by T L Swan
His eyes fix on mine. “Playing hard to get, I see?” He jerks his tie hard as he undoes it.
“I am hard to get.” I tap the bed beside me. “But tonight, I’m easy to fuck.”
He chuckles as he sits beside me. “How convenient. I happen to be in the fucking market myself.” He bends and kisses me, and I smile against his lips.
His hand runs up the inside of my inner thigh and then swipes down and through my wet sex . . . this all feels so natural.
Too natural.
As if he was always meant to touch me . . . as if he always has.
No. Not tonight. I want some power in this exchange. He’s doing what I want. He’s pleasing me.
I arch my back and spread my legs. “Feeling hungry?” I ask.
His eyes flicker with arousal, and he smiles darkly. “Fucking oath I am.” He stands and tears his jacket over his shoulders and throws it to the side with urgency. “Starving, actually.” He grabs a paper bag from the inside pocket and then pulls out a box of condoms. “Do you know how many fucking pharmacies I just went to to find these?”
I chuckle.
“I couldn’t find one. I even contemplated going into the brothel on the corner and offering them a hundred dollars for a box.”
“I’m not going to ask you how you know that there’s a brothel on the corner.” I raise my eyebrow.
He frowns, realizing what he’s just revealed. “Shut up, Siri.” He unzips his trousers and pushes them down, revealing his hard, thick cock.
My stomach flutters, and I giggle in excitement. It’s like Christmas morning, and I’m watching my presents being unwrapped.
This time with him is different. I’m not nervous or scared. I’m excited, because I know how good this night is going to be.
He drops to his knees beside the bed and pulls me over to him and then spreads my legs and studies me there.
My breath catches as I watch him. This is strangely intimate . . . but it’s okay, because it’s him. And I know how much he loves my body.
I don’t have one insecurity when I’m naked with him. He wouldn’t let me even if I did.
“Ohh,” he whispers darkly. “I missed this pretty pussy.” He kisses me there with an open mouth, and I reach down and put my fingers in his hair. His thick tongue swipes through my flesh, and I smile as I watch him.
Tristan Miles doesn’t go down on women for them . . . he does it for himself.
He loves it.
It’s his favorite thing; he could do it for an hour, and I would still have to drag him up to me.
My back arches in pleasure, and I whimper. His licks are hard and slow, measured for the perfect pressure.
We get into a rhythm, and my body begins to shudder. He smiles into me.
He links our fingers on my thigh. Our eyes are locked and . . . oh God.
He’s perfect.
The way he holds my hand as he eats me. The way he looks at me.
The way he enjoys it.
No wonder I’m addicted to this man; he’s the world’s greatest lover.
He begins to flick his tongue in a practiced move, and I convulse.
Shit.
I have no defense against him when he does that. I begin to moan.
He spreads my legs farther apart, his hands on my inner thighs. His entire face is wet with my arousal now, and I begin to writhe under him.
It hits me like a freight train, and I scream out in wonder. He smiles into me as his eyes close in pleasure once more.
The shock waves of the world’s strongest orgasm shudder through me, and then he picks me up and throws me over onto my knees. I hear the telling rip of the condom packet, and then he twists my ponytail around his hand and pulls me back onto his cock.
Oh God . . . he’s in that mood . . . he’s going to ride me home . . . literally.
He hisses as he slides in deep, and my body shakes, still too sensitive from his tongue.
I drop my shoulders into the mattress, unable to hold myself up, and he jerks me back up onto his cock by the hair and slaps my behind. “Up,” he commands in a growl.
I smile. Oh, I love him like this.
He slowly slides in . . . and then slides out. In and then out. He gives his cock a delicious deep circle, taking his time to stretch me. No matter how turned on he is, he’s always careful to prepare my body. He knows he’s a big man, and his experience shows. “You all right?” he breathes.
I nod.
“Answer me.”
“Yes,” I whimper. But I’m not all right; sex with Tristan is not all right . . . it’s a blinding light. So much more than all right.
It’s everything.
He slides out, and the sound of my wet arousal sucks in the air. “It’s time for you to learn a lesson, Anderson,” he whispers.
I smile. “Siri to you.”
He chuckles and slams in hard, and I cry out.
Ouch.
He gives me a few hard pumps.
“What’s the lesson?” I whimper, his grip on my hair near painful.
“You don’t get to break up with me.” He pumps me hard, and I nearly bounce headfirst into the wall. “We don’t end . . . until we both decide.” He slams me hard again, and it’s so good that my body begins to ripple around him once more.
He jerks me by the hair, and I smile up at the ceiling, his cock riding me in hard, measured strokes.
“Do you understand me?” he pants.
“No.” I giggle.
Slap. His hand comes down on my behind.
“Ouch,” I whimper.
His hips pick up the pace. “We don’t end . . . until we fucking end.” The bed begins to hit the wall with force. His grip is painful.
“Tell me you fucking understand,” he moans.
Butterflies flutter deep in my stomach. Hearing the arousal in his voice does things to me. “Yes,” I pant.
“Yes what?” he growls.
“I understand.”
He lets go and really lets me have it, and it’s beautiful and blinding, and I’m sure the concierge is going to be knocking on the door any moment because the bed is hitting the wall so hard that I’m positive we’re causing structural damage.
“Fuck,” he moans, his voice deep and guttural. “Anderson . . . fuck me,” he growls, losing control. “Fuck me harder.” His grip tightens, his pumps get harder, and God, this is next-level incredible.
I screw up my face as I try to hold it, and he slaps my behind again. I scream out, and I clench as I come in a rush. He holds himself deep, and I feel his cock jerk hard inside of me.
He lets me go, lays me down, rolls me onto my back, and then slides back into my body. His lips take mine with a tenderness I’ve never known.
We stare at each other for a prolonged moment, and I can feel his cock gently pulsating inside of me as it tries to completely empty itself.
“I missed you, Anderson,” he whispers as he brushes the hair back from my face.
I stare up at him, shocked. An unwelcome emotion overwhelms me, and I blink to stop the tears.
This isn’t how this is supposed to go.
I expected a booty call, but this feels special and intimate.
We kiss, and I feel my heart constrict in my chest. This was a bad idea.
I want to go home.
Chapter 13
I wake to the feeling of gentle kisses dusting my shoulder, and I smile sleepily.
He’s here.
There’s no mistaking waking up next to Tristan.
His cheek comes to mine from behind. “Morning.” I smile.
“Anderson,” he purrs.
I chuckle and turn toward him so he can kiss the side of my face again.
What a night.
Ecstasy doesn’t come close to where this man takes me. His touch is otherworldly.
“I’ve got to go, babe,” he murmurs. “I have a meeting in like half an hour on the other side of town.”
“Okay.” I smile. I roll over to face him, and we stare at each othe
r for a moment. I bring my hand up and run it through his dark stubble.
“When will I see you?” he asks.
My heart drops. I know this isn’t going anywhere, and I have to rip off the Band-Aid. “You won’t. This can’t go on, Tris.”
His eyes hold mine, and a frown crosses his brow, but he stays silent.
“I wish things were different,” I say softly as I lean in and kiss his lips. “I really do.” I concentrate on my fingers in his stubble. They distract me from my heart telling me to stop talking.
“I have my kids, and I don’t do casual, and I can’t do a relationship. And even if I could, it’s not the life you want.”
He exhales deeply, knowing I’m right. His eyes drop away from mine.
“We’re so good together,” I whisper as I pull his face back to me. “In . . . in another life, we could have been great. Just not this one.”
His eyes search mine, and I feel like he has so much to say but is choosing to remain silent.
“Promise me something.”
“What?” He sighs, unimpressed.
“Promise me . . . that sometimes . . . you’ll think of me.”
Our eyes are locked. “No, I can’t do that, Anderson . . . if I can’t have you, I don’t want to think about you.”
I smile sadly and lean in and kiss him. Our faces screw up together.
This is goodbye.
We stare at each other, and he runs his fingers over my face, as if memorizing every inch. “I wish things were different,” he whispers.
“Me too.”
He frowns, and I know he wants one last time. He goes to lie over me.
“I can’t, Tris.” I shake my head, emotional overload threatening. “I just can’t.”
He clenches his jaw and gets out of bed in a rush. He dresses in silence as I lie and watch him.
“You know I’m right,” I whisper.
He does his tie, refusing to look at me.
“Are you going to say anything?” I ask.
“Nope.” He pulls his jacket over his shoulders and retrieves his expensive watch from the bathroom and pats his pockets as he makes sure he has everything. He goes to the door, and I hold my breath as I watch him.
“Tris.”
He turns back to me.
“Can . . . can you say something, please?”
“What do you want me to say, Claire?”
Tears threaten. “Anything?”
His eyes hold mine for a beat, and finally he speaks. “Goodbye.”
I swallow the lump in my throat . . . not that.
He turns and leaves. The door clicks closed, and I stare at the back of it.
He would have fought me if he wanted it.
He didn’t.
And now I know.
I stand under the hot water and let it stream over my head. I’ve had the worst week.
Busy at work, and I’ve been moping around about Tristan, and I don’t know why. I did the right thing.
We were never going anywhere, and I knew that, but it still stung.
I just wish he wasn’t so perfect.
Maybe with kids I’ll just never meet someone, and I get it. I’m a lot to take on—any single mother is.
Maybe my happiness won’t come until they all move out . . . I just have to be patient.
My phone dances around on the bathroom vanity, and I peer out to see the name Marley light up the screen. I jump out and answer it. Something must be wrong. “Hello.”
“Hi, oh my God. You will never guess who I am looking at right now.”
I frown. “Who?”
“I’m in Portabella’s, the Italian restaurant we’ve been wanting to come to.”
“Who with?”
“My aunt. Guess who’s here?”
“Who?”
“Tristan Miles.”
I frown.
“Guess who he’s here with?”
“Who?” Don’t tell me—I really don’t want to know.
“Avril Mason.”
“The fashion editor?” I frown.
“Yes, they’re on a date. She grabbed his hand over the table before.”
My heart drops. “Oh well, I don’t care.” I act brave.
“Yeah, I know. Just thought you would want to know.”
“Not really.” I close my eyes as the walls close in. “I’m in the shower. I’ll see you tomorrow? Thanks for the update.”
“Yeah, sure thing.”
I hang up and get back under the shower and exhale heavily.
Well, that’s it. He’s moved on. Didn’t take much.
I should have gone out on a date with a less dangerous option.
A man I couldn’t fall for.
Oh well, it is what it is.
Tristan
“Well?” She smiles sexily. “Tell me.” She sucks on her finger seductively. “How many times a day do you think about me?”
I stare at the woman sitting across the table from me. Avril Mason: she’s beautiful, ticks all the right boxes. Natural blonde, killer body, twenty-eight, a successful fashion editor—she has been on my radar for years, but we have never been single at the same time. I went on one date with her before I went to France for the conference. After that I thought we were going somewhere. Not so much now. I should be obsessed with her; I should be chasing her around New York and falling hopelessly in love.
What I’m doing is neither of those things.
I’m dreaming of a fiery brunette. That woman has gotten under my skin.
I can’t get Claire fucking Anderson out of my head. This is my third date with Avril, and every damn time I’ve spent the entire evening dreaming of Claire. It’s getting to where I have to either step up and do the deed with Avril or stop seeing her. This is not my style. I fuck whomever I want, whenever I want. Doing the deed is never an issue. Especially with someone I know I want.
Usually, I close the deal on the first night or, at the least, the second. This is my third date with Avril, and as she sits across from me—and as usual—I find myself wondering what Claire is doing.
What is it about her that has me captivated?
She’s wrong for me . . . in every sense. There is nothing that we have in common, and she’s right—we live different lives in different worlds.
Avril picks her phone up and pouts and takes a selfie. She instantly posts it on her Instagram and tags the restaurant.
I watch her in a strange detached state.
Why is she so unattractive to me, when I know for a fact that she’s beautiful?
What did that fucking Claire Anderson do to my sex drive?
My dick may as well have shriveled up and died. He doesn’t want anybody but her.
And I don’t get it, because I’ve dated some beautiful women over the years and yet have never had this happen before. I’ve always had to try to reign in my sex drive, control it to be loyal. It’s been a conscious decision.
But now, nobody seems to be good enough to make him even think about wanting to come out and party. Now my traitorous body has only one woman on its mind.
I sip my red wine, annoyed with myself.
Snap the fuck out of this.
Claire Anderson is no good for you. Stop thinking about her.
Witch.
If I had my time again with Claire, I’d give it to her good. I’d break her in half. I get a vision of her riding my cock the other night, and I clench in appreciation . . . so fucking hot.
What am I doing here?
“Well?” Avril asks.
Huh? I glance up from my daydream. Did she say something? “I’m sorry?” I ask.
“I said, let’s go back to my place,” she whispers. “I’ve made you wait long enough; it’s time.”
I smirk, amused that she thinks she’s made me wait. Poor deluded woman.
I don’t want this.
“I have to be up early tomorrow . . . rain check?” I ask.
“Are you serious?”
I hesitate, hardly
able to believe it myself. “Yeah, I am.” I sigh.
Her eyes hold mine. “You’re just not into me, are you?”
I puff air into my cheeks, feeling guilty. “It’s not you. It’s me.” I sigh. “I’m sorry.” I shrug. “I have no excuse, because you’re perfect.”
She gives me a lopsided smile. “Do you want to talk about it in bed?”
I chuckle and sip my red wine. “As tempting as that is . . . no.”
“So this is our last date?”
I wince. “I think so.”
“I really thought we had something.” She pulls a whiny face, and as I stare at her, I remember Claire teasing me with that exact line, as if she knew I heard it often.
And I do . . . but I never knew how it felt to hear it from someone I cared about.
It sucks.
I read the report as Fletcher stands in front of me, nervously waiting for my opinion.
A smile crosses my face. He’s worked hard on this; I can tell. “This is good, Fletch.”
“Really?”
“I like it. I would have perhaps added a little more information on projected earnings for the first quarter.” I look up at him. “But it’s good. You did well this week.”
He smiles. “Thanks.” He turns to walk out, and I notice it’s dark outside. I kept him later than usual. “How are you getting home?”
“Subway,” he says.
“I can give you a lift if you want.”
He frowns. “You want to drive me home?”
“No. I’m offering you a lift because it’s Friday night, and I know you’ve missed your usual train. And besides, your mother will have a conniption if something were to happen to you.”
“Ah.” He thinks about it.
“Contrary to what you believe, Fletcher, I’m not the devil. I have no plans to kill you and bury you in a ditch on a deserted road.”
And besides, I want to see your mother.
“See, the fact that you said that . . . is just creepy,” he mutters dryly.
I chuckle. “Was a little.” I turn off my computer. “Okay, let’s go.”
Twenty minutes later we arrive at my parking space, and Fletcher’s eyes nearly pop out of his head. “This is your car?”
“Nice, huh?” The lights blink as I unlock it.
He whistles as he walks around it. “A brand-new Aston Martin.”
“Uh-huh.”
“In sapphire black.” He gasps in awe.
