Hidden Worlds

by Kristie Cook

  We explored new places we’d never been and we both hesitated before reaching those parts that throbbed with frantic desire. He was hard and big in my hand, exciting and scaring me at the same time as I stroked him and he moaned. His tongue flicked at my nipple as his hand separated my legs, caressing my inner thighs and then between. A finger slid into me. A small cry of surprise and pleasure escaped my throat.

  “You’re warm and wet,” he breathed against my breast.

  I froze and looked at him, not knowing what to say, heat rising to my face. “Um, sorry?”

  He smiled. “That’s a good thing.”

  He rolled over on top of me, gently moving between my legs. He must have seen the panic in my eyes.

  “You okay? You look . . . really scared.” His voice was low, kind, gentle.

  “You’re just . . . um . . .” I blushed again. “. . . really big.”

  I had a hard time imagining all of that inside little me.

  A smile played on his lips. “Sorry.”

  I giggled, despite everything. “No, you’re not.”

  He pressed down against me and ran his mouth across my cheek.

  “No, not really,” he whispered against my ear. He shifted and I could feel his stiffness pressing against me. “Ready?”

  I stared into his eyes and nodded.

  “I’ll be gentle,” he said softly. And he barely moved his hips, sliding slightly inside me.

  OW! I bit my lip. He must have felt me tense because he didn’t move. We both remained perfectly still, but I could feel him throbbing inside me. I also felt . . . something. I didn’t think my body could heal that . . . that wasn’t supposed to heal. But the pain subsided and I relaxed.

  “Okay?” he asked, his eyes holding mine.

  I nodded again. He slid in further and I gasped, but not with pain. He knew, too, because he continued slowly, an inch at a time, until he filled me completely. Then he moved, back and forth, in and out, slow at first, then faster. And harder. And deeper. Each stroke electrified me, sending jolts of pleasure throughout my body. My back arched and I clawed at him. I climbed quickly to my first ever orgasm. But he kept going and I kept coming, again and again, each one building on the previous one, bigger, better, higher, until I thought I’d fly over some unseen edge and into oblivion to never return again. And then he thrust himself inside me harder and deeper than ever and there I went over that edge, losing all control. Every muscle in my body contracted. My back arched. My head went dizzy with euphoria. I shuddered violently with a moan, squeezing him as he convulsed inside me.

  He collapsed against me and we lay still for several moments, panting, our hearts pounding against each other’s chests.

  He finally rolled off and lay on his side next to me, running his fingertips randomly over my breasts and stomach. My body quivered as if I’d truly been electrocuted. We grinned at each other and I’d never seen his eyes sparkle so brightly. I knew exactly how he felt and wondered why people bothered with drugs when making love had to be the ultimate high.

  Physically spent, I eventually turned onto my side, facing him, and pressed the full length of my body against his, our legs intertwining. We fell asleep naked in each other’s arms. But not for long. I awoke to the tingling of Tristan’s fingers running along my ribs and down my side.

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t get enough of you,” he murmured.

  “Don’t be sorry. I’m all yours.” I kissed him with a new hunger.

  Knowing what to expect this time . . . wanting it desperately . . . I let my inhibitions and self-consciousness fall away. My natural instincts took over and the animal inside came out to play.

  Chapter 25

  Light filled the Caribbean room when I awoke only a couple hours later. I was snuggled up to Tristan’s back, his arm thrown over my hip. I kissed his shoulders and ran my fingertips along his spine, hoping to wake him if he wasn’t already. The air caught in my throat when I saw the marks all over his back.

  “Tristan! What happened to you?” I cried, sitting up.

  He rolled onto his back and they were all over his chest, too: long, purplish-yellow streaks like scratches but they were fading bruises. Larger bruises discolored his shoulders, ribs and hips. He glanced down at his chest and grinned.

  “You.”

  “What?”

  He lifted my hand and placed my palm against one of the bruises on his ribs. It was the perfect size. The bruised streaks matched the width of my fingers. The blotches on his hips were as wide as my thighs. I stared at him in horror.

  “Looks like I wasn’t the only one we should’ve been worried about.” He laughed.

  I threw my hands to my face to hide my shame. “Oh, I am so sorry!”

  He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close to him. I was afraid to touch him.

  “They only look bad because we did it so many times, but they don’t hurt,” he promised. Then he lowered his voice. “Besides, I kind of liked it. Actually, I really liked it.”

  I pulled myself away to get a good look at his face. He grinned. Mom was right. I rolled my eyes. And that’s when I noticed the cracked and chipped headboard and a dent in the wall above it. I eyed Tristan.

  “I don’t know who did what, but I don’t think anger is the only emotion that brings out your strength.” He laughed and squeezed my thigh. I cringed—I had my own bruises.

  We lay in bed until our stomachs growled and decided to take a shower before we ate. That’s when I first felt, and then saw, the mark on Tristan’s chest, right over his heart. I didn’t know how I missed it before, perhaps distracted by all the bruises. This wasn’t a bruise or a scratch. It had a design, dark red and slightly raised. I traced my finger over it and looked into his eyes.

  “I’ve never noticed that before,” I said.

  He didn’t answer, but he traced the birthmark over my own heart. It had always been faint, just slightly different pigmentation from the skin around it. Now it was also raised and pink. They had the same strange design . . . and now I realized it was the same design embossed on that envelope I found in Mom’s office several months ago.

  “What does it mean?” I asked.

  “Sophia never told you? It’s the mark of the Amadis family.”

  I remembered the burning, tingling sensation under Rina’s hand when she held it right there. Her other hand had been over Tristan’s heart. My breath caught.

  “Rina branded you?”

  Tristan chuckled. “It’s always been there, underneath. You brought it out.”

  “Huh.” I felt mine with my fingers and then went back to his. I couldn’t help but kiss it.

  We made love in the shower, trying not to break the tiles—six didn’t make it. It was better than I ever imagined, and I’d dreamt about the scene many, many times. The water rained down on us . . . Tristan held me securely, my legs wrapped around his waist . . . . Mmm . . . much better than any dream.

  After the shower, as I rummaged through my bag for something to wear, I remembered the condoms. I placed the box on the counter.

  “We should be more responsible,” I muttered.

  Tristan pulled a box out of his own bag. “Yes, we should.”

  I laughed. “Do you think we have enough?”

  “We can always get more . . . .”

  We eyed each other. I was instantly in his arms again.

  “Maybe we should let this new round of bruises heal first,” I said, placing my hands on his chest.

  “Mmm . . . I guess you’re right.” He gave my butt a playful squeeze. “I need to feed you anyway, keep your energy up.”

  Mom had packed me two sets of clothes, a bathing suit and the box I knew contained lingerie. Not knowing our plans, I decided to just not get dressed yet and wrapped the soft, thick towel around me instead. I padded out to the kitchen, where Tristan poked around the refrigerator.

  “There’s food in there?” I asked, surprised. I sat on a barstool at the island.

  “I had s
ome brought in. Not a lot, but we can get more if we stay.”

  I watched him with awe—he wore only shorts and it wasn’t just his muscles that held my eyes. His tanned skin seemed to glow. I tore my eyes away and glanced down at the house papers in front of me. Something caught my interest. The owner’s name was not mine. Maybe I did misunderstand.

  “Tristan, who’s Katie Andrews and why does her trust own this house? I thought . . .”

  He placed some green grapes and cheese on the counter and turned to the pantry. “If you did some real digging through several attorneys’ offices, you might be able to find that Katie Andrews is an alias for Alexis Ames. Hopefully, though, you wouldn’t.”

  “Why’d you do all that?” I asked, impressed. I got up and found glasses and filled them with ice and water.

  “Because there are certain people who don’t need to know you own this house. I had it built for you and no one can take it away from you.” He gathered the food in his arms. “Let’s sit outside.”

  “Our life is way too complicated. Already.” I set the glasses on the patio table.

  “Unfortunately, ma lykita, we may be meant for each other, but not everyone likes it.” He pulled me onto his lap.

  “In the normal world, I would just tell them to go to hell.”

  “Yes, but in our world, they are already there. And that still doesn’t stop them.”

  We sat in silence, eating cheese and crackers and grapes, and watched the boats pass by far out on the water. I munched on a cracker and traced the mark on his chest—it fascinated me—when there was a knock on the front door. We stiffened and looked at each other.

  “Hmm . . . Stefan,” Tristan said.

  I hurried into the bedroom to dress while Tristan answered the door. I felt like he minimized the danger besieging us, so I rushed, not wanting to miss anything. They were just sitting down outside when I came out and joined them.

  “I was just telling Tristan what a superlative estate this is,” Stefan said, as I took a seat at the back of the table, folding my legs underneath me. “Beautiful, private, easy to shield. A better safe house than Tristan’s place because no one even knows you are here.”

  “That was the idea,” Tristan said.

  Stefan told us the Daemoni still didn’t know about our marriage, but said they were unusually quiet, unlike their normal, boastful behavior. Tristan told him what he’d told me last night—the sooner they knew, the better. Stefan said he thought it fine for us to stay, but he’d discuss it with the council and let us know.

  “I would highly recommend . . . well, insist . . . you stay out of Key West,” Stefan said as he stood to leave. “You well know that is a prime hunting area for the Daemoni.”

  “Yes, it’s a favorite stomping ground for them,” Tristan said, making my spine tingle unpleasantly. “Don’t worry. I’d rather they don’t know we’re even in the vicinity.”

  We walked Stefan outside and after saying good-bye, he walked off into a mess of trees and brush. I had no idea where he went from there. While we were outside, Tristan showed me around the three-acre property, complete with its own small, private beach. He said our property shared the tiny key with four other homes. Most people driving through wouldn’t even know there were homes at all—it looked like a wild jumble of overgrown vegetation from the highway.

  The house was a big square, raised on stilts, with the ground level intended for storage. It had a light gray metal roof and darker bluish-gray stucco siding with white trim. The screened balcony off the family room and Caribbean room stretched across the full west side of the house. I hadn’t yet explored the two other bedrooms and bathroom on the east side.

  “This wasn’t one of your models,” I pointed out.

  “No, this is just a beach house. Those models were dream homes.”

  “I can’t imagine anything better than this,” I said. “When did you do it? I never even knew.”

  “Hmm . . . I did the drawings last August . . . when I met you.” He smiled down at me. “They broke ground in March . . . after you said ‘yes.’ I had to push hard to get it done in time since we kept moving the date up, but they did it. The important stuff, anyway. There are a few things they need to finish up.”

  “Whoever they are, you’ll have to thank them for me.” I slid my arm around his waist and pressed against him as we walked up the stairs. “And you . . . well, I’ll never be able to thank you enough.”

  “You already have, my love. More than you can ever know.” He gave me a squeeze and kissed the top of my head.

  “So what are we doing today?” I asked as we entered the cool house, a relief from the heat outside.

  Tristan glanced at the clock. “In about two hours, we need to go sign some papers to make this house officially the property of Katie Andrews’ trust.”

  “So . . . we have two hours?” I asked, smiling mischievously.

  “Hmm . . . that’s what I’m talking about.” He returned the smile and I led him to the bedroom, leaving a trail of clothes.

  We drove back to Islamorada to an attorney’s office to sign papers, Tristan supplying an array of documentation giving us both different names, his as the seller, Katie Andrews as the buyer. Afterward, Tristan took me to a couple of boutiques to buy clothes. They were a little too showy for my style, so I let him pick them out as I tried them on. He seemed to enjoy himself as much as a guy could and selected several sundresses. He bought a few things for himself, too, and we stopped for groceries.

  Time passed strangely—sometimes charging forward, bringing us toward reality way too quickly, and other times seeming to stand still and it was just the two of us in our own world with no cares. We did what we wanted. We sat on our beach and swam, sometimes skinny dipping. Tristan disappeared for a few minutes one day and came back with snorkeling gear, so we snorkeled around our little beach. Well, I snorkeled; Tristan could hold his breath apparently for hours. We prepared new recipes every night, taking turns choosing what to make. We made love . . . I lost count how many times, but a lot. We stayed in bed as long as we wanted, just talking.

  “When we do have children, how many do you want?” I asked him one morning as we snuggled in bed.

  “If it were possible, I’d love to have twenty with you,” he said. “Making them is a lot of fun.”

  “Twenty? I’d be barefoot and pregnant forever . . . or at least until the Ang’dora. I was thinking maybe three or four.”

  He chuckled. “Whatever would make you happy would make me happy. However, Amadis daughters usually only have one baby—a daughter. That is all that is needed.”

  “Really? Just one?” My heart sunk. “I want a boy . . . who is just like you.”

  Tristan’s brows furrowed. “Wouldn’t be a good idea.”

  “What do you mean? You’re perfect!” I kissed his chin.

  He smiled. “You are perfect, ma lykita. And I hope our daughter will be just like you. Although, there’ll be problems when she gets older, since her old man and her mom seem to have anger issues.”

  “Yeah, we’ll have to make Stefan or Owen her bodyguard to keep her out of trouble and to keep us from killing any poor, innocent boys.”

  “There’s no such thing as an innocent boy and that’s what I’d be worried about.”

  I laughed. “So . . . you said we usually have only one baby. Is there any chance I can have a boy?”

  “There’s a possibility. Boy-girl twins run in your family.”

  “Twins? Cool! I wonder what the chances are . . . .”

  “I hope not much.” His eyes darkened. “Trust me—we really don’t want a boy.”

  “That’s not fair. You get your little girl. I just want a little Tristan.”

  He grunted. “If it does happen, we will not name him Tristan Junior.”

  “No, we won’t,” I agreed. “You are my Tristan. I just know he’ll be like you. But what would you name him?”

  “Never thought about it.”

  “I’ve always
liked Dorian.”

  “Then, if we have a boy, his name will be Dorian.” He peered down at me. “But I’m serious, Alexis. Don’t get your hopes up for a boy.”

  I didn’t like his tone, but didn’t want to argue, either. “So what about our daughter’s name?”

  “Hmm . . . we don’t make that decision. Rina will likely name her. It must carry on the Amadis royalty’s tradition.”

  I frowned. “That’s not very fair either. We should get to name our own child.”

  “We can make suggestions. Alexis had been my idea for you.”

  I stared at him open-mouthed. “Seriously?”

  He nodded, grinning.

  “Okay, that’s just weird. You named your future wife?”

  He laughed. “We are weird, my love. Rina trusted me even then, had me sit in on council meetings. They asked me my opinion and I gave it to them. It fits you perfectly. It means protector or defender.”

  “Yeah, I looked it up once a long time ago and I thought it was an oxymoron for me. At least until I punched that guy in the face. I’m not proud I broke his nose, but no one calls my mom a whore.” I cringed with a thought. “Of course, that was just the first guy I punched.”

  Tristan chuckled and hugged me again. “Ma lykita. My fierce little protector.”

  “And you are my ultimate warrior.”

  “I’ll fight for you until the end of my days.”

  “That would be forever.”

  “As long as you are by my side, I hope that is true.”

  ***

  We had many similar discussions about our future plans, keeping them on a happy note, avoiding the dark parts threatening our strange lives. It was easy to forget about our dangerous situation, because it felt like we lived in our own personal paradise. Like Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden . . . before Satan’s visit.

  By the end of the second week, though, my mood shifted. Classes started soon and the legal wedding approached, too. Unless something changed our plans, we’d have to go home. I cherished our peaceful time at the beach house and didn’t want it to end. On the other hand, we both grew a bit antsy, feeling somewhat confined.