Day After the Garage
The linen closet on the second floor.
I don't know how we end up here. One minute I'm walking to my room after breakfast. The next, his hand closes around my wrist and I'm yanked into a small box, surrounded by towels.
"Someone's going to—"
"Don't care."
His mouth is on my neck before I finish the sentence. His hand slides under my blouse. An embarrassing sound slips out of me.
I pull him closer, and we stumble just as footsteps sound in the hallway.
We freeze—his palm against my breast, my fingers twisted in his collar. Both of us breathing through our noses like that might make us invisible.
The footsteps pass, and we crash back together. All teeth and desperation. When we break apart, he shoves me toward the door.
"Go. Now. Before I do something stupid."
My pulse doesn't slow for an hour.
That Evening
I'm walking to dinner when I notice Tristan standing near the library, on duty.
His eyes track me the entire way, and I don't look away. I can't.
As I pass, his hand shoots out and grabs my elbow, dragging me behind a massive potted fern into an alcove I didn't know existed.
I'm on him before my back hits the wall.
Messy. Frantic. His tongue in my mouth, my hands fisted in his hair, one leg hooked around his hip while voices float from the dining room thirty feet away.
"Ewan's waiting," I gasp.
"Ten seconds." His tongue traces my upper lip. "Give me ten seconds, or I'll lose my mind watching you sit next to him."
I give him fifteen.
Then I smooth my hair, steady my breathing, and walk into dinner like I wasn't just devoured in a hallway.
Ewan doesn't notice a thing.
Day Two. The Garden Shed. 3:22 p.m.
This one was planned.
I've been waiting for it all day, bouncing and counting minutes like a fucking junkie. By the time I reach the shed, my hands are trembling. I didn't even check if anyone saw me slip out.
The shed is small. Dust and rust and the sharp tang of fertilizer. Sunlight bleeds through warped boards in thin, useless strips.
It could be anywhere. I don't care as long as it's with Tristan.
The door clicks shut, and I'm on him—fingers in his jacket, mouth crashing into his. He groans into the kiss.
Same freefall. Same madness.
"Thought you'd changed your mind," he mutters against my lips, already yanking at my clothes. He's being too rough, and the fabric tears somewhere.
I steady his hands. "I have to walk out of here in one piece."
He smirks. "Can't make any promises."
He lifts me onto the narrow workbench, his tongue dragging up my neck while his fingers brush skin that's already slick and aching.
He pauses. "No underwear?"
"Seemed inefficient."
His laugh is deliciously low. "Impatient."
"Shut up and fuck me." I tug at his belt. "Please."
He catches my wrists, knocking them aside to undo the belt himself. He's suddenly just as needy as I am. I think he secretly likes being told what to do sometimes.
I bet he would be a fun tamer.
"Calder's schedule tonight?"
"Dinner with investors. Out until ten, maybe later." My breath hitches as he presses the head of his cock against me. "Why?"
"Because I'm coming to your room tonight."
"You can't. It's too risky. We leave for New York in two days—"
He nibbles on my earlobe. "You're right."
He starts kissing and sucking at my neck while dragging his cock through my slit.
"Guess you don't want this bad enough."
God fucking dammit.
That feels so good.
"Am I right?"
"I…" My eyes roll to the back of my head.
"You must not want it bad enough."
I'm going to kill him just as soon as I have a coherent thought.
"I do…you know I do…I—I—" I sputter, pushing my hips closer to him, trying to get him inside me, but it's no use. He's enjoying this far too much. "We just…you can't—fuck."
He grips my thighs, spreading my legs. "You know what I can't do? Stay away from you. Not be inside you."
"You could have been inside me already if you hadn't decided to edge me."
"Tell me no and I'll stop. Tell me no and I won't come."
"Don't stop," I breathe.
His smile is beautiful and predatory, and the second he's inside me, a wave of pleasure crashes into me.
But it's short-lived.
Footsteps sound outside, getting louder as someone approaches the garden shed.
We break apart so fast I nearly knock over a shelf of cracked pots. I duck behind it, heart slamming, while Tristan grabs the nearest tool and turns just as the door swings open.
"Just grabbing supplies," he tells the confused gardener in Henri's accent. "Mrs. Calder mentioned the roses need trimming."
I wait until they're both gone before I slip out the back door.
My legs are shaking, and I can't seem to catch my breath, but I've never felt more alive.
That Night
He doesn't come.
I lie awake until nearly three, waiting for a knock that never arrives. Something must have happened to spook him. He wouldn't miss this, especially not after how we left things in the shed earlier.
I tell myself it doesn't matter. We leave in two days. I can go a few more nights without him.
My body disagrees.
I press my thighs together in the dark and think about his hands. His mouth. The way he says good girl like it's a command and a reward wrapped into one.
My hand drifts beneath the covers, finding the wetness already there. All for him, even when he's not here.
I bite my lip to stay silent and let my fingers mimic what his would. I close my eyes, imaging his rough voice in my head, telling me all the filthy things he wants to do to my body.
It's not enough.
It's nowhere close.