All I felt was bliss. The perfect ecstasy of knowing he was mine and I was his. That we were sharing a moment like this—one that I knew I’d always have, no matter what else happened.
Suddenly, he was lifting me and turning me. I barely had time to figure out what was happening before I felt myself being sat on the windowsill, my upper back against the closed portion of the window. Tristan kicked his pants free, where they slid a few feet down the roof before coming to a stop. He gripped my thighs, urging me tighter around him and driving his cock so deep into me that I couldn’t believe there was room.
I gasped, burying my face in his neck and digging my fingers into his back. I slid them under his shirt, exploring the warm hardness of his body as he pumped relentlessly into me.
I was gasping out loud, probably making enough noise that someone on the main road could’ve heard me, but I couldn’t manage to make myself stop or care.
“I fucking love you,” Tristan grunted in my ear as his body tensed.
“I love you too. Fucking, love you,” I added with a smirk he couldn’t see.
He groaned, and just as my own body started to shudder with climax, he pulled himself free and I felt the warmth of his release cover me from my chest to my stomach. He stared down at my body, eyes so hungry I thought he was going to go for another round right then and there. Instead, he ran his thumb across my bare breast, collecting some of his release. He held it in front of my mouth, and I didn’t need to be told to know what he wanted.
I gripped his wrist and sucked it clean, savoring the look on his face as he let out a slow sigh. “That would’ve been a lot harder if you were still in your chair.”
I laughed suddenly. “Really? That is where your mind goes?”
He smirked, then went to retrieve his pants. Somehow, even with an erection and a bare ass, he managed to look like the sexiest thing to walk the planet as he skidded his way down the roof and grabbed them. “Hey,” he said. “Keep looking at me like that, and I’m going to fuck you again. But this time it’ll be to fulfill my other fantasy that I’ve had for the last ten minutes. To fuck you beneath that tree.”
“You say that like it’s a threat.”
Tristan’s eyebrow rose, and in that moment, I realized the ride had just begun.
46
Tristan
As promised, a professional cleaning crew eventually showed up at my house. They had a key, and had apparently been warned about the grumpy, sole inhabitant of the property. They didn’t even seem bothered when I came grumbling out of my room in the morning, asking what the hell was going on.
Within two hours, the place was near spotless, and I knew I was going to need to throw another party. My dad called a little while after.
I considered letting him to go voicemail, like usual, but I was in particularly good spirits, so I picked up.
“This is forsaken son speaking. How can I help you?”
“Tristan. Stop fucking around. I need you out of that house.”
“Inconvenient, isn’t it? Next time you want your spawn to follow orders, you might want to keep a closer eye on them. Maybe don’t leave them behind when you fly to California for a three-year vacation?”
“Save it. I didn’t call to listen to you bitch and moan about—”
I hung up the phone.
Correction. I wasn’t just going to throw a party tonight. I was going to throw so many parties in this place that my dear old man would be lucky if it was still standing by the time his realtor came back again.
I spent the first few periods at school spreading the word.
At lunch, Gage brought up the party in conversation, which prompted Kennedy to give me one of her looks.
“What?” I asked.
She brushed off the question, but after school, she brought it up again in the parking lot. I was headed to the locker room to talk to coach, who had asked me to come talk about the results of the drug test he’d given me a couple days ago. If I passed it, I was back on the team.
“You’re sure you want to keep doing this with your dad?” She asked.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
She had developed a habit of fiddling with my clothes when we talked, and I’d consequently developed a habit of thinking it was fucking adorable. She pulled at the hem of my shirt, rubbing her thumb over it as she chewed her lip, clearly trying to find the right words. “I want to see you happy. I guess I just hate that your family is still—” she shook her head.
“Shitty?”
Kennedy gave an almost apologetic shrug.
“My mom and dad. Yes. But my sister is just getting brainwashed. God knows what kind of shit they’ve told her about me by now, but they’ve had three years to turn her against me. Still, I don’t blame her for any of it. Maybe when she’s older and out of their lives a little, she’ll come around.”
“But what if you just moved on from it? That house is the last thing your dad has that he can use to control you.”
“And it’s the only thing he cares about I can fuck up.”
She smiled sadly. “That’s really what you want?”
I touched her cheek, giving her a kiss on the forehead to soften what I was about to say. “You’ve taught me to be different. Better, at times. And even though I’ve got a big ass, wheelchair shaped soft spot for you—”
She interrupted me with a little punch to my chest.
Ignoring her, I continued. “But if anyone ever fucks with me or someone I care about they aren’t getting the new and improved version of me. They’re getting the twisted, vengeful version. The one who will absolutely do everything in his power to punish them.”
She looked like she was thinking deeply about what I was saying as she plucked a stray hair from my sleeve, then brushed the spot with her fingertips. Even the innocent touch made my skin prickle with goosebumps.
“Only the bad guys?” she asked.
“What?”
“You’ll only be like that to the bad guys, right?”
“As long as the definition of ‘bad guy’ is someone who hurts you in any way, or someone who crosses me, then yes. Only the bad guys.”
With a little sigh and a smile, she nodded. “Then I guess I’ll just have to live with that, because I apparently fell in love with a little bit of a dark hero, didn’t I?”
I chuckled, then threaded my fingers behind her lower back, pulling her in closer. “A hero, huh?”
“A dark hero,” she corrected.
“You say that like it detracts from the compliment.”
“Stay with me,” she said suddenly.
“Coach actually wanted me to—”
“I don’t mean right now. I mean… My house. Whatever happens with your dad and the house. Stay with me. If it’s too weird, you can sleep in my room and I’ll sleep downstairs, or—”
I couldn’t help smiling. “Before I respond to any of that. I just have to stop you there. You really think I’d be worried about how ‘weird’ it is to share a bed with you every night? Are you sure you’ve met me?”
She plopped her forehead into my chest, looking down. “I didn’t want to freak you out. I know we’re just in high school, and the whole moving in together thing is so far from normal.”
“We are far from normal, Wheels. After all. I’m the dark hero and you’re my wheelchair-bound sidekick.”
She playfully whacked her fist into my stomach. I grunted, flinching back a little from surprise. If she kept practicing her punches on me, they were going to start hurting before long.
“Formerly wheelchair-bound,” I added.
She lifted her eyes to mine, looking like a goddamn angel. I ran my thumb down the freckled bridge of her nose, smirking at the way she wrinkled her eyes and smiled. “Well?” She asked.
“Oh. I thought the answer was obvious. You wanted to know if I’d prefer to have that tight, gorgeous little—”
She pushed a finger to my lips, looking around the parking lot at the other kids who were heading t
o their cars.
“Skip a few words and continue that sentence,” she said, slowly removing her finger from my lips.
“Pussy of yours sleep next to me every night,” I continued, “the answer is yes.”
She frowned. “Which words did you skip?”
“An entire paragraph about how good it feels when it’s wrapped around my c—”
She bounced on her tiptoes and shut me up with a kiss. Not one to complain, I let her.
“Joking aside,” I said. “I appreciate that. Even if you’re probably going to get kicked out of your place around the same time as me, given that you have no way to pay the mortgage.”
“About that,” she said. “My dad offered to come live at the house with me. He said he could take over the mortgage and the bills. He works remotely, so he wouldn’t even need to find a new job.”
“And he knows you just invited your well-endowed boyfriend to live with you as part of this arrangement?”
“Um,” she said. “Minus the well-endowed part, I kind of told him it was a requirement of the arrangement.”
I squinted my eyes at her. “And he agreed?”
“I’ve been burned from trusting someone I thought I knew before. I wouldn’t be very wise to trust someone I just met to live in the same house with me, would I?”
I nodded. “To tell the truth, if I knew you were going to let him move in, I probably would’ve set up a sleeping bag outside your window, anyway.”
“You realize you’d slide right off the roof, don’t you?”
“What?” I asked.
“I just mean literally speaking. There’d be almost no friction. You’d go flying into the yard like a torpedo. Sorry,” she added. “A well-endowed torpedo.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
After saying goodbye to Kennedy and getting her to promise she’d come to the party I was throwing that she wasn’t thrilled about, I headed to the locker room to meet with coach.
47
Kennedy
I didn’t need to guess when Tristan’s party had started because, as usual, I could hear the music from my house. I walked down the path, careful not to get run over by the seemingly endless stream of cars that were heading down the road or parking outside the gate in my back yard.
Despite the chaos, it gave me time to think. Ever since my mom got taken away, it felt like my life was moving too fast to keep up with. There was everything that happened with my dad. The calls from lawyers and the meetings with police to endlessly go over details—all while feeling slimy because telling the truth felt like condemning my mom.
Of course, there was Tristan, too.
My dark hero. I smiled a little at the thought.
Was he perfect? No. Real people weren’t. He’d probably always have a cruel side. A side that was prone to overreacting and vengefulness. Tristan could be ruthless, and I thought I probably knew it as well as anyone. But all those qualities had a positive side—the side I’d seen him show when he turned them on my problems. He was able to step into my life and be exactly who I needed. And I loved him for that.
Just like I still loved my mom for all the things she had done to take care of me. I’d always be mad about what she did, but it didn’t mean I was going to stop loving her. Just like I wasn’t going to stop loving Tristan because he was recklessly trying to destroy his father’s multi-million-dollar mansion with an endless barrage of parties.
I guessed the two of them had taught me their own lessons about love. Love wasn’t something you searched for, found, and locked away to cherish. It was more like my weeds. You showed up every day with your little pail of water. You drizzled some water on them, maybe sang a few songs, and you enjoyed it. You kept working on it even when you didn’t know how it would turn out. And one day, you realized it didn’t matter what it grew into, or if it was ever perfect. All that mattered was the moments you found along the way. Those little, fleeting glimpses of perfect. Memories you might catch if you were quick enough.
Love was imperfect down to its core. It was ugly. Sometimes cruel. Sometimes it was ruthless. Sometimes it would make you want to scream in anger. But I wouldn’t trade the people I loved for anything.
Tristan spotted me at the end of the path where the trees opened up to his yard. He moved through the crowd toward me, tall and so darkly handsome he looked like something out of a dream. His eyes smoldered, like his brain was already filling with visions of the things he wanted to do to me.
Behind him, the house and the property were practically beating with the pulse of hundreds of high school kids partying like it was the end of the world. It was absolute mayhem, and Tristan was the architect.
Before he reached me, a stupid, silly idea flittered into my mind that I knew I couldn’t resist. I threw a hand to my forehead, poorly pantomiming a fainting spell. I meant to just lightly lay myself down on the path, but a group of guys behind me jostled me when I stopped for my little act. It sent me rolling down the path and into one of the bushes.
A moment later, strong hands fished me out and I was being carried over Tristan’s shoulder.
“What is it with you and my bushes?”
He walked me up to the front porch, making my body jostle with every step of his long legs. I sheepishly waved to a few people I recognized on the way in, including Logan and Gage, who were talking with a group of girls by the stairs. They rolled their eyes when Logan carried me up toward his room like some kind of caveman who had found his prize for the night.
I noticed Haisley slipping into one of the other rooms upstairs with a guy I didn’t recognize. I pursed my lips. Good for her.
Tristan kicked the door closed behind us and tossed me on his bed. “This time, I’m going to do what I wanted the first time I plucked you out of my bushes.”
“Liar,” I said, scooting back on his bed. “Unless you mean you’re about to murder me.”
“If you die from this, it’ll go down in history as the most brutal sex ever recorded.”
I laughed. “Ever recorded? Where’s the camera?”
Tristan stripped off his shirt. “No more talking.”
He climbed on top of me and kissed me softly.
“What happened to brutal, murderous sex?” I whispered.
He pressed his nose to my neck, breathing in deeply. “Sometimes I just want to hold you.” There was a short pause. “And if you tell anyone I said that, the brutal, murderous sex will come next.”
I rolled him to the side, which would’ve been impossible if he resisted. I slid myself behind him, spooning against his back, “You like being the little spoon, too?”
Tristan growled and pinned me down by my wrists, holding my hands over my head. “Think you’re funny, don’t you, Wheels?”
“Sometimes,” I said.
“Yeah, me too,” he admitted. “But I’m not above pretending to be annoyed so I have an excuse to go rough on you.”
I wiggled my eyebrows. “I’m not the frail little thing on a million pills anymore. Be as rough as you want.”
He considered that. “You were never frail, Kennedy. Not then. Not now. Okay?”
I nodded. I felt silly for it, but his words made my chest feel heavy and my eyes want to water. “Okay,” I said. “But now you’re getting the wrong part of me wet.”
Tristan wiped a tear with his thumb. “It’s called multi-tasking.”
Epilogue - Kennedy
I could hardly believe it, but my mom’s trial was finally over. Eventually, I’d figured out a way to get through it without losing my sanity. My mom did need help, and if I loved her, I’d do everything in my power to make sure she wound up in a mental institution instead of a penal one.
With the help of a lawyer, we made it happen.
And then there was everything that had happened once Tristan moved in with me and my dad. The best part was watching how he couldn’t help squirming as my dad tried to become the father figure he’d never had. I knew he’d probably rather die a slow, painf
ul death than admit it, but Tristan appreciated it. I’d even caught the two of them playing catch in the yard a few times—complete with my totally out of shape dad nearly killing himself trying to keep up as he ran for passes. Tristan, being Tristan, drilled every ball at my dad as hard as he could, but I’d seen the hint of a grin on his face, too.
But it wasn’t all fun and games. Surviving the trial had been an ordeal in itself, and now I guessed it was the part of the process where I started visiting her and trying to repair the damage.
A nurse let me in to see my mom, who was sitting in a room that was at least a little nicer than a prison cell. It was aggressively white, with the only splash of color being the baby blue of her uncomfortable looking bed and curtains. Her window had a view of one of Maine’s many stretches of dark forest.
She was sitting on the edge of her bed, stony faced and as imposing as ever. She was rocking slightly, as if to some song no one else could hear.
“Hey,” I said softly.
She looked up at me. We had seen each other plenty of times during the trial, but this was my first time coming to visit her since our big blowup before the police took her. It was our first time actually talking, and I had no idea what to expect.
“I hate knowing you’re off your meds,” she said.
I felt like a little of the air seeped out of me. I knew she’d only been here a few days, but I’d hoped some part of the trial would’ve at least made her see the whole thing was a delusion. “I feel great, though.”
“For now.”
Change the subject. The whole medicine thing was why she was here, I reminded myself. They’d have years to work with her to rewire her brain and fix that, if it could be fixed.
Ruthless Love Page 20
