Chapter 42 Tristan
FORTY-TWO
TRISTAN
She tastes like coming home.
That's the only way I can describe it. The moment her mouth meets mine, everything churning inside me just…stops. The constant noise. The planning. The anger. The white-knuckle control I've been strangling myself with for months.
All of it goes quiet.
There's only her.
I need to feel her. Need proof that she's real, that this is real—that I haven't finally snapped and started hallucinating the only thing I've ever wanted.
Fuck, I've been going out of my mind wanting this.
Her back is against the garden wall. When did I put her there? My hands are braced on either side of her head, caging her in. Her lips are swollen and slick, parted on uneven breaths that fog in the cold morning air.
"Seventeen minutes." My voice comes out like gravel scraped over glass. "That's how long until the groundskeeper returns."
"That's not very long."
"It's long enough."
Her eyes widen. I watch her pulse jump at the base of her throat, watch her thighs press together.
"Tristan, we can't—"
"I know every blind spot on this estate." I lean closer, fingers trailing up her thighs, pushing fabric out of my way. "Every camera angle. Every patrol route. Every place I could take you apart without a soul knowing."
A full-body shiver rolls through her.
"And this spot right here?" My teeth graze her earlobe and she gasps. "No sightlines. No cameras. Just you, me, and seventeen minutes I plan to make you feel for the rest of the day."
"Someone could come—"
"No one's going to see." I pull back just enough to meet her eyes. "But even if they did? Would you want me to stop?"
She sucks in a breath, teeth sinking into her lower lip.
"I've spent months pretending I didn't want to break every finger that landed on your skin." My thumb traces her jaw. "I'm done, Red."
"Fuck," she breathes.
I kiss her again. Harder this time.
She whimpers into my mouth, dissolving as our tongues slide together. Her hands fist in my jacket, tugging me closer. I slip one hand behind her head, protecting her skull from the unforgiving stone, wrapping my other hand around her throat.
"Be a good girl and stay quiet for me." My lips brush hers with every word. "Can you do that?"
She nods frantically.
"I need to hear it."
"Yes," she mewls. "I will."
I drop to my knees, and the startled sound that comes out of her makes my cock throb against my zipper.
"What are you—"
"Quiet." I shove her dress up her thighs without an ounce of finesse. "You're going to have to be very, very quiet."
"Tristan, not like—"
I look up at her, fingers finding the edge of her underwear as I wait. Giving her a moment to push me away, to show me she truly doesn't want this.
Instead, her hips roll forward and her eyes grow heavy-lidded with want.
I hold her gaze while I drag her panties down her legs. Then I stuff them in my pocket.
"I don't think this is a good idea." Her voice has gone reedy.
"No?" I hook her thigh over my shoulder, spreading her open. "I can't have breakfast?"
"Oh my god."
"That's not my name." I press a kiss to her inner thigh, right where the skin turns impossibly soft. "Try again."
A shaky laugh escapes her.
I drag my tongue up her slit, and the laugh dies in her throat.
The first taste of her makes my vision blur.
Sweet and slick and—fuck—I'd forgotten. I'd convinced myself I'd exaggerated it over the years, built it up into something better than reality, because that's what deprivation does to a man.
I was wrong.
She's better than I remembered.
Her hips jerk against my face, and I grip them hard, pinning her to the wall. She's not moving until I'm finished with her.
And I'm not planning on being finished for a very long time.
"Oh—" Her hand flies to her mouth, muffling the sound. "Oh god, oh god, oh—"
I work her with my tongue, tracing patterns I used to know by heart. Relearning what makes her gasp, what makes her shake, what makes her thighs clamp around my head like she's trying to trap me there forever.
As if I'd ever want to leave.
She's so responsive, I love it. Every lick pulls a sound out of her. Every stroke makes her legs tremble harder. She's gripping the wall with one hand and her mouth with the other, muffled moans slipping through her fingers despite her best efforts.
"That's it," I growl against her clit, letting her feel the vibration of my voice. "Just like that. Show me how much you missed this."
"I can't…it's too…"
"You can." I slide two fingers inside her, curling them forward. "You will."
Her entire body bows off the wall.
I've never seen anything more captivating. I'm so far gone for this woman it's become a sickness. A fever I have no interest in curing.
"Look at you." I pump my fingers slowly, watching her fall apart. "Coming undone in the garden you're only allowed to visit at designated times. What would your husband think?"
She lets out this broken, desperate sound that goes straight to my cock.
"What would he do if he knew his wife was dripping down my wrist right now? If he knew she was about to come on my tongue while he sleeps in his bed, dreaming about all the ways he thinks he owns her?"
"Please, Tristan—"
"He." Thrust. "Doesn't." Thrust. "Own." Thrust. "You."
I curl my fingers against her g-spot.
"He never did. You've always been mine, Keira. Even when I couldn't find you. Even when I didn't know where you were." Her eyes roll to the back of her head. "Some part of me always knew you were out there. Still waiting. Still mine."
I wrap my mouth over her clit and suck.
Her orgasm is building. I can feel it in the way she clenches around my fingers, the way her thighs have started to quiver uncontrollably, the way her breath comes in short, sharp bursts against her palm.
I devour her like a man possessed. My tongue plunges in alongside my fingers, lapping up every drop like it's the only thing that can quench this endless thirst. I tease her with rhythmic pulses, then swirl my tongue in relentless circles until she's arching off the wall.
Her hand fists in my hair. I growl against her skin, the vibration making her jolt.
"That's it. Take it." I flick my tongue against her swollen clit. "You're mine to break apart. Such a pretty, soaking mess for me."
I seal my lips over her and suck hard, fingers curling inside her, hitting that spot over and over.
"Come for me."
She shatters.
The orgasm rips through her so hard her knees buckle. I catch her with one arm around her waist, holding her up while I work her through every wave, dragging out every last tremor until she's sagging against the wall.
I don't stop.
I keep going until she's gasping, until she's trying to push my head away, until she's oversensitive and twitching and making those broken little sounds I want to bottle and keep forever.
When I know she's on the brink of losing it, I pull back, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, and peer up at her from my knees. She's a beautiful mess—hair wild, cheeks flushed, eyes glazed with something that looks like disbelief.
"Twelve minutes to spare." I rise slowly, letting my body drag against hers. "What should we do with them?"
She stares at me like I've lost my mind.
Maybe I have. Months ago. The day she walked into that room in New York and I realized I'd never stopped being hers.
She swallows hard. "I can't feel my legs."
"That's the point."
"You're—" She shakes her head, still dazed. "That was—"
"The appetizer." I lean in, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth. "Tonight I'm serving the full course."
"Tonight?"
"Midnight. Maintenance room behind the library. Third door on the left." I smooth down her dress, making her presentable even as my cock threatens to burst in my pants. "Can you get away?"
"I'll figure it out."
I pause. I need to make sure I'm not pushing her somewhere she doesn't want to go—that I haven't let my desperation override her boundaries.
"Only if you want to. I don't want to pressure—"
"I want to." The words rush out of her. "I want to, Tristan."
Something lights up inside my chest.
"That's my good girl."
Keira turns beet red, and a shudder ripples through her.
I wish I had time for proper aftercare. To hold her, whisper soft things, bring her down slowly. But we're out of minutes and pushing our luck.
I step back, forcing distance between us before I do something stupid like bend her over this garden wall and fuck her where anyone could see. "The groundskeeper will be back soon."
She nods, straightening her cardigan with trembling hands.
"Tristan."
"Mhm?"
"You kept my underwear."
I grin. "I'm aware."
"I need those back."
"No, you don't." I reach out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Walk back into that house with nothing underneath. Let every step remind you of what just happened. And what's coming tonight."
Her cheeks flush deeper, but she doesn't argue.
She turns to leave. I grab her arm and pull her back for one last kiss, leaving no doubt about what I intend to do to her.
Then I release her, watching her slip through the gap in the hedge—a little unsteady on her feet, but with her shoulders looser than I've seen them since I got here.
The groundskeeper rounds the corner two minutes later, nodding at me as he passes.
I nod back.
Just another morning. Just another guard making his rounds.
I wish I could tell him I have Keira's underwear in my pocket. He has no clue what just happened. That I can still taste her on my tongue. That the man standing in front of him is counting the seconds until midnight like a bomb waiting to detonate.