CHAPTER THREE #2
We stopped moving.
Both of us at the same time, as though we had accepted what was to happen next.
He let me pull away enough to look at him.
I met his gaze and couldn’t look away. There was so much heat in him. Raw desire as he stared into my eyes, lost and breathless.
I looked over his face. At the light flush across his cheeks and his parted pink lips.
I wanted to kiss him.
Badly.
I stilled, my breath quieting in my chest as I met his eyes again.
And in them, he understood.
He felt my ache mirror his, and the heat between us magnified.
His head slowly dipped.
Then his mouth captured mine.
It wasn’t gentle.
Oh, God, it was searing.
A kiss that burned through the quiet. That shattered whatever hesitation still lingered inside me. That made me forget every reason I’d ever had to hold back.
His tongue swept into my mouth, and I moaned against him, startled by the urgency.
Now I felt it.
That delicious yearning. The desire to be devoured and to take in return. I felt the greediness in him. He kissed me like he’d been starved of me. Like he had been waiting to do this longer than he had known me.
So much tongue and heat and yearning.
It wasn’t sloppy.
It was desperate.
Hungry.
Like he needed to taste every inch of me to believe I was real.
I kissed him back, unable to hold anything in reserve. I was enveloped in him. In the intoxicating taste of his tongue as it moved against mine with such needy intent.
I clung to him, my fingers digging into his muscled shoulders, my body melting against his. The heat between us was unbearable. Even when my knees weakened, he held me tighter, grounding me.
He was a furious kisser.
And I was drowning in it.
In his taste.
In his demanding touch.
And yet, behind that yearning, I felt his tenderness. He kissed me, and it didn’t feel self-serving. He was careful because he thought I was fragile. But not fragile like I might break in his hold, but fragile like I was a treasure he had found and wanted to care for.
My hands traveled up his hard chest of their own volition. I couldn’t contain the ravenous urges spreading like wildfire through my body.
I wanted this more than I could breathe.
The urgency and heat. The wild passion that came with wanting to strip myself bare—not just of the clothes on my back, but of the mask I wore for the world.
Gone.
I wanted to discard it and drown in this wall of a man with the broad shoulders and large hands.
I kissed him so hard I wanted his lips to bruise. For him to remember me tomorrow and next week and whenever he opened his mouth to speak.
I wanted them raw and numb and stained by my touch.
In response, Tristan’s hands wrapped around my hips. He pulled me flush against him and let out a gruff groan.
I swallowed the sound, moaning when I felt his hardness against my stomach.
The second I made that noise, his grip tightened.
Then he was lifting me.
His fingers dug into my thighs as he kissed me deeply.
I breathed raggedly into his mouth, whimpering as another wave of pleasure raced through me.
He carried me to the bed and laid me down gently—far too gently in comparison to his hard grip and soul-consuming kiss.
There was nothing gentle about his mouth as it journeyed from mine to my throat, sucking and tasting as I panted for air.
“Why do you taste so fucking good?” he grumbled against my skin. “Why do I want every bit of you?”
My lips curved into a smile as my hands roamed over his back. I squeezed needily at his broad shoulders, aware that he was making his way down my body.
My skin was hypersensitive, my legs trembling as he parted them and settled between them, his mouth nipping at my collarbone.
His touch was shaky. He gripped my hip, his voice tight.
“Can I?”
I knew what he meant.
My own voice quivered. “Please.”
His other hand went beneath me, finding the zipper at the top of my dress. This perceptive man knew exactly how to undress me even as I lay there at his mercy.
He unzipped it partway down my spine before pulling the top of my dress lower, revealing my black bra. Both hands cupped my breasts, and he squeezed them with glazed eyes before burying his face between them.
I felt his tongue against my skin. Felt him suck and groan, his entire body shaking above me as though he were trying his hardest to restrain himself.
My fingers found his hair. Soft and silky. I pressed them into his scalp, encouraging him.
A moment later, he pulled my bra down and freed my breasts.
He stopped to stare, his panting loud in the room.
“Fuck, Daze,” he groaned, his large hands swallowing them.
He squeezed, and a harsh breath left him. Almost to himself, he whispered, “Fucking perfect.”
Then his tongue darted out to taste one nipple, and I bucked beneath him, overwhelmed by the sensation that bolted down my body.
He settled there for what felt like ages, taking his time as he tasted each breast, his mouth growing bolder and hungrier.
I felt everything.
Every squeeze and nibble.
Every hot breath and tender stroke of his tongue.
He sucked until my skin was pink and tender, and all the while I watched him, my eyes half-lidded, my mouth parted from the pleasure.
“Are you a breast man, Tristan?” I asked breathlessly, grinning down at him.
“Only for yours,” he returned, his blue eyes jumping to mine.
My body stilled at the amusement mixed with something that looked almost like adoration as he watched me.
My grin slipped.
The ease between us should have startled me more than it did. I swallowed and closed my eyes for a long moment. By the time I opened them again, he was moving down my body.
The warmth of him left me, and for a brief moment I felt empty. My hands remained tangled in his hair while I watched him raise my dress.
Slowly.
Taking his time.
That glazed look intensified as my black panties came into view. He bunched the dress above my stomach and buried his face between my thighs, his teeth grazing the fabric.
I jolted, gasping as he skimmed over the most sensitive part of me.
“Oh, God.”
His eyes flashed up to mine, and his lips curved into a devilish smirk. My palms were damp, my heart beating wildly as that smile intensified my desire tenfold.
“I’d prefer my name when you come,” he teased, though there was no mistaking the tightness in his voice. The need lurking there.
My lips curved into a smile. “Then make it good.”
I barely recognized myself. This looseness. This carelessness that allowed me to make such a demand.
His eyes sparked to life at the challenge. “I will.”
He slid my underwear down slowly, savoring every inch. Every second he prolonged his intention, the needier I became.
It was painful.
A deprivation I hadn’t known existed minutes ago. I was tempted to grip his hair and grind against his face. To have him taste me and send me over the edge.
I shook, holding myself back.
Entranced, I watched as his hands moved slowly up my legs and he kissed the insides of my thighs. This wasn’t a quick romp between the sheets. Not when he was relishing me like this. Taking all the time in the world.
His breaths came hard and fast, and then his face was where I needed him. I felt his fingers there, brushing along me. I held my breath as he spread me open and slid his tongue through me in one long stroke.
Pleasure burst through my body.
I shook, gasping as he did it again, taking his sweet time. Tasting me. Savoring me.
“Feel good, Daze?” he asked roughly.
The best.
The fucking best.
I could only nod, and even that felt like a burden.
I lay there as his mouth returned to me. His hands gripped my hips, holding me still while he pleasured me.
I spiraled, unable to contain the sounds escaping my mouth as he learned me quickly. My flesh was sensitive, the pleasure burning and hurting in the most exquisite way.
I had forgotten what this felt like.
Forgotten the buildup. The pleasure that centered my entire world on the man holding me down, tasting me hungrily.
I exploded.
Out of nowhere, my body went rigid and then shook as wave after wave ripped through me. I was loud. Tristan’s name broke apart between my moans.
Then there was stillness.
My ears buzzed. My eyes remained shut. My body lay spent while Tristan moved away from me.
I made a small sound at the loss of him. I still wanted his touch. Wanted more. But for several moments, I was limbless.
When I finally opened my eyes, Tristan was sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at me with eyes that weren’t merely swimming with desire.
There was something else there.
Something heavy and intense.
He swallowed thickly. “You’re beautiful, Daisy.”
My cheeks burned.
I didn’t feel any sense of propriety after that. His mouth had been on the most private part of me. Whatever timidness remained had dissipated because I was still riding high, still lost in whatever this was between us.
Drunk on the feeling, I leaned forward, gripped his shirt, and pulled him toward me.
He let out a surprised chuckle and climbed over me.
I didn’t wait for another word or another look. I gripped his hair and pulled him down, kissing his impossibly soft lips. When his body curved around mine, something in me loosened, as though my ribs finally remembered how to breathe.
Heat moved between us. I was aware of every inch of skin I hadn’t realized was waiting to be touched. His weight, his breath, the quiet press of him—none of it stirred panic.
It drew me in.
Everything about him drew me in.
All of him wrapped around me, making me feel a kind of protection that lived in the warmth of his chest against mine, in the steady certainty of being held and wanted at the same time.
I was lost to the feeling.
I kissed him like I was meant to. Like our lips fusing together was imperative. I moaned, and he responded with a deep growl in his chest.
His hands were everywhere, too. He couldn’t resist, and the feeling was mutual.
I pulled at his shirt, and he tore it off in one quick movement.
His skin made my mouth water.
All hardness.
All man.