Chapter 22 #2
Something hot and sharp sliced through me at the image. Tristan—shirtless, sprawled in his bed, his hand wrapped around his cock—stroking it to the sound of my voice.
That did it. I couldn't hold out any longer. What could it hurt? It was all part of the plan, right?
Sliding my hand inside the waistband of my flannel pajama pants, my fingers brushed the slickness there, a gasp slipping out of my mouth.
"Fuck me," Tristan groaned. "That sound. You made that same exact sound when I kissed your thighs, when I licked that sweet pussy of yours, that perfect clit."
My breath came out in a rush, no words forming in my mind.
Another shift, and then a low moan—raw, unfiltered. "God, you have no idea what you're doing to me, baby. I'm leaking already. All over my hand."
My legs clenched involuntarily. I could hear the slick sound of him stroking himself—slow, wet, agonizingly steady—and the low curse he muttered under his breath as I whimpered.
"Keep going," he said, his voice hoarse now. "Touch yourself. Imagine it's me. My tongue. My fingers. I'd start slow. One finger inside you... then two... while I suck on your clit just how you like it."
I whimpered again, already moving against my own hand, hips lifting, need spiraling higher and higher.
"I want you to imagine me in bed," he said, his voice now a growl, dark and unhinged. "Sheets pushed down, hand around my hard cock, stroking slow, because I want this to last. I want to come with you."
Biting my lip, I did my best to slow down. "I'm already so close," I whispered. Alarmingly close.
"Jesus." A rough inhale. "Draw it out. Let me hear it. Imagine what I'd do to you if I was there."
My free hand gripped the sheets.
"I'd spread those gorgeous legs," he went on, his voice strained. "Put your knees over my shoulders. And I wouldn't fuck you right away. No. First I'd take my time... tease that pretty pussy with my tongue until you begged."
"Tristan—"
"And when you were shaking and soaking wet for me, I'd finally slide inside. Slow. So damn slow. Inch by inch, until I bottomed out."
The whimper that left my mouth was practically a sob.
"I'd stay buried there," he rasped. "Just to feel your walls clench around me. I bet you're tight right now, aren't you?"
"Yes," I gasped. I was spiraling. So close. Every nerve ending tingled. "God, yes. Please..."
"I'm picturing your tits. The way they bounced. The way you sucked your own nipple. My God. Remember that?"
I whimpered, my fingers moving faster against my throbbing clit. "Yes."
"Say it again."
"Yes," I moaned. "I remember. I remember everything."
"You were so fucking tight. I had to hold myself back from coming the second I slid into you."
Another sound—this one more desperate. I imagined his hand fisting, muscles straining, the head of his cock glistening, pulsing. Just like it had that night.
"I remember the way you tasted," he said, his breaths coming fast. "I can still feel you from the inside. I've thought about it every fucking night since."
Desperate, I was panting now, my body coiled so tight it hurt.
"Stroke harder, baby," he commanded. "Just how you did it before. Do it with me."
I did. Oh, God, I did. Circles, harder, increasing the pressure, hips lifting off the bed.
"That's it, baby. Keep going. I want to hear you come."
His breathing sped up, ragged and filthy in my ear.
"I want to be there so badly," he groaned. "I want to see your face when you come for me."
Breathless, my hand worked in tight, frantic circles.
"You're going to make me come just listening to you," he growled. "I'm so close. I can feel it building. Fuck, I wish I was inside you. I wish I could feel you clench around me while I explode."
How was he able to talk right now? I could barely even breathe, let alone form coherent sentences and speak them.
"I'm so fucking close. My balls are so tight—I just... fuck, I want you under me again." His voice was pure gravel now. "I wouldn't stop until you were shaking. Until you came so hard you forgot your own name."
My head thrashed against the pillow, the building climax too much to bear. "Tristan, I—I—"
"Let go," he growled. "I want to come with you. I want to hear you fall apart."
That was all it took.
The orgasm rolled through me like a storm, sudden and overwhelming, stealing my breath, my voice, my very mind. I arched against the sheets, muscles clenching, toes curling, moaning as the pressure snapped and the pleasure crashed over me.
On the other end of the line, I heard him groan—long, deep, drawn out. "Fuck. Fuck."
His voice cracked, his breath came in harsh gasps, and I knew. I knew he was coming too, spilling over his hand, shaking apart just like me.
I collapsed against the mattress, breath ragged, heart racing.
Silence pulsed between us for a moment—hot and heavy and full. Like something huge had just happened. Something real.
I could hear him breathing, just as out of breath as I was. And for a moment, I imagined him on his bed, naked, aftershocks still pulsing through him. Just like me.
"Goddamn," he said finally. "You should see the mess you made of me on my stomach."
I covered my face with my hand, still trying to catch my breath.
"You still with me?" he murmured.
Blinking at the ceiling, I swallowed hard. "I—I can't believe we just did that. Can't believe I just did that."
"There's no shame in it. That was... fucking incredible."
His voice was lower now, the heat gone now, replaced by something softer. Something closer to awe.
"I could hear everything," he added. "Every breath. Every sound you made. I could practically feel you under me."
I closed my eyes, my heart thudding in a slow, heavy rhythm.
"You okay?" he asked, quieter now.
"Yeah," I said. But my voice cracked on the word.
There was another pause.
"Baby?"
"Yeah," I repeated, clearing my throat. "I'm okay. Just... I don't know. That was intense."
"It was."
Silence stretched again, until he broke it with something that nearly unraveled me all over again.
"I keep wishing I knew what you looked like, knew your name at least."
Oh, no. I hadn't at all been prepared for him to go there.
"I mean... I know your body," he said quickly. "Better than I probably should. And I've imagined your full face without the mask, your eyes. But I don't really know. I just keep thinking... if I saw you in real life, would I know it was you?"
My throat tightened. "Maybe."
"I'd like to think I would. That there's something in me that would just know."
I didn't answer. I couldn't.
His voice softened. "You don't have to tell me. Not yet. I'm just being honest. I want to know you more than anything else in this world. And I don't want this thing happening between us to ever end."
God. How was he making this harder?
"Tristan," I said, totally thrown off balance and wondering how I'd let this happen. "I've never done anything like this before, and I'm, well, quite frankly, not sure, well, um..."
"Me neither," he interrupted, putting me out of my misery. "I've never had a moment like that with anyone else. Never."
In the silence that followed, I squeezed my eyes shut, fighting against my heart that was being pulled in two different directions, one toward revenge, the other toward something I couldn't name.
"I should probably go," I finally said. "I really need some sleep."
"Okay. I understand. But one thing before you hang up..."
"Yeah?"
"Besides our first time together, this night, this experience we just had together, was the best time of my life."
Oh, my God. That was exactly what I wanted to hear, right?
"Goodnight, baby," he said, not waiting for a reply. "I'll call you tomorrow. Get some rest."
And then he was gone.
Which was what I wanted. Of course it was.
My skin still buzzed, sensitive and flushed, every nerve ending simmering in the aftermath. But beneath that was something else. Not calm. Not peace.
Something... restless.
Something off.
It was like my body had gotten what it needed, but my brain had missed the memo. Because it wouldn't stop spinning—around and around like a ceiling fan on full blast, whipping thoughts in every direction.
What the hell was I doing?
That man. That voice. Those words. We were talking about Tristan fucking Hawthorne here. Tristan Hawthorne.
My high school bully. The boy who had made my teenage years hell. The reason I still flinched when I looked at old photos. The boy who'd given me nightmares for years with the stunt he'd pulled.
And now... now I'd just let him make me come with nothing but his voice and memories of that one night. He'd said things that made my heart stutter, things I wanted to believe, desperately, stupidly wanted to believe.
No. Nope. No.
I sat up too fast, my heart thudding hard in my chest. Too hard.
This wasn't the plan. This wasn't part of the plan.
I was supposed to toy with him, make him fall for me, make him hurt the way I had. And instead? I'd gone all soft and melted like butter at just the sound of his voice.
God.
Pressing my hands to my face, I groaned into them. I felt hot and clammy, like I couldn't get enough air. My chest was tight, my skin too warm, my thoughts all tangled and fraying at the edges.
What was wrong with me?
Work had been insane. I hadn't slept more than four hours a night in over a week. There were fittings to finish, deadlines looming, and now I had this stupid mess on top of it all, this ridiculous, dangerous game I couldn't stop playing.
Except it didn't feel like a game anymore.
Because Tristan wasn't supposed to be this sweet, this charming, this human. He wasn't supposed to apologize for things he didn't even know he'd done, or call me beautiful like he meant it, or sound genuinely wrecked just from hearing me breathe.
He was supposed to be a villain.
Flopping back on the bed, I stared at the ceiling, the kind of stare where your eyes are open, but you're not really seeing anything.
I was in too deep. I knew it. And that was the part that scared me.
The last thing in the world I'd expected was for him to be like this.
He'd talked about Archie like he was trying to fix the past and create a real home for him. He'd listened to my pain without even knowing it was his fault. He'd said he didn't want this to end.
And maybe... maybe a part of me didn't want it to either. A stupid, na?ve part.
But it didn't matter. Not anymore.
Because this game I was playing? It had to come to an end. Soon. Before I fell even deeper.
Someone was going to get hurt. And this time, I vowed it wasn't going to be me.