by Nikki Castle
He gently guides me down to the carpeted floor, onto to my back. He settles above me and props himself up on an elbow, continuing to stroke my cheek. His eyes never leave mine.
He opens his mouth to say something, then closes it. His expression is almost pained. "Remy…" he chokes out. But still he hesitates.
The right words don't exist—neither of us could say the right thing in this moment. Our verbal communication is subpar as it is, but our physical communication…
Our physical communication can say exactly what we can't.
I pull him down to me. "I know..." I murmur against his lips.
Something in him breaks. Maybe he understands that this is how we communicate best.
He's back to kissing me hungrily, his tongue sliding into my waiting mouth and his hands trailing desperately over my naked body. His lips move to my neck, then to my collarbone. I gasp as he continues further down, licking and sucking my nipple, gently kissing the curve of my breast. He does the same to the other side before making his way further still. He knows exactly where to kiss me, where to touch me, to elicit a response from my body. It feels almost as if his touches were meant only for me.
That thought lights a flame inside me, and my body automatically arches into his touch. Every piece of me is drawn to him, begging for more contact. I never want him to stop.
He slides down my body and parts my legs so he can kneel between them, holding himself up on his hands. I'm barely breathing by the time I feel him circle my navel with his tongue. His wet kisses trail across my stomach, closer and closer to the only article of clothing I'm still wearing on my overheated body. When his tongue finally slides under the edge, I gasp and arch my back off the floor. I'm going to come undone before he's even done anything.
He presses my stomach back down as he kisses the inside of my thigh. Then he reaches for the straps of my thong and slowly pulls it down my legs.
And just like before, he stares at me—stares at my naked body spread in front of him. Stares like this is the first time he's ever looked at me.
He leans down to gently kiss the inside of my knee. "You're beautiful," he whispers again, his eyes twinkling with awe, as if he can’t get over the fact that in this moment, I am his.
Then he's kissing the inside of my thighs, closer and closer to the heat between my legs. His first lick of my lips has my back bowing off the floor again.
With a groan, he settles on the carpet below me and buries his tongue in my cunt.
It barely takes a few swipes of his tongue before my release shatters me.
I gasp at the sudden explosion of pleasure. Tristan’s been able to get me off from the very first time we slept together, so it shouldn’t surprise me that I just came so quickly, but something feels different now. It’s like we’re completely in sync—like we’ve eliminated any remaining barriers between us. My orgasm is a result of allowing myself to be completely vulnerable and open with Tristan.
Sex, even meaningless sex, comes with a certain expectation of trust. And I realize suddenly that I trust Tristan unconditionally. Maybe I always have.
That thought drives another wave of my orgasm through me. It should probably scare me, the idea that I’m giving him everything, but in this moment I can only sigh in relief, a content smile stretching across my face even as my whole body shakes, drained of all the energy my release has ripped from me. I run my fingers through Tristan's hair, his head still between my legs, still kissing me. I tug him gently, wanting his face near mine. He looks up at me with a hunger in his eyes, then slides up my body to brace a forearm next to my head.
I cup his face and pull his lips to mine—and groan as I taste myself on him.
He slides his tongue in my mouth, offering me a better taste. I take all that he offers, unable to get enough of our chemistry.
I realize suddenly that he's still completely clothed. I grip the edge of his T-shirt and let my fingers trail over his abs as I pull it over his head, then immediately begin to fumble with the button on his jeans. He brushes my hands away and quickly pulls off the rest of his clothes. In only a few breaths he's settled back on top of me, caressing my hair and kissing me softly.
I'm so lost in his lips that I barely register his hard length nudging between my thighs. I’m too wrapped up in our closeness, our mingling breaths, our body heat. I'm intoxicated by everything about him.
"Tristan," I breathe. Nothing else, just his name.
"I know," he whispers, just as I did, and slides inside me.
I gasp, my hips bucking off the floor and my nails scratching down his back. He growls at the feeling and starts pushing harsh kisses against my neck. His thrusts are agonizingly slow and deep. I tilt my hips to meet each one, silently begging for more.
I've never understood the concept of making love. I've never seen sex as anything but a physical expression of passion and I can't understand how it could be slow and emotional. Sex is about orgasms, which are brought on by friction and touching—not slow motions and declarations of love.
But in this moment, I know I'm as close to making love as I'll ever be. I don't think about my feelings for Tristan or what we might mean to each other, but I'm intoxicated by our closeness. This position, the way he's caressing me so gently… it's making me feel a passion and connection that I've never felt before. And for a moment, I even enjoy his slow, careful pace.
"Tristan," I moan in his ear.
Something in him snaps, and his thrusts become frenzied. One of his hands slides down to cup my ass and lift my hips. The shift makes him press against my clit with each thrust. I whimper, feeling my release start to build.
His face is still buried in my neck. Part of me wants to pull him away so I can look in his eyes when we finally give in to the sensations, but it all feels like too much—too intimate, too honest. I don't know if I could handle what he'd see if he looked at me right now.
As if he can read my thoughts, he pulls away to look down at me.
My eyes widen at the raw intensity in his face. His eyes are burning—burning a hole through my heart. His hand grips the side of my neck and he looks down at me with an almost pleading expression. Pleading for what? What does he want from me?
Before I can hazard a guess, he hits the spot deep inside of me that makes me instantly shatter into a million pieces. I open my mouth to scream.
Tristan captures my lips with his and smothers my sound. He holds me in an iron grip as the pleasure rolls through me like never-ending waves. I can't tell where one stops and another begins. I vaguely register his groan and the feeling of his hips jerking as he reaches his own release. Throughout all of it he never stops kissing me.
Eventually his movements slow and then stop. He pulls away from my lips and touches his forehead to mine. But I'm too overwhelmed to really look at him so I close my eyes and nuzzle my cheek against his. He places a tentative kiss on my cheek and rolls to the floor, never letting his hands leave my body. I find myself pulled against his side as he wraps an arm around my shoulders and entwines his legs with mine.
As his hand traces the tattoo on my ribs, I nuzzle deeper into the side of his neck. My fingers slide up his chest to gently run along his collarbone.
And the moment feels so comfortable, so complete, that neither of us spoils it with words. We lie there, wrapped in each other, watching the light from the windows dance across our bodies. And before long, we've both drifted off to sleep.
It's still pitch black when I wake, shivering. Honestly, I'm surprised we were even able to fall asleep without anything covering us.
I gently slip out of Tristan's arms and pad lightly into the bathroom. I clean myself up, taking special pleasure in the pink marks on my neck and hips.
It only takes me a few minutes to find the box with my pillows and blankets in it. I grab what I need and head back to the living room where Tristan is still sleeping.
I stand in the doorway and watch him for a moment. A warm smile lights up my face as I think about
what we did only a few hours ago—and how it felt.
Subconsciously I've known for a while that my feelings for him were growing, even though I fought them. But I've seen so many new sides of him this past week that I don't think I could've stopped myself from falling even if I tried. The asshole that I thought he was turned out to be a front—just a small part of him. In reality he's everything I could ever want in a partner.
I ignore the small twinge of nervousness when I think about the fact that I don’t know if he feels the same way. Actually, I don’t know anything about how he feels. He’s a closed book when it comes to emotions. I have no idea how he feels about me.
I push the thought to the back of my mind, to be dealt with at a time that’s not 3:00 in the morning. Instead, I sit down next to him and spread the blanket over both of us. I'm just about to snuggle back into his chest when I see his head jerk with a frown.
His eyes are still closed so I know he's sleeping, but he keeps twitching, squeezing his hands into fists. It seems like he's looking for something.
"No," he whispers. "No, no, no…" His voice sings with an aching sense of sadness. "Remy, no…"
My heart stops at the sound of my name. But he keeps repeating those two words, and his thrashing is increasing.
"Shhh, it's ok, I'm here," I murmur as I hold his face in my hands. "I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere."
His eyes shoot open. I watch him wake up, watch as consciousness returns to his gaze.
"Remy," he mumbles as he reaches up to touch my cheek.
"I'm here," I say, stroking his hair. "I'm right here. I just went to grab a blanket and some pillows. Here, lift your head," I instruct softly as I slide one of the pillows under him.
But he ignores it completely and wraps his arms around me in a crushing embrace. He rolls me over his body until I'm on the other side of him, pulled tight to his chest. His face is only an inch away from mine.
He strokes my hair gently, his eyes never leaving mine. Then he leans forward to kiss me softly.
When he pulls away there's barely enough room for our breaths to pass between us. His forehead is pressed to mine and I can tell he's already falling back asleep.
Just as his eyes flutter closed, I hear him murmur, "I need you…"
18
Remy
I'm still floating above consciousness when I distantly feel the warmth leaving my back. I frown in my sleep, not wanting to wake up but already missing the comfort that heat provided.
Just as I'm about to slip back into dreamland, I feel the ghost of fingertips brush along my cheek. They're gone so quickly that I'm not even sure they were really there. I curl back into my pillow and fall back to a deep sleep.
By the time I wake a few hours later, the sun is high in the sky and shining light directly through my wall of windows. I blink my eyes open sleepily.
I stretch my arms over my head with a smile. I notice the small ache between my legs with satisfaction.
At the reminder of last night, the smile freezes on my face. I look behind me to confirm what I already know: Tristan is gone.
I sit up with a frown. It's Sunday morning, where would he have to go?
Then another thought pops in my head that instantly makes my heart drop into my stomach.
This is the second time he's bolted from a bed that I'm in.
I didn't question the night we spent together in his room because it was a weekday and I know he has really early sessions with some of his clients that want to workout before they head to work. But on a Sunday morning? I doubt anyone is working out.
Is he avoiding me?
Last night changed something for both of us. I should've already realized my feelings for him were growing but everything happened so fast that I wasn't sure until last night. I don't know what that actually means for us, but I do know that I want to try for something with Tristan. I'm not sure where he stands with his feelings but last night proved that he at least cares about me. The sex was too emotional for it to just be sex. I could see in his eyes that he felt something.
Except, I am currently naked and alone for the second morning after sex. Am I reading too much into last night? Did I scare him away?
The sound of my phone vibrating snaps me from my thoughts. I walk over to where I dropped it on the kitchen counter last night and see that Jax is calling. My mood immediately lifts at the thought of my best friend coming home today.
I answer the phone with a grin. "How hungover are you right now?" I ask by way of greeting.
A heavy groan sounds on the other end of the line. "You know me way too fucking well. I don't want to see another drink for the rest of my time at this job. Remy, I really feel like I'm dying."
I shake my head with a chuckle. Leave it to the massive 230 pound alpha to be a total baby about a little headache. "What time do you get in?" I ask Jax.
"I'm on my Chicago layover now so I should be home around 11:00. When I get home, I thought you, me, and Tristan could do lunch and I can squash any remaining feuding between you two that might've brewed this week. By the way, is the house still standing?"
My eyes widen and my breath catches when I realize I never thought about how this thing between Tristan and I might affect Jax. Should I tell him the truth? Will he be angry?
To be fair, Jax has only ever wanted Hailey and I to be happy. It's the reason he keeps his mouth shut about Steve. He sees that Hailey is happy—albeit confused—and he doesn't want to blow something up just because he knows Steve is a dipshit. He'll support anyone that brings us happiness.
But at the same time, I'm not even sure where Tristan and I stand.
I make a split-second decision to tell a white lie, just until there's something more to actually tell. Which, given Tristan's vanishing act and radio silence, might never happen.
"Yes, the house is still standing, and yes I will withstand Tristan for you. He's already survived ten days, what's another hour?"
"Good," Jax grunts. "In that case I'll see you in a few hours. I'm going to go puke in a trashcan now."
I'm still shaking my head when I hang up. But when I finally look down at my phone screen, I see I have a text notification.
Tristan: I had to leave early to help a friend move this morning and I didn't want to wake you. I was almost late, though. I couldn't stop staring at you. Who knew you’re so cute when you’re not yelling at me.
A huge smile breaks across my face. He didn't run from me. He wanted to stay with me.
Remy: Might want to figure that out before Jax gets home today. He might not appreciate you ogling his sister.
His reply comes almost immediately, which sends another burst of happiness through my chest.
Tristan: No promises. When you’re yelling, all I can think about is how much I want to bend you over and hear you make that breathy little sound right before you come all over my cock.
A shiver runs through me at his erotic words. Who knew Tristan was so dirty? I quickly type my response.
Remy: Focus. Jax gets home at 11 so he wants to do lunch with us. Will you be home?
I ignore the part of me that beams at the domesticated sound of that question. As if you're the darling wife welcoming your hard-working husband home with dinner and sex.
I shake the thoughts from my head. We are getting way too ahead of ourselves…
Tristan: Yea I'll be home. I'll see your sweet ass then.
I can't keep the ridiculous smile off my face for the rest of the morning.
I sing softly to myself as I pack the last few things into my suitcase, a smile playing on my lips. My heart feels light, and happy.
I hear voices drift upstairs from the living room. Realizing Jax must be back, I pack away the sweatshirt I'm holding and head toward the stairs to greet him. I smile at the thought of seeing my best friend again.
When I reach the top of the stairs, I realize they're talking about me. And even though I know I shouldn't eavesdrop, I can't help but stop and listen. God knows I
can't get Tristan to talk to me, so this may be the only way I can hear what he's thinking.
"...glad to hear you two didn't kill each other. How was it with her?"
"You know, the usual," I hear Tristan answer. "Bitchy as fuck."
I roll my eyes even though his answer stings a little bit. It's odd to think that he answered the same exact way he would have before I moved in, yet now I'm bothered by the response.
I hear Jax chuckle. "Obviously. Where is she now?”
“I think she took some more of her stuff over to the new apartment.”
“Ah, okay. Oh, by the way, I meant to ask you if you're still seeing that girl, Dana. I was hoping you could set me up with her friend. The redhead?"
"Oh," says Tristan, and I hold my breath as I wait for his response. "Yeah, I still see her sometimes. I'll set it up."
My breath whooshes from my chest. He's still seeing someone else? Could he have seen her in the past week, or is he talking in general terms?
"Cool, thanks man," Jax responds. "You've been seeing her for a while, right? Is it anything serious?"
"Nah, not serious," I hear Tristan say with a chuckle. "You know me, I can't do serious. She's just one of many. I'm still just seeing what's out there and having fun. I doubt any girl would be able to hold my attention."
His words slide a blade into my heart. I grip the banister as my head starts to spin.
He's seeing other women? How could he possibly experience the kind of chemistry we have, and then turn around and look for it somewhere else? What else is he looking for?
I knew from the beginning that he wasn't the relationship type but after everything that happened, I thought he would at least lose interest in looking elsewhere. I thought he might be willing to take a chance with me. I thought we felt the same thing last night. I thought…
I shake my head, trying to clear the tears that are threatening to spill from my eyes. I should've known. I should've listened to my gut when I first felt my feelings grow. I should've reminded myself that Tristan is not a one-woman man. I knew better than to get attached, and I let myself fall anyway. I can't even really blame him, either. I knew exactly who he was when this all started.
