21. Chapter Twenty-One Adriana
He was here. He had managed to find me.
And I was happy…but I had no idea what it meant. I needed to tell him that my dad planned to kill him, but right then, I was just enjoying his presence.
For a second, I just enjoyed his presence, the scent of his aftershave, the scent of his salty wet skin.
The rain was pounding on the windows, a drumbeat to my racing heart as Tristan’s lips crashed against mine with a fervor that left me breathless. The storm outside raged wild and relentless, but in his arms, I found a dangerous calm—a tempest of another kind.
“Adriana,” he murmured against my mouth, his voice laced with worry as he pulled back to look at me. His blue eyes scanned over my form, taking in the soaked silk gown clinging to my skin. “You’re still freezing.”
I shivered, not from the cold, but from the intensity in his gaze. It was as if he could see right through me, to all the secrets and fears tangled up inside. But still, he took care of me, his hands gentle yet commanding as he led me to the bathroom.
“Take your dress off. I’ll run you a bath,” he said, his tone brooking no argument. “Where’s the bathroom?”
“In the bedroom,” I replied.
He guided me there and sat on the edge of the bath as I peeled off my silk gown, which was hard.
“Let’s get you warm,” Tristan said.
It didn’t take long for the tub to be full. He helped me lie down in it. As the steam rose around me, filling the air with warmth, I let the water envelop me. It wasn’t too hot—Tristan had made sure of it, mindful of the life growing inside me. I sank deeper into the tub, trying to let the heat seep into my bones, wash away the memories of the night before.
When I emerged from the bath, the towel Tristan wrapped around me felt like a shield. He was close, his presence wrapping around me just as surely as the fabric. Then his gaze landed on something beyond me, hardening instantly. He picked up the mask that lay discarded near the edge of the bed, turning it in his hands.
“Did he knock you out to get you here?” Tristan asked, still playing with the mask.
I shook my head.
“What happened?”
I hesitated, the truth clawing its way up my throat. “My dad...he drugged me.” Saying the words out loud made them real, undeniable.
Tristan’s jaw clenched, the muscles there ticking with barely restrained fury. “He’s going to pay for this,” he promised, a deadly edge to his voice that sent a chill down my spine despite the steam still rising off my skin.
“Tristan—“ I began, but the look in his eyes stopped me. This was a side of him I knew all too well—the Callahan heir, protector, avenger. And right now, nothing else mattered to him but keeping me safe.
“What happened before?” he asked me. “Before Silvio took you.”
“Right, I need to tell you what happened,” I said, clutching the towel tighter around me as a shield against his piercing blue gaze. “After I danced with Nick Rossi, things...they got complicated.”
His expression shifted, irritation creeping in like an unwelcome guest. “Complicated how, Ade?”
I swallowed hard, knowing that every detail mattered. “I tried to leave, to get away from Nick, but then I stumbled upon Liam and Kieran talking. They didn’t see me, but...” My voice trailed off as I remembered the gravity of the words that had reached my ears.
“Go on,” Tristan urged, his tone softer now, but his eyes still sharp as ice.
“I overheard something about my dad. He was saying something about me and Nick Rossi and...” The simplicity of the conversation didn’t match the weight of the information, but Tristan needed to know everything.
A shadow crossed Tristan’s face, his annoyance palpable like the rolling thunder of an early morning storm. “Why didn’t you come straight to me, Adriana? Why did you decide to leave the venue of all things?”
“I didn’t leave the venue, I just needed to get away from him,” I told him.
“Okay. Why?”
“Nick threatened me,” I admitted, feeling the fear rise again at the memory. “He said if I told you, bullets would fly. I couldn’t—I didn’t want to start a war, not with your children inside of me.”
Tristan’s hands curled into fists, the rage barely contained within him. “Adriana, you should’ve trusted me to handle it. You’re right, you’re not just anyone; you’re the mother of my unborn children. You can’t take these risks.”
His words were a reprimand, but his touch was gentle as he brushed a stray lock of hair from my forehead. His concern was as clear as the worry lines etched around his eyes, and I knew that despite his anger, he wanted nothing more than to keep me safe.
Then he slid his hand down my arm and grabbed me. Tristan’s grip was steel around my wrist as he led me to the bed, his piercing blue eyes dark with something that wasn’t just anger. It was fear too, a deep, consuming terror of losing what was his—us, our future.
“Ade,” he said, his voice firm and cold, pressing me down onto the soft sheets. “You can’t pull stunts like this. You’ve got to think about more than yourself now.”
I was lying there, feeling small beneath him, when his hand wrapped around my neck. The pressure wasn’t enough to hurt, but it was a clear message. I couldn’t breathe. His control was absolute, suffocating.
“Understand?” he asked, his fingers tightening just enough to send a jolt of panic through me.
The fear ignited anger within me, and without thinking, my hand flew up, connecting with his cheek in a hard slap. The sound echoed in the room like a warning shot, and for a second, we were both stunned.
“I’m not your property, Tristan,” I spat out, the words sharp and defiant. “I’m still me, and I want to help you, not hide behind you!”
His response was quick, a growl of frustration as he caught both my wrists in one hand, pinning them above my head. “Helping me means keeping yourself safe first, Adriana,” he said, pushing me back down as I struggled against him. “Don’t you get it? You’re my heart outside my body. And if you get hurt, or if you get the twins hurt…”
I tried to wriggle out of his grip, but he was too strong. My body buckled under him as I tried to break free, but he was immovable, his strength too much as he pushed me back down.
“Please, Tristan,” I pleaded, my voice breaking with emotion. “I need to be part of this life with you, not just a bystander. You need to let me make decisions too.”
My eyes searched his for understanding, for a sign that he saw me as an equal and not just a vessel for his legacy.
He paused, searching my face, the storm in his eyes swirling with conflict. Finally, he released my wrists, but his presence remained heavy over me. He was sweet to me, sure, but this was a reminder of the power he had over me.
“Listen to me, Adriana,” he said, his voice low and intense. “Your place is by my side, but that doesn’t mean in the line of fire. You have to trust me to protect what’s mine—and that’s you and our children.”
I lay there, the aftermath of our struggle leaving a tightness in my chest. Outside, the wind howled, and the rain clattered against the roof and rattled the windows.
“Promise me, Ade,” he whispered, brushing a kiss against my forehead, a stark contrast to the severity of moments before. “Promise me you’ll stay safe for our family.”
“Okay,” I relented, the fight draining from me as I realized this wasn’t a battle I could win—not now. “I promise.”
His features softened momentarily, as if my acquiescence offered him some solace. But the storm within him had not yet abated; it lingered like the tempest outside, ready to spill over once more. He lingered above me, his silhouette framed by the gray light of dawn seeping through the window.
“Ade,” he began again, his tone a dark melody that sent shivers down my spine despite the warmth of the room. “You keep promising, but you don’t seem to understand the importance of listening, of obedience in our world. I need to be certain you’ll heed my words.”
The towel came open and I was suddenly totally exposed to him.
I nodded, but the gesture wasn’t enough for him. His hand reached down, and I felt the soft slap against my already sensitive flesh, his palm on my clit for just a second. It was a reprimand, a startling sensation that made my breath catch. The strike was not harsh, but it echoed a warning as clear as the clap of thunder outside.
“Are you going to do this again?” he asked, slapping my pussy again, a little harder this time.
“No,” I breathed out, the sudden shock melting into a spreading warmth in my lower belly. My body responded to his touch in spite of the situation, awakening a familiar hunger.
“Good,” he murmured, his hand returning to stroke me gently, causing my body to shudder beneath his touch. “You’re mine, Adriana. I can’t lose you.”
His fingers moved with a knowing expertise that left me squirming beneath him, the fear and anger from moments before slowly seeping away as pleasure began to build. He circled his thumb over my clit, lightly, slowly. Until he slapped my pussy again, a little sharper this time.
It made me whimper. “I’d rather have you pissed at me than in mortal danger,” he said.
“Just remember that,” he added, his voice a low growl as he continued his ministrations. His touch was all over me, rough then gentle, a contradiction that mirrored his own character. It was overwhelming, consuming, and under the weight of his gaze and the insistence of his hands, I forgot about our argument, my fear.
“Who do you come to when you’re in danger?” he asked.
Before I could answer, he smacked my pussy hard. “Fuck!” I said.
And again.
“Answer me, Adriana,” he demanded, his tone sharp as he delivered another stern slap. His fingers resumed their careful circling, building the warmth back up within me.
“You,” I gasped, my body aching for release. “I come to you.”
“Good girl,” he murmured, a hint of satisfaction in his voice. His thumb moved faster over my clit now, keeping the rhythm while his other hand explored the rest of my body, claiming each inch as his own. “And don’t you ever forget that.”
My mind was swimming with sensation, every touch sending jolts through my system. Outside, the storm had grown louder, each clap of thunder matching the pounding in my head.
And then his hand went back down and he slapped my pussy once more.
The sudden sting drew a gasp from me, my body bucking beneath his touch. Tristan’s fingers, still slick with my arousal, began to plunge into me, the intrusion taking me by surprise.
“Don’t forget you’re mine,” he warned, pushing deeper with each word he muttered.
The slap had taken my breath away, the sting spreading across my sensitive skin and mixing with the pleasure his other hand was creating. I took a deep breath, meeting his gaze.
“Answer me again,” he insisted, his voice straining with a mixture of tension and desire. “Who do you belong to?”
“You,” I breathed out, a shudder running through me as his eyes turned dark with satisfaction.
“And who will protect you?” he asked, his thumb never ceasing its movement over my clit, driving me to the edge of release.
“You,” I repeated, gasping as another wave of pleasure washed over me. His other hand resumed the stinging slaps on my pussy in rhythmic counterpoint to the circling thumb. The contrast was stark and wild, matching the storm that raged outside our window.
His actions were deliberate and calculated, each movement carefully designed to extract an answer from me.
“No more,” I begged, my voice a weak whisper in the furious storm of our night.
“Wrong,” he said. “I get to decide.”
“Tristan,” I whimpered as his thumb quickened its pace, an impending orgasm building within me. His other hand stilled on my inner thigh, the sting from his slaps echoing a warning that was both thrilling and terrifying.
He leaned close, his breath warm against my ear as he whispered, “You’ll only come when I allow it. Do you understand?” His voice was dark and intense, a stark contrast to the gentle rhythm of his thumb over my clit.
I nodded, unable to form words as pleasure clouded my senses. He chuckled softly, his breath hot against my neck as he moved his hand away from me. The sudden absence of touch only heightened my need for him.
“Tell me who owns you,” he demanded again, his tone rough around the edges. His hand traced a path up my trembling thigh, stopping just short of where I needed him most. “Tell me who owns this pussy.”
“You,” I said.
“Say it all, Adriana,” he commanded, his fingers teasing my dripping folds, not quite granting me the relief I craved. His voice was a low growl, laden with desire and expectation.
“You own me. You own this pussy,” I stammered out, completely at his mercy. The phrase felt foreign and uncomfortable on my tongue, but it was the truth. He owned me in every sense of the word.
“Good,” he rumbled, his eyes glinting with satisfaction. Slowly, he started moving again; his firm hand gently massaging my clit while the other resumed its previous exploration.
“Tell me who takes care of you,” he demanded next as his fingers once again plunged into me.
“Y-you do,” I answered between gasps. His deep blue eyes were fixated on mine, reading my every reaction, absorbing my submission to him.
“That’s right,” he said, his voice nearly drowned out by the thunder. His fingers continued to delve deep inside me, his thumb expertly teasing my clit in a relentless rhythm that had me on the brink. He suddenly pulled his hand away from me. “I’m not going to let you come until you finally understand that.”
His voice was a quiet rumble that echoed the thunder outside, commanding and powerful. Left hanging on the edge of an orgasm, I squirmed beneath his touch. My body yearned for release, but he was right: he was the one who decided when I could come.
“Please,” I begged. “You can’t do this to me.”
He arched an eyebrow, his gaze challenging me even as his fingers stilled. “I can’t?” he asked, a low chuckle escaping his lips. “I think you’ll find I can do whatever I want with you, Adriana.”
“Then please,” I repeated, desperately clinging onto him. Every second of denied release was an exquisite torture that only he could deliver.
“That’s right, love,” he said. “You keep begging. And I’ll see what I can do for you.”
And then he removed his fingers again, leaving me panting for him.