16. Syn
16
SYN
“Whore?” I yell at him and launch my drunk arse towards him. “How dare you!”
Strong arms encircle my waist before I can make contact with the pig of an alpha who has insulted me beyond belief. “Whoa,” the blonde alpha who smells like the ocean says, spinning me around and kicking the door closed. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
“Yeah? Well, you aren’t me! Put me down, you giant oaf!”
“Oaf?” He snorts with genuine amusement. “I have never been called an oaf before in my life.”
“Well, there’s a first time for everything,” I hiss as he places me on my feet on his crisp navy blue covered bed, so that his face is way too close to my pussy for my liking.
He breathes in deeply before stepping back, and I glare at him, under the guise of checking him out.
He is hot. Not in the same brooding, dangerous sense of those other two arseholes, but seriously good-looking with his blonde hair and grey eyes and a smile that instantly sets me at ease. “And you are?”
“Forgive the manners of my prime alpha. I’m Tristan, and I’m guessing you just found out about me.”
“Did you know I was here?” I demand.
“I did. Does that annoy you?”
“Yes, it fucking annoys me. I didn’t know you were here.”
“I was hiding,” he admits shyly, catching me off guard.
“Hiding?” I ask, suddenly feeling dizzy from the booze. That was a mistake. Much-needed in the moment. But a mistake, nonetheless.
“Yes, hiding.” Tristan rubs the back of his neck, a gesture that seems almost boyish despite his imposing frame. “I’m not always comfortable with new arrangements.”
I sway slightly on the bed, the whiskey hitting me hard enough for me to sit. “So you’ve been lurking around this mansion for the last day while I’ve been getting passed between your two psychotic pack mates?”
His expression shifts, something like guilt crossing his features. “I wouldn’t call it lurking, this is my home. But I hear you. It was more like strategic avoidance.”
I narrow my eyes at him. He seems too good to be true. That usually means he’s not. “Strategic avoidance. That’s rich.” I fall back onto his bed, staring at the ceiling. The room spins slightly. “So what now? Tarquin’s ordered me to service you, is that it? Are you going to make me do something twisted, too? Maybe tie me up and force me to read you bedtime stories?”
Tristan moves to sit beside me, keeping a respectful distance. “I don’t force anyone to do anything,” he says quietly.
I prop myself up on my elbows, studying him. Unlike Tarquin’s cold detachment or Declan’s barely contained violence, Tristan’s eyes hold something different—something almost kind. It makes me more wary than if he’d simply thrown me down and claimed me.
“Then what do you want?” I ask. “You’re the third alpha I’ve met in this house, and none of you seem particularly forthcoming with information.”
“You’re drunk,” he observes, reaching out for a bottle of water that rests on the bedside cabinet. He uncaps it and hands it to me. “Drink this.”
I take it reluctantly. “I’m not drunk. I’m adequately inebriated for dealing with this situation.”
Tristan laughs, the sound warm and genuine. “That’s quite a distinction.”
I take a sip of water, watching him over the rim of the bottle. His bedroom is different from the others I’ve seen—lighter somehow, with large windows and walls painted a soft blue-grey. Books are stacked on nearly every surface, and I spot a guitar propped in the corner.
“You know,” I say, lowering the water bottle, “for a pack of alphas who share everything, you three couldn’t be more different.”
“That’s rather the point,” Tristan replies, settling more comfortably on the bed. “A good pack needs balance.”
“And what’s your role in this balanced trio? Tarquin’s the cold, controlling prime, Declan’s the sadistic enforcer. What does that make you? The pack therapist?”
His lips quirk upward. “Something like that. Though I prefer to think of myself as the conscience.”
“A conscience,” I repeat flatly. “That’s convenient. You hide away while your pack mates break me in, then swoop in to play the nice guy?”
Tristan’s smile fades. “I’m not playing anything, Synthia, is it?”
“Like you don’t already know,” I mutter, taking another drink of water. The room has stopped spinning quite so violently, but the whiskey still burns warm in my veins. “But you seem like a nice alpha. Better than those two, at any rate. Call me Syn.”
“Syn it is.”
“Can I call you Tris?”
“If the urge takes you.”
“You don’t like it?”
“Not usually from people who aren’t my friends.”
“Hmm. So what now, Tris?” I say, emphasising the shortened name to potentially irritate him.
His eyes crinkle at the corners, amusement playing across his features rather than irritation. “Now, I suggest you drink more water and perhaps consider taking a nap. You’re in no state for whatever Tarquin intended when he threw you in here.”
I sit up straighter, indignation flaring through the alcoholic haze. “I don’t need your pity. And I’m perfectly capable of fulfilling whatever depraved alpha fantasy you might have.”
“Is that what you think this is about?” Tristan asks, his voice softening. “Depraved fantasies?”
“Isn’t it?” I challenge. “One million pounds for a week of being passed around between three alphas like a party favour. What would you call it?”
He sighs, running a hand through his blonde hair. “Complicated.”
I bark out a harsh laugh. “That’s one way of putting it.”
Tristan stands, moving to the window where he looks out over the manicured grounds. The morning sun catches his profile, highlighting the strong line of his jaw. He’s beautiful in a way that’s almost painful to look at—not just physically, but there’s something pure about him that seems out of place in this house of secrets.
“Why are you really here, Syn?” he asks without turning. “You are free to leave if this is not to your liking.”
“Am I?” I mutter.
“Of course. Tarquin is no abductor, no matter what else he is. If you want to leave…” He shrugs. “… leave.”
My shoulders sag, and the fight goes out of me. “You make it sound so simple.”
“It is. Pack your bag, call a taxi, and go home.”
“Just like that?”
“Tarquin would be pissed, but he would get over it.”
Get over it . That pisses me off more than I’d like. I don’t want him to get over it. I want him to… ah, fuck. I don’t even know what I want him to do or say.
I stare at Tristan’s back, hating how vulnerable I feel. The whiskey has loosened something in me—not just my tongue, but the carefully constructed walls I’ve built around myself.
“And the money?” I ask, my voice smaller than I’d like. “I need that money.”
Tristan turns to face me now, his grey eyes searching mine. “Why?”
Such a simple question, yet no one has bothered to ask it until now. Not Tarquin with his cold commands, not Declan with his cruel demands. Just this alpha, standing across the room, looking at me like I’m a person rather than a possession.
“That’s my business,” I reply, but the edge has gone from my voice.
“Fair enough.” He nods, not pushing. “But if you’re staying for the money, then you should know what you’re really getting into.”
I take another sip of water, the room steadying around me. “I think I’ve got a pretty clear picture so far.”
“Have you?” Tristan moves back toward the bed, sitting down again but keeping that respectful distance. “What do you think this is, Syn?”
“Three rich alphas with too much money and power, looking for a new toy to break.” The words come out bitter, tinged with the truth I’ve been trying to ignore.
“To be honest, I’m not sure what this is either. I was away and came back to this news of your impending arrival yesterday. Tarquin is…” He huffs out a breath and smiles wickedly.
“An arse?” I prompt when he doesn’t continue.
He laughs. “Yes, but he can be secretive, and you may have noticed he doesn’t give much away.”
“Not even to you?” I ask, crawling a bit closer to him despite myself.
“Not even to me,” he says, staring at my mouth.
“You are out of place here,” I whisper.
“So are you.”
“Well, we can agree on that.”
“Would you stay if it weren’t for the money?”
“No.” I shake my head. “I have no other reason to be here.”
We stare into each other’s eyes, and something comes over me. Yes, I’m here to service him, and even though he has been kind so far, I’m required by his prime to give him whatever he wants. Carefully, I adjust my position and crawl over to him, straddling his lap as I push my dress over my thighs. He observes me with interest, eyes hooded, but he doesn’t say anything.
Clasping my hands around the back of his neck, I do something I’ve never done before. I brush my lips over his in a soft but brief kiss.
“What are you doing?” he asks quietly, not touching me.
“What I’m paid for.”
Tristan doesn’t move, his hands on the bed, rather than gripping my hips like I expect. His grey eyes search mine, and I feel suddenly exposed in a way that has nothing to do with my hiked-up dress.
He brings his hand up to the back of my neck. “Is that all?”
“What do you want me to say, Tristan?” I ask, losing the pretence that we are friends. “Do you want me to say that I feel an attraction to you, and I want to fuck you hard?”
“It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.”
“You want me to lie?”
The hurt in his eyes stings. “No, the opposite. I want the truth, Syn. What do you want? Right now. Right here.”
I lick my lips and drop my gaze to his mouth, running my hands up his muscled chest.
He doesn’t even give me a chance to answer after that. He slams his lips to mine, kissing me as if it were his last day on earth. It steals my breath away. He kisses like a man who has been dying of thirst and has finally found water. There’s desperation, but also tenderness that makes my chest ache.
I melt against him, my hands fisting in his shirt. The whiskey in my system makes everything more intense, colours brighter, and sensations sharper. His tongue slides against mine, and I hear myself moan into his mouth. I haven’t had a kiss in years. The last person I kissed was… Jeremy. Tears sting my eyes, and I squeeze them shut tighter. I’m walking on thin ice with Tarquin. If he throws me out, I’ll be even further away from what Jeremy wants in exchange for Amélie.
It makes this easier.
It makes it easier to rise up and cup Tristan’s face, swirling my tongue around his as I lower myself over his cock and grind down gently.
He groans and grabs my arse, pulling me further onto him.
I slide my hand down his chest and reach for his zip. I slide it down, flicking the button on his jeans undone. Tristan pushes my dress higher as I pull his cock out and moan involuntarily into his mouth. He is silky smooth, long, wide, and ready to go.
I wrap my fingers around him, feeling the heat and weight in my palm. He is magnificent, and for a moment, I forget this is a transaction. His hands roam over my thighs, thumbs brushing against the lace of my underwear.
“You don’t have to do this,” he whispers against my lips, even as his body responds to my touch.
“Shut up,” I murmur back, not wanting his kindness right now. Kindness makes this complicated, and I need simple. I need to fulfil my obligation and get paid.
I rise slightly again. His breath catches as I position myself above him.
His eyes never leave mine, something unreadable in their grey depths. When I sink down onto him, the stretch is delicious, filling me completely. I gasp, my head falling back as I adjust to his size.
“Fuck,” he groans, reaching up to pull at the neckline of the stretchy dress. My right breast pops out, and he latches on to it, flicking the nipple with his tongue before he grinds it gently between his teeth.
“Tris,” I pant, running my hands into his hair as I rotate my hips.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he breathes against my collarbone, trailing kisses up my neck. “So fucking beautiful.”
“Ah!” I cry out as his words, said with pure desire, send rockets of lust shooting through me.
“I’ve got you, Syn,” he murmurs, gripping my chin as my pussy clenches around him, soaking him with slick. His ocean scent deepens as he feels me drenching him. “I’ll keep you safe here.”
“Tris,” I moan, riding him harder. It’s been a long time since any alpha said any of these things to me. I work my hips, giving him all my best moves.
He groans and closes his eyes, letting me fuck him, letting me do the work to make us both feel good. It’s empowering after the last twenty-four hours of uncertainty and games. This is what I know. This is what I’m good at.
His other hand goes to my clit, and he presses his thumb down hard before he circles the nub, making me tremble in his arms.
I throw my head back, gripping his upper arms, digging my nails into his biceps. Sliding over his cock, the scent of my slick hits him hard. He grunts and his cock twitches deep inside me.
“Your scent,” he growls. “Fuck, it’s exquisite.”
My thighs tense as I feel my body ready to detonate in a world-ending climax. The small vibration starts deep in my diaphragm. I feel it. He knows it’s coming. He opens his eyes, expectation and reverence swimming in the stormy depths. His cock stiffens further inside me, and I can’t stop it. I don’t even want to.