle, and cycling is one of my favorite ways to get my heart rate up.
Gah. It feels good to get my body moving after a day of sitting at a desk, and I’m smiling while I sweat through a set of challenging hills and blood-pumping pace intervals.
The forty-five minutes are up in no time, and it’s absolutely disgusting how much of an improvement just cycling has on my immediate mental health.
Humming, I stretch my calves and hamstrings, taking my time because I’m alone in the gym now, and then I wipe down the bike and head to the women’s locker room area.
It’s separate from the players’ area, and I’m almost positive all of my coworkers have gone for the day.
Which is why, when I look up to push open the door and encounter a huge male body, I let out a startled yelp.
“Tristan.” I shake my head, then grin. “What are you doing here?”
He’s dressed in sweats, and I have to stop from licking my lips at how they hug him across his hips, his muscular thighs somehow emphasized in them instead of hidden. I’m close enough that the clean scent of his Aces sweatshirt and his citrus cologne hit me—he smells like home.
“Told you I’d find you,” Tristan says, his voice husky. His hand grips the back of my head, and I suck in a breath. “Need you, Michelle.”
There must be some kind of scientific explanation for what this man does to me.
It’s magnetic. It’s automatic. It’s a gravitational pull.
Our mouths crash together, and his fingers thread through my hair, tugging at the elastic band holding my ponytail. My hair cascades over my face, and I laugh into his mouth as it sticks to the sweat on my cheeks.
He pulls back, grinning at me. “I love…your laugh.” He stumbles over the words, and then his smile fades as his gaze heats again, turning me molten.
“Tristan, we can’t make out in here. Plus, I’m gross. I just worked out.”
“You’re never gross.” Another kiss. “Just salty.”
I snort, then squeak as he sweeps me off my feet and carries me into the shower area. Without setting me down, he turns on a shower, and steam quickly begins to billow around us.
“Well, will you look at that? Now we’re in the showers and you can’t complain about being sweaty.”
“Why can’t I complain about it, huh?” I ask, cocking my head. I have a feeling I know what he’s going to say, but I want to hear it. I need to.
“Because I’m going to clean it all off that beautiful body.”
“We’re at work,” I say, groaning as he scrapes his teeth across my collarbone, then brushes the gentlest kiss across the same spot, the start of his beard tickling across my skin.
“Unless you’re planning to send an email right now, you are very much not at work.” He sets me down, easily pulling off my leggings. “In fact, I don’t want you to work at all. You’re going to let me do all the work.”
“What if someone walks in?” I ask, breathing heavy. My legs are already trembling from anticipation, and Tristan holds on to my hips, something like adoration in his gaze.
It can’t be that, though.
Friends with benefits. Just sex. Just fun.
I close my eyes as his palms drag from my thighs back up my body, snagging the hem of my ratty old T-shirt as he pulls it over my head.
Then his mouth’s on mine again, and I’m moaning against him, tugging at his clothes, trying to get him naked with me.
“This is about you,” he says, and I open my eyes, annoyed.
“And I want you naked,” I demand.
He laughs at that, then quickly obliges, steam caressing the glorious expanse of his smooth skin and muscles. “Better?” He quirks an eyebrow.
I pull off my sports bra, which is less than sexy, considering how the steam and sweat are conspiring against me and making it stick to my body.
A grimace turns down my lips. “I really do need to shower—”
His lips tug at my freed nipple, and I whimper as he places me under the warm rush of water. His mouth is hot, the water feels like heaven on my shoulders, and my brain goes blissfully blank.
Soap replaces his mouth, and the next thing I know, I’m being treated to a bone-melting massage and wash from the hottest man I’ve ever seen.
“Does that feel good, Sweet Cheeks?” he asks, and I moan in response.
He lets out a huff of air, capturing my mouth again for the briefest of kisses. “What are you thinking about?” he asks, nipping at my lips, then my jaw.
“That I’m glad I picked the vendor who stocks the soap and shampoo in these locker rooms.”
His brow wrinkles in confusion, and then he throws back his head and barks a laugh. “Then I’m not doing nearly enough for you.”
I laugh, too, but the sound is quickly cut off by a whimper as his fingers dip between my thighs.
“So wet for me. So fucking hot.” He presses his forehead against mine, his eyes closed, a muscle jumping in his temple.
His hands are so big and so damn right, and I shudder against him, going limp as he slides through my slickness.
When he opens his eyes, they’re dark with desire, and I stare into them, entranced.
“Michelle,” he says. “Tell me what you want.”
Everything, I want to tell him. All of you.
“More,” I say instead, not wanting to scare him off. Not wanting him to stop. So I pick the safest thing I can say, and he walks us backward, until my back hits the cool tile, and he kneels before me.
“Is this what you want?” he asks, his voice ragged and his pupils so blown it’s like some feral side of him has taken over completely.
“Mm-hmm,” I manage, nodding, and he pauses, then hooks my leg over his shoulder. Water streams down the back of his head, onto my calf, and he presses a kiss to my upper thigh.
“I need words, Michelle.”
“Yes, it’s good. More than okay.” I’m trying to keep from squirming, needing him closer, needing him to finish what he’s started.
“Tell me what you want.” His head dips forward, and I shudder as his breath gusts over my inner thighs.
“This. I want this.”
He gives me a sly look, one corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk. “This is all you want?” He shrugs a shoulder, driving me slightly back into the tiles. “I can do that. Just stay like this.”
“No,” I whine. “Not just this.”
He laughs, his eyes glimmering. “Say it.”
“Taste me,” I manage, and he growls—growls—his approval.
My butt hits the tile as he lifts my other leg, pressing me back and opening my legs for him. My fingers grip his wavy golden hair, and his hands spread on my lower back as he keeps me lifted, right there, so he can do exactly what I’ve asked.
And he does.
“Don’t hold back,” he says in that deep, throaty voice. “I want you to feel so good, Michelle. Take what you need.”
As if I could resist. I’m whimpering, beyond words, and the way he uses his mouth is going to leave me ruined for anyone else.
It’s never been like this for me, and I don’t think it ever will be again.
“Tristan,” I plead. “So close.”
“Then come for me,” he says, and I look down at him, those hazel eyes still watching me from between my thighs.
When he sucks, hard, on my clit, I do just that.
I’m not sure there was any other possible outcome, not with him looking at me like that.
Finally, he pulls away, a lazy, satisfied grin on his face.
My legs wobble, and he helps me find my balance, letting me lean against him as he turns off the water and dries us both with soft towels.
I feel…incredible. So relaxed, happy.
I feel happy.
I reach for him as he dries off, and he gives me a long look.
“Don’t you want me to…” I trail off, embarrassed for no reason at all about asking if he wants me to go down on him.
“I did.” He cocks an eyebrow. “I came when you did. All I needed was you on my tongue.”
“You…”
His smirk turns sheepish, and he shrugs. “My cock’s been hard since I left your house on Sunday. I’ve been fantasizing about you for months.”
“Oh.” I blink, then rub the towel through my hair.
“I wanted this to be about you, Michelle. I want it to be about you always.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad,” I tell him.
He laughs at that, and I grin, pleased at his reaction.
A yawn cracks my jaw, and Tristan takes over drying me off, even helping me into my clothes, then walks me out to my car as we make easy conversation about both of our days until it’s time to drive home.
Simple.
If this is friends with benefits, maybe it isn’t the worst thing in the world.
I know, though, that it won’t be enough, not when I already feel more attached to him than I have to anyone in a long, long time.