by T L Swan
“Claire, I make important decisions every day. Decisions worth millions of dollars. I am not flippant nor easily distracted. I’ve been with a lot of women, and this thing with you—it isn’t going away. It’s only getting stronger, and I know what I want.”
My eyes search his. “What’s that?”
“I want you, Claire. From the moment I left Paris, I have wanted you.”
Hope blooms in my chest.
“I went away and thought about my preconceived ideas and what being with you means. Nobody else interests me in the slightest, and sure . . .” He pauses. “I’ll admit it—the boys freaked me out at first . . . and I didn’t handle that too well. But then I realized that they are a part of you, and if I want you, I have to want them. I have a long way to go with them, but we’ll get there eventually.”
I remember how fast he ran out the first day he met them. It was like a comedy skit, only worse.
He takes my hand. “Claire. When I’m with you, I don’t want to be anywhere else. I would rather sleep on your lounge than be alone at my apartment.”
I listen.
“Because I’m close to you . . . and . . . . I’m close to them.”
My eyes well with tears once more at the mention of my children.
He gets it.
“I want to try,” he whispers. “I want to try the proper relationship thing—girlfriend, kids, house in the suburbs, and the mangy animals.”
I smile over at the dreamy man sitting in front of me. “I’m a lot to take on, Tris.”
“Claire.” He pauses, as if searching for the right words. “The way you make me feel is worth anything,” he whispers.
We stare at each other. The air swirls between us, and God, if I didn’t love this man before, I just might now.
“Are you sure? You’re sure?”
He rolls his eyes. “Positive.”
“And you’ll tell me straightaway if things change?” I whisper. “Because I completely understand if it all gets too much. I would never want you to stay if you didn’t want to.”
“You have my word.”
I think on this for a moment. I had made plans in case it all worked out. “We need some time alone to work this out. I’m going to come and stay in New York with you for the weekend,” I say.
He frowns. “How?”
“The kids can go to my parents’ for the weekend. But Fletcher will need to take Monday off, if that’s okay.”
He comes around to my side of the table. “He can take the whole fucking week off.” He kisses me, and it’s soft and tender. I feel myself melt against him. We hug and hold each other tight. “I’ve missed you,” I whisper.
He nips my bottom lip with his teeth, and I smile against him. “You’re going to pay for putting me through this shit.”
“I can’t wait,” I whisper. “Do you really have a meeting?”
“Fuck it—unfortunately yes.”
My Uber pulls to a halt, and I pay the driver and get out as I peer up at the building in front of me. Tristan wanted his driver to come and collect me, but I didn’t want to make a fuss. It was easy getting here.
“Hello . . . Ms. Anderson?” a voice from behind me says.
I turn in surprise. “Yes?”
“I’m Calvin, Tristan’s driver. We met last month, on your arrival from Paris. He asked me to meet you and let you into his apartment. He’s been held up in a meeting.”
“Oh.” I grip my overnight bag with white-knuckle force. Why am I so nervous? “Of course.” I smile. “Thank you.”
“Can I take your bag for you?”
“No, thank you. I’ve got it.”
He nods with a kind smile. “Very well.”
He leads me in through the fancy foyer, and we get into the elevator. He pushes the number fourteen.
I don’t know what to say, so I say nothing at all. How many women has he shown up to Tristan’s apartment in the past?
Stop it.
Why would that even cross my mind? And why would I let it bother me anyway?
Everyone has a past, even me.
We ride in silence to the fourteenth floor, and the doors open. I follow him down the wide, glamorous corridor, and he passes me a key. “This is the apartment.” He opens the door with his own key and stands back to let me in. “Will you be needing anything else, Ms. Anderson?”
“No.” I smile awkwardly. It’s been a long time since I’ve been called Ms. “Thank you.”
He turns to walk down the corridor.
“Oh, Calvin?” I ask.
“Yes.” He turns back toward me.
“Did Tristan say how long he would be?” I ask.
“I’m going back to his office now to collect him, and in this traffic, he’ll be another hour.”
“Okay.” I smile. Good—that gives me enough time for a shower. “Thanks.”
I walk in and close the door, and I look around. I scratch the back of my neck in confusion. “Holy shit,” I whisper. For five minutes my eyes drink in the visual sensation. Tristan’s words from lunch come back to me: “I would rather sleep on your cement lounge than be alone in my apartment.”
“You poor, stupid man,” I whisper out loud. “What could be better than here?”
I drop my bag off my shoulder with a thud. The apartment is gigantic. My house would fit in here four times. It’s an old warehouse that’s been converted. The perimeter has huge glass windows, the floor is polished concrete, and the place has a super-trendy industrial vibe. Huge colorful rugs soften the floor, and the walls have colorful abstract art everywhere. The furniture is modern and minimalistic.
“Wow.” I walk through the living area. It has a huge slouchy navy couch. A three-seater and a two-seater and two one-seaters. A big chunky timber coffee table in the middle, and a gigantic television. I walk through to the kitchen—chunky timber and metal. An island sits in the middle with stools around it. I count them—nine in total. I look to the dining table and see that it seats eighteen. God, nine stools and eighteen chairs. How many friends does he have over for dinner at once?
I open the fridge and am surprised to see that it is fully stocked with healthy food.
Hmm, he must cook. Hell, I really don’t know him at all, do I?
I walk down the hallway, past an office, a gymnasium, another living area, a bathroom. Then finally a bedroom, another bedroom, another bedroom. What the hell? How many bedrooms are there? Another bedroom, and then I get to two big double doors that open into the master suite.
My eyes widen, and I break into a stupid giggle. My kids’ bedrooms would fit into his walk-in closet. Rows of expensive suits and shoes are all lined up. Everything is neat and in rows. It looks like a high-end men’s boutique. The bedroom walls are dark navy, the linen and furniture are white, and a huge pop art abstract is on the wall in hot pinks. Huge palms tower in big white pots, and it looks just like a magazine. I run my hand through the leaves of the palm as I look around. “Wow,” I whisper out loud. “Very impressive, Mr. Miles.” I peek into the bathroom to see it’s in a white stone; it’s huge, with a circular bathtub sitting in the center. “Just fucking wow.” I walk back out to the foyer and collect my bag in a rush. “Now to make myself utterly irresistible.”
I raise my eyebrows at the challenge. “Like that’s possible.”
I lie back in the deep bath. The room is steamy, the water is hot, and my glass of champagne is ice cold.
Now this . . . is living.
Starting my weekend away with a bang. I mean, how could I resist?
I put my feet up on the end of the bathtub and slide deep into the water with a relaxed smile.
From the corner of my eye I see something, and I look up to see Tristan. His hands are in the pockets of his expensive suit, and he’s leaning up against the doorjamb as he watches me. He gives me a slow, sexy smile. “Anderson.”
I smile and slide down a little deeper into the water. “You’re late.”
He jerks his tie hard as he pushes off the door toward m
e. “And you look spectacular in my bathtub.”
“Are you getting in?” I ask.
He smiles darkly as he tears his jacket over his shoulders. “I am most definitely . . . getting in.” He begins to unbutton his shirt.
I giggle. “Dirty bastard.”
“At your service.” He throws his shirt to the side, and my stomach flutters at the sight of his chest. Wide and muscular, with a scattering of dark hair that dwindles down to a small trail that disappears into his pants.
I smile into my glass of champagne as I watch. This is one hell of a strip show.
He slides his zipper down, and my breath catches as I see that his cock is hard and sitting up above the waistband of his black briefs. He’s hard from watching me.
What universe is this?
He kicks off his shoes and socks and slides his trousers down in one sharp movement, and I giggle like a schoolgirl.
“What is that laugh? I’ve never heard you do that before.”
I smile bashfully, embarrassed that he caught that.
“Is that a rain giggle?” he asks with a raised brow as he steps into the water.
I frown. “Rain giggle?”
“You know, the one you do before you get dripping wet?”
I laugh out loud. “You idiot,” I scoff. “I’m in a bath. I am dripping wet.”
His eyes dance with delight. “Admit it, Anderson—some places are wetter than others.” He sits down and pulls me over him as the water sloshes over the side and onto the floor. I laugh. For the first time in a long time, I feel so wild and free.
My legs straddle his, and his fingers slide through my open sex. He’s completely right. I’m so fucking wet right now.
His eyes are locked on mine as he slowly circles his fingers through my sex. “Now this is how you should greet me every day. Naked and wet.”
My mouth falls open. Oh God, that feels good.
We stare at each other as I float above him. It’s as if we have both been waiting to touch each other all week, and we can’t control ourselves any longer. Conversation is irrelevant when we are naked together. Our bodies speak for us.
He slowly slides a finger in, then two, and I wince as he pushes a third thick finger deep into my sex. He puts his mouth to my ear. “I want you to fuck my hand,” he whispers. “You clench hard, and you fuck my fingers, Anderson.”
My eyes roll back in my head. God, his dirty talk fries my brain. I could come just by listening to him. I begin to rock, and his eyes flicker with darkness. A sensuality runs between us. It’s dark and uninhibited, and for the first time since we’ve been together, I want to let go of all control.
I want to be owned.
My Tristan.
I rock hard, and he clenches his jaw as he watches me, salivating as he waits for his turn. My eyes close, and I tip my head back in ecstasy. “So good,” I whimper. “So. Fucking. Good.”
His bites my neck hard as he loses control. Our bodies writhe together in pleasure, the water sloshing like a water rapid. “Condom,” he whispers.
“No condom,” I stammer. “I’m on the pill.”
He stops still. His gaze meets mine, and his eyes darken. I can see the moment he loses control. “Get on my fucking cock.” In one quick movement he lifts me and impales me.
He’s deep, thick, and hard, and I cry out at his possession. “Tristan,” I whimper.
His hands go to my hip bones, and he begins to slide me up and over his body.
Our eyes are locked. Our jaws hang slack. The feeling is overwhelmingly good.
Too good.
I can’t hold it.
“I’m going to come,” I whimper.
He slams me down hard. “Don’t you fucking dare,” he growls.
My knees are up around his shoulders, and his body slams into me deep . . . so deep.
“Anderson,” he snaps to try to bring me back to the here and now.
I begin to shudder, and he clenches his jaw to try to stop it, but there’s no chance; it’s too good to stop.
Our movements are nearly violent, and the water is sloshing everywhere.
So big . . . so, so deep.
His eyes roll back in his head, and he slams me hard. I cry out, and he holds himself close. I feel the telling jerk as he comes inside my body. His cock quivers deep inside of me . . . so, so good to have his semen fill me. Perfection.
I see stars.
Perfect colored stars, in every shade of wonderful.
I fall against his chest, and he holds me tight. We pant as we cling to each other.
“So much for me playing hard to get,” he whispers.
“You were playing easy to fuck.” I smile against his chest.
He chuckles. “Yeah, I’m good at that game.”
I smile. “The master.”
Two hours later
I am crumpled and sleepy in Tristan’s bed. That was one hell of a sex session.
He fucked me every which way—so good that I’m in an orgasm-induced stupor.
His hand roams up and over my hip, and he kisses the side of my face. “I’m going to get us some dinner.”
“Hmm.” I smile dreamily with my eyes closed.
“I had planned on cooking, but I seriously can’t be fucked,” he murmurs. “I’ll get us some takeaway. I’m starving.”
“Hmm.”
He kisses me again and pulls me close and holds me tight. I smile at the feeling of him up against my body. “Back soon.”
I come to my senses, and I sit up on my elbow. “Wait, where are you going?”
“I’ll walk around the corner. There’s a strip of restaurants. What do you feel like?”
“Umm . . .” I frown as I try to wake myself up. “Do you want me to come?”
“You don’t have to.” He climbs out of bed.
I watch him dress, and I know I really should make an effort. “Get me some clothes, and I’ll come.”
He walks into his closet and retrieves a pair of his shorts and a baggy sweater. He throws them on top of me, and they hit my head. “Not those.” I smile. “My clothes.”
“No, I’m not going looking for your clothes. We’re going around the corner for two minutes. Throw them on.” He grabs my hand and pulls me out of bed. He yanks the sweater over my head, and I bend and pull the baggy gray Nike basketball shorts on.
I grab my elastic band and pull my hair up into a messy bun.
I look a complete disaster, and I put my arms out wide. “Still want to be my boyfriend?”
He looks me up and down and smiles mischievously. “Come to think of it . . .”
I giggle as he takes me into his arms. He kisses me as I wrap my arms around his neck. “I like having you here,” he whispers as he holds me close.
“I like being here.” Our lips touch, and I smile. “Impersonating you could be my new hobby.”
He chuckles as he pulls me by the hand. “I’m fucking starving, woman.”
We ride the elevator downstairs, and luckily nobody is in the foyer. I glance down at myself and cringe. Oh my God, I look appalling.
He takes my hand, and we walk out onto the street. So different to where I live. I catch sight of our reflection in the window, and I have to bite my lip to stop my huge goofy smile. We are holding hands in public. We’re really going to try this relationship thing.
Is this happening?
We turn the corner, and my eyes widen in horror. “Oh no, Tristan,” I whisper. The street is busy and bustling. “I look ridiculous.”
He puts his arm around me and pulls me close. “Shut up, Anderson. You look beautiful to me.” He kisses my temple, and I smile against him. “Just fucked—suits you.”
I smile up at my handsome date. He makes me feel beautiful. Never once since we’ve been together have I ever felt uncomfortable in my skin with him. Everything between us just feels so organic and natural. “What do you feel like, babe?” he asks as he looks along the street.
“Whatever. I like all food.” I smi
le.
He leads me farther down the street. The restaurants are all trendy and hip. Beautiful people are everywhere. “Thai?” he asks.
“Uh-huh.” I shrug. “Sounds good.”
We go in, and he orders. The foyer is packed with people, so we go back out on the street to wait. He is standing behind me with his arm around my neck, and we hear, “Tristan.”
We both turn to see a beautiful blonde woman. She’s wearing a tight black leather skirt that sits just above her knees with sky-high stilettos and a fitted hot-pink top. Her perfect blonde hair is styled to perfection, and I think she just might be the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen.
He smiles broadly. “Melina, hi.” He kisses her on the cheek as I stand back.
Her eyes come to me, and she looks me up and down.
“Melina, meet Claire,” he introduces me. “My girlfriend.”
Oh shit, he’s telling people already? Can’t I at least get used to it myself first?
Her mouth drops open as she stares at me. After a beat, she remembers her manners and puts her hand out. “Hi, I’m Melina . . . the ex-girlfriend.”
Oh fuck.
The blood drains out of my face. I look like shit.
Her attention goes to Tristan. “I didn’t know you were seeing anyone.”
“Yes.” Tristan smiles and puts his arm around my shoulders and pulls me close. “Claire and I have been together for a couple of months, very happy. How are you doing? Are you seeing anyone?”
I just want the earth to swallow me up . . . this is his ex-girlfriend . . . what the actual fuck does he see in me?
Her eyes come back to me, and I can see she’s thinking the exact same thing. “No, still processing things.” Her eyes turn back to Tristan. “I haven’t seen you out in a long time.”
“No, I haven’t been out. I spend a lot of time at Claire’s on Long Island,” he lies.
I don’t know what’s going on here, but I feel like he’s giving her a message of some sort.
“Long Island.” She frowns as she looks between us.
“Yeah, well, Claire’s got kids, so it’s good for them out there.”
Her eyes widen in horror. “You have kids?”
Oh hell, please earth . . . swallow me up. “Yes.” I fake a smile. “Three boys.”
Her eyes go back to Tristan in question. “Your mother didn’t mention any of this to me.”
