Chapter 13 Feelings #2
"I'm good," he insisted, ignoring the pressure in his chest.
"Are you?" Tristan asked quietly.
The vulnerability Cade felt was fucking with his brain and his emotions, and he didn't know what to think or feel. It was too much, too overwhelming, and he needed to retreat, escape this conversation, sort out his feelings.
"Yep. Do you still want to play, or are you gonna resign and take the 'L'?"
The stare Tristan leveled at him was long and measured, and Cade held his breath waiting for the response. Eventually, the redhead turned back to the game, insisting, "There's no way I'm losing to you this time."
Cade silently breathed out, thankful for the reprieve. It took some time, but as the competition continued without any further personal questions, his anxiety waned.
When they quit for the night, Tristan said sincerely, "I'm sorry I shut you out earlier. My emotions were … are all over the place, with Natalie and this whole situation. Everything is just so messed up."
"It's okay. I get it."
Tristan's face relaxed, and he offered a small smile. "Thanks for understanding. I'm heading to bed. Do you … It's just … the sofa can't be comfortable, and the bed is big enough for both of us."
"I told you we shouldn't …"
"Not for that. I would just like it if you were next to me. Please?"
The vulnerable look in Tristan's eyes and the single pleading word cast some sort of spell over Cade, broke his resolve in a way he didn't care to examine.
"Fine. But you better not flop around all night, or I'll smother you with a pillow."
The genuine smile he got in response caused his heart to skip a beat.
He was well and truly fucked.
Cade lay awake in the big log bed as the moon cast a blueish, silver haze through the flimsy curtains. Beside him, he could make out Tristan's sleeping form, facing away from him, his breaths steady and even.
But Cade was too agitated to sleep after a day filled with unsettling emotions, mind-blowing sex, and developments in the case.
The abduction of the redheaded man was worrying, to say the least. He wasn't na?ve enough to believe the ring's leaders would stop looking for Tristan, but the incident had driven home the reality that, even after they found Natalie, the siblings would need protection until they found the Handler and the other top players.
Who would Hamm assign to that job? Would it be him, or one of his colleagues? It'd better not be that fucker Tag, or he might lose his shit.
Naturally, it made the most sense for Cade to do it, except if his boss found out he'd fucked his protectee, he'd probably be pulled completely from the case.
The idea of being around Tristan for an extended time was both appealing and frightening, but he needed to be the one to do it, to be absolutely sure that Tristan would be safe. No one else would do the job as well; no one would care as much.
Which brought him to his other problem, namely, what the fuck was wrong with him?
It was completely unlike him to divulge information about his family and his relationships, but he had answered Tristan because, on some level, he was comfortable with him and trusted that he was a safe person to share with.
At the time, he'd felt so uneasy about the disclosure that it made his skin crawl, but now that he had some distance, he could admit that it hadn't been awful, just unfamiliar and new.
And speaking of new …
Tristan rolled over and cuddled up to him, his face resting on his tattooed shoulder, his arm draped across his ribcage, his knee hiked up over his thigh.
As his body tensed all over, Cade's eyes practically popped out of his head, shifting left and right, as if something in the dark could magically explain this development.
Was this new? Or had it happened last night when he'd been sleeping and unaware? Also, more importantly, what the fuck should he do now?
He felt the violent urge to scramble from the bed, move to the sofa, or maybe run to the car and drive far, far away, because cuddling was not a thing he did. Ever.
But he was frozen in place, unable to move a muscle due to fear and shock.
Or maybe because this felt kind of … nice? Tristan felt warm and soft and maybe perfect snuggled up to him like this. Cade could smell coconut shampoo and indulged himself by leaning closer to sniff the auburn curls.
Ugh, what the fuck? He was being a creep. Who the fuck smelled someone's hair? That was weird, right? He was being weird, and it had to stop. Especially since, as a professional, he needed to keep his hands off the person he was supposed to be protecting.
Commence 'operation extraction.' He could do this; he'd extracted dozens of victims from precarious situations, so how hard could it be to get himself out of this jam?
Starting with his trapped leg, he shifted it to push Tristan's leg over and off him. His smug satisfaction lasted zero-point-three seconds, since the same leg popped back up, this time over both of Cade's thighs.
Rolling his eyes, he shifted focus and gently slid Tristan's arm across his chest back toward its owner and off his body. Again, his triumph was short-lived, because soon the arm was back, this time angled lower so that the other man's hand was right next to his junk.
Oh, no, no, no. That hand, only centimeters from his crotch, was sending some very inconvenient, unwanted signals to his dick.
Stand down, buddy. Nothing to see here.
The more he tried not to think about his dick, about the hot body pressed to him, the worse it got, until he was so hard and strung so tight with discomfort that he had to do something drastic.
He clasped his hand over Tristan's and gently slid it up to his chest.
And left them there.
But only because he needed to keep it away from his dick, catch his breath and reevaluate his escape plan, not because he liked the feeling of holding hands or anything.
When Tristan shifted slightly, Cade held his breath, hoping he wouldn't wake up while he was in this compromising posit …
"Why are you holding my hand?"
Cade snatched his hand away as if he'd been burned, strategically moved it to block his junk, then lied, "I'm not."
He could hear the humor in Tristan's voice. "You were."
"Why are you plastered against me?" he asked, trying to turn the tables.
"Dunno. I was sleeping. You weren't, though."
"How do you know that? Maybe I was."
"Were you?"
"Of course," he lied, not sounding convincing even to himself.
"Hmm," Tristan hummed. "Do you want me to move?"
Did he? His thoughts jumbled, scattered by Tristan's nearness — his low, husky voice, the heat of skin on skin, and that scent: coconut, soap and something sweeter and more elusive.
Looking down, Cade's breath hitched at the sight of the other man's face outlined in the moonlight, his pale skin glowing blueish silver, making him look soft and alluring.
As the electricity hummed between them, the feeling surged, irrational and undeniable: he wanted to keep this man close, to protect him and hold him, maybe even kiss him with a tenderness he hadn’t known he was capable of.
There was no long game with Tristan, he knew, because a cruel twist of fate placed them in different, irreconcilable worlds.
But at this moment, he could touch him, and the craving pulled at him so powerfully that he was helpless to fight it.
Desperation had him diving forward, crashing their mouths together for a few beats, before pulling away, afraid of the intensity of his feelings and the brief reminder of the professionalism he told himself he'd maintain.
He was only able to drag in one breath before Tristan reached up to cup the back of his neck and pull him back, fitting their lips together again.
With his resolve fading fast, Cade indulged the other man's wishes, sliding his tongue along plush lips until they opened willingly.
The immediate submission evoked a heady rush of desire and power that cracked something inside him, and the yearning became overpowering, too irresistible to deny any longer.
Pushing Tristan onto his back, Cade covered him with his body and devoured his mouth, while one hand skimmed to his nape and into his hair.
"You said we shouldn't," Tristan breathed out when he momentarily released his lips.
Logic poked through the haze of hunger for a split second, but a voice in his head rang out, insisting that he'd already crossed the line, so to hell with what was left of his professionalism.
Cade hardly recognized his own voice, strained with emotion. "I know, but I need to touch you. Is that okay?"
"Anything you want. Anything."
Suppressing a growl, he plundered Tristan's mouth again and felt a hand thread lightly through his hair in a gentle and intimate gesture he realized he'd never felt before.
There was no way he could stop now, he realized in some deep corner of his brain, not with this driving obsession that consumed him. Grinding their erections together ripped an erotic moan from Tristan's throat that had his dick pulsing with need.
As desire tipped into desperation, he tore Tristan's boxers down over his hips, then wrapped his fist around his cock, already hard and leaking.
"Oh god, yes!"
The cries spurred him on as he ran his thumb over the tip, trying to spread pre-cum to ease his slide. Impatient with the dryness, he reluctantly rolled over and shucked off his boxer briefs in one swift motion.
As he fumbled for the lube, he heard an urgent, "Hurry!"
More than willing to obey, he squirted too much on his hand in his haste, then lay back down on his side.
Tristan crushed himself against his chest as if an invisible string jerked him forward, and swooped in for the kiss this time, sparking a surge of heat as Cade realized the other man wanted this as much as he did.