Chapter 16 #8
“And the second?” he says, his voice commanding, challenging me.
Lava replaces my blood, and I feel bold and stronger, sensing a slight shift between us.
One where the damsel in distress holds the upper hand over her savior.
He stalked me… this is wrong on so many levels and yet…
I would never accept that from anyone else, but with him it is different.
Knowing that he is watching me is not distressing, it is reassuring.
And I almost want to thank him for it, my guardian angel watching over me, protecting me despite indulging in a twisted game.
“Kiss me,” I sign, wanting to feel his touch, to know that we are all right again despite everything that happened, that when our lips collide, we are still us.
“Ella,” he murmurs, warning me as if an animal were about to burst out of him.
Feral and insatiable. I point at his chest, then at my lips, making my point as I hear him exhale with difficulty.
His hand slides along the side of my throat, the other on my waist, as our lips crash against each other.
Gone is the softness of the kisses he granted me before.
This one is made of gasoline and fire. Courage deserts me as I pull back, gasping for air.
Blush colors my cheeks as I hide my eyes behind my palms.
I liked it.
No, I loved it, but…
A multitude of fireworks erupts in my mind and body, the alchemy new and loud and full of colors I did not know.
“See?” Tristan’s forehead connects with mine, his voice low and dark, breaking. “We have to pace this, Ella, or I’ll lose my mind once you give me a taste.”
He says it like the words are being wrenched out of him.
My nose brushes against his, a sensation blooming in my stomach and opening a window to a world I didn't know.
Gently, the tips of our noses brush together, seeking our silent language of trust and patience.
Courage takes me back into his passenger seat, and I lean in, setting the pace since he refuses to rush me.
My lips meet his, and he remains stoic, like he’s trying to survive a car crash without moving.
Hands running along the inside of his forearms, the skin soft and inviting, I breathe against his lips, kissing them again, first featherlight, then, when his part, with more fervor.
And if it could say something, it would say, I trust you.
I am right here with you. I am not going away.
Perhaps this is what Tristan needs from me too.
To stop the clock from moving and just be there, right here, together.
His hand rides up my jaw, possessively caressing it, while I open up, our kiss morphing into a slow and desperate plea for our bodies to reconnect after being parted in another life.
We stay like that for a long time, learning a new language without rushing, tingling through every cell as I let myself wander over his chest despite his shirt.
His breathing gets louder and louder as time goes by, and I get the sense that this is almost painful for him, to restrain himself around me.
After a few more minutes, he leans back, just enough for me to see him sign with a wince.
“Go to sleep, sweetheart, I can’t-” his hand turn into a fist, “I’m addicted to you Ella, in a very concerning way.” I lean in again, kissing him one more time, getting my fix for the night.
“I’ll sleep if you stay next to me,” I sign.
“Here, like I told you,” he signs, pointing at the chair.
“No,” I say silently, while the tip of a grin draws at the corner of his lips. What will it be when I see him smile completely? I am not sure my heart will survive.
“Beautiful, smart, and stubborn. What am I going to do with you, Ella Brooks?” I bite my lip, having a few bold suggestions in mind that he must be perceiving from the darkening of his gaze.
A yawn breaks our spell as my body gently reminds me to go back to sleep.
Tomorrow will have its fair share of issues to work on, and I need rest to keep my mind clear. Deal with the move. Dad. And Mara.
“Tristan?” He tilts his head, giving me his full attention. “I see my dad every day. He will freak out if I am not there tomorrow morning.”
“I’ll send someone to check on him.”
“What will they say to him ?”
“We’ll make up something believable, so as not to alarm him. It will be okay.”
“So you’ll find who sent you the photo, take care of them, and then I’ll move with my dad into an apartment?”
“That’s the exact plan.”
“But…how? Logistically? How can I move Dad out? He can’t even walk…”
“I’ll hire people to help us, trusted ones, and we’ll find a way to get Mara and your sisters out of the house. Pretend there is an emergency meeting with them at her headquarters, anything to have the house to ourselves and get your father out.”
“Will it really be that simple?” A tick in his jaw gives way to a calm facade, one I have no doubt is his trademark for any business deal. “Like a walk in the park, princess. Quick and steady. I promise you.”
“Okay…”
“Now sleep. I’ll stay there.”
“Do you have…a large T-shirt I could borrow?”
“Sure.” He flexes his jaw as I watch him stand and disappear into a room near the back of the bedroom. He comes back with a large white T-shirt.
“This okay?” I nod, grateful to be able to slide out of my working clothes.
Giving me the shirt, he clears his throat.
“I’ll…I’ll wait by the door.”
Don’t go. I want to say it, but my courage stops there, shyly tucked in the corner of the room, warning me to walk before running.
“It’s not necessary. Just…look away.” A groan rumbles from his chest, and he bites his fist for a second.
Crossing his arms, his muscles pushing the fabric to the max, he looks up at the ceiling, his feet tapping the floor, tension thickening in the room and making it ten times smaller.
Slower than I should, I undress, slipping inside his tee, smelling like fresh and masculine cologne.
I fold my blouse and pair of pants at the end of the bed, hiding my legs under the covers.
Snapping my fingers to call him, his chin remains directed at the ceiling.
“I’m going to look down now,” he warns, like he’s about to walk into a minefield.
His eyes settle on me, dangerous and dark, before he runs a hand over his face, shaking away whatever held him hostage.
Rounding the bed, he pushes the covers on his side, lying next to me, his arm up over my head, inviting me to find safety in his arms. And I do, sliding until my face rests on his chest, listening to his heartbeat.
It must be the middle of the night, and there is so much we will have to deal with tomorrow, but for once, I allow myself the rest I have been stolen from for years.
Dad is safe. Someone will come to check on him tomorrow.
And Tristan will fix everything first thing in the morning.
A better future is coming. I can almost touch it at the end of my fingers.
“Goodnight sweetheart,” Tristan murmurs, his voice rumbling under my ear above his lungs.
My hand hesitantly rises until finding his lips, and my index brushes them.
A goodnight kiss in our very own language.
Goodnight, Tristan, I think. Wishing right now more than ever that I could speak, just so he could hear me say;
I love you.