Chapter 36
Chapter Thirty-Six
LEXI
Something is different between Tristan and me.
Things have been shifting over the weeks, but the way he holds me now, kisses me gently—with some reverence, as if I could break—is new.
Maybe it’s all in my head, but even now, after telling him the full nasty business that’s The Head and Mia Reed, he seems to be even more caring than before.
I don’t know if I’ll survive tearing myself away from this side of him.
Finding him irresistible and consequently having a fun time is one thing.
But experiencing this deeper side of him is only bringing us closer.
Tristan has always been reserved when it comes to his past. I get that.
I don’t like people to know that Dad served a sentence for fraud, and that our relationship never found its footing again.
Tristan clearly doesn’t want people to know he was the emotional punching bag that stood between his parents’ verbal abuse for years. As a mere kid.
My heart aches for him. I comb my fingers through his hair as he makes his way down my neck.
He’s pushing up my shirt, and already the heat of arousal gathers between my legs.
I arch my back into his touch, stroking his skin and relishing that he is bare-chested while I’m still dressed.
He is quiet as he perches on an elbow and works my shirt’s buttons, and in the dim light of the bedside lamp I watch his face.
The softness of his gaze and the tender fiddling of his fingers ever lower down my body fill me with hope that maybe he’ll say something—something like he’d like to have more than this.
That he doesn’t want this to be over when we’re done.
That everything has somehow come together exactly as it should be.
But he says nothing. Usually it’s jokes and teasing and a lot of breathless heaving between us as we have sex, but now, as his gaze travels over my body, his eyes are doing the talking as if he’s lost his voice.
I sit up so he can slip the unbuttoned shirt off, and when he brushes his knuckles over my begging nipples, a shudder of pleasure rushes through me.
I want to reach for his cock, but he catches my hand and brings it to his lips.
“Let me make you feel good, Lexi,” he murmurs between kisses to my wrist. “Let me be everything I can be for you.”
I close my eyes as my emotions well up. Those words are everything. This is all we can ever be, lovers caught in a time-warped place so far removed from our everyday that it’s become a dream we had once, together, in our subconscious, where everything always makes sense in the moment.
He nudges me onto my knees, and I acquiesce, letting him unclasp my bra and strip down my skirt as I tilt my face away, giving him access to my neck so he can’t see how this moment is affecting me.
I wish the lights were off, because in the quiet of his reverence and touch, it’s as if he can see straight into my every last wish and the longing in my heart.
When I’m naked, he rises onto his knees and I caress his sides as we kiss and touch as if every moment is gift.
My fingers find their way into his boxers and push them down.
As he kisses me, a desperation washes over us.
But instead of becoming more frantic, we slow, both seeming to want this to last forever.
When I’m on my back and he’s finally reaching for the condoms, I take his wrist. “Leave it.”
“What?” Tristan stills, his eyes searching mine.
“I want you bare.” Once. Just once. Us, with nothing between us, flayed open and honest. Faking nothing.
“Lexi, I—”
“My period is due in a day. There’s no chance.” And this is probably why I’m an emotional wreck and feeling everything twice as deep. This will be the first time I do this with someone, and the craving is real.
Tristan sinks down on me with a groan that reflects my every need and want and so much desire.
If I could press pause and stay in this cocoon forever, I would.
I gather him in my arms, trap him between my legs, and when he kisses me next, his hand cupping my face, it’s with such intensity that I cling to him.
He rocks into me, and the sweet pressure is already building in my core.
When he finally pushes in, it’s measured and slow, as if he could make this last forever too.
“You feel so good, Lexi,” he murmurs as he peers into my eyes.
I feel a little drugged by our mutual sensuality, because he feels more than good: Tristan feels right. And not only like this. In every possible way. I hug him closer, my heels pressing on the backs of his thighs, his mouth an inch from mine. “I’m going to come.”
“Yes.” His thrusts seem to slow, but grow harder at the same time, keeping me on that precipice for seconds that feel like an eternity of pleasure.
“Tristan.” It’s half moan, half whimper, because when did this man learn to love my body so well? I’m coming, and it’s sweet and intense, like the golden glow of the sun is sweeping through my whole body in a rush of glitter that settles on each nerve path I have.
He presses his nose to my cheek, his breathing ragged as his hips thrust one last time. He spills into me, rippling and pulsing in my core.
For a long moment we’re still, coming down from our high. And then he kisses me, and it’s as if he wanted to pour his soul into my body too.
And I let him.
But…I’m going to cry. Tears well up, clogging my throat. I push at his shoulders, not wanting him to see how he’s affected me. “This is messy,” I murmur while I still have an iota of control over myself, before my voice can break.
“Sorry, angel,” he whispers and pulls out. He reaches for some tissues on the nightstand and hands them to me. I sit up too, with my back to him, to deal with the mess.
And it is a mess. My heart is a sloppy heap of unfulfilled longing and love that has hit a brick wall.
He strokes down my back, and I push hard against my emotions.
I can’t screw this up by showing him how I feel.
I made the rules, and I will stick to them, because Tristan has made it clear where he stands.
“Lexi.”
“I’m good.” I crunch the tissues in my hand. “I’m going to take a shower.” At least there my tears can disappear without anybody knowing they existed.
I fumble with the mosquito net and head to the bathroom without looking back.
It’s cooled off considerably with the rain, and under the outdoor shower, drops still drip from the overhanging trees, so cold on my heated body that goosebumps spread over my skin and pebble my nipples.
I open the faucet wide, step under the warm waterfall, and close my eyes.
Finally, I let go. In his arms earlier, I broke down because of everything that got us here.
Now I’m breaking down because I don’t want to let go of what we have—of what we’ve become.
I turn my face into the steam and let my silent tears run their course.
I startle when the glass-beaded shower curtain rattles.
Tristan’s hands circle my waist, and he presses his chest to my back.
“You know desalination takes time, don’t you?
” he asks as he runs his lips along the column of my neck.
I chuckle and blink fast. At least he gave me a few minutes alone, but now—“You always shower at the dive center.”
“Hmm… Now I see what I missed out on.” He pumps some liquid soap from the dispenser and gently turns me around.
It’s dark, but his eyes search mine as he lathers me up.
I have no choice but to close my eyes. Giving in to the moment with him is one thing, but I refuse to let him see inside of me.
I know he’s taking care of me because I ran off, and Tristan is nothing if not considerate, but he says nothing.
Sometimes the only thing that works, the only thing I need, is words. Not many, just a few choice ones.
Talking may not be in the cards, but I should have known he had plans when he stepped into the shower. Tristan is, after all, not one to stop after one round. No, he is about as insatiable as I am—another thing that only grinds against my determination to get him back at arm’s length.
When he drops to his knees, I let him raise my foot to his shoulder and let go, because once he’s made me come this way, he’ll fuck me hard, and we’ll have gone full circle. And hopefully then I’ll be emotionally back in my box.
By the time we’re done, the water has turned tepid. He turns off the faucets and hands me a towel.
“You’re hungry?” he asks as we dry off. “I skipped dinner.”
“Same here.” Maybe I also need a drink—a tall, stiff one to drown my feelings in.
“We could go raid the kitchen.”
This makes me laugh; he smiles back, and the tense atmosphere between us cracks and disintegrates. “You won’t dare touch a thing in Chef’s immaculate fridge or pantry.”
“He won’t know because we won’t leave a trace.”
“I see. Lead the way, oh reckless one.”
Ten minutes later, we hit the path. It’s dark and quiet as it seems everybody has gone to bed already.
Guests have fully stocked bars in their rooms and rarely hang around after dinner, so none of this is unusual.
The lights are switched off everywhere. As we come around the corner to the staff canteen, though, soft voices come from the open seating area, which seems to have one light on in a far corner.
“We’re not alone with our midnight munchies,” Tristan whispers as he takes my hand.
As the seating area comes into view, my heart skips a beat. Roger and Deshni are sitting at one of the tables, holding hands. Deshni is quietly sobbing.
Tristan squeezes my hand, but it’s too late to back off. “Hey, guys.”
They both look up, stunned for a second. Roger clears his throat. Deshni drops her gaze and sniffs desperately, trying to hide those tears.
“Sorry to interrupt,” I say, tugging at Tristan’s hand. These two need some privacy, and we can go to bed without dinner.
But Tristan ignores my signal and walks closer. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Deshni says, but she breaks out into a fresh sob.
That’s not nothing.
Roger shakes his head. “We’re in trouble.”
Oh, God. My stomach turns. That type of trouble?
“What is it? How can we help?” Tristan pulls out a chair for me.
I sink down into it, flabbergasted that he can’t read the room. I mean…it’s so freaking obvious.
Maybe that’s a male thing. It does, after all, not affect them in remotely the same way…and maybe I’ve been a bit reckless tonight too with giving him free rein to my body. Regardless of what my cycle says, just look what it did to my head!
“My love?” Roger asks, then waits for Deshni’s signal. She shrugs, and it’s neither a yes nor a no. Roger’s gaze jogs between me and Tristan where we sit opposite them. “Deshni’s pregnant.”