by Wren Weston
Two powerful hands cupped her ass, lifting her into a deeper kiss.
She squeezed her legs tightly around Tristan’s waist, feeling his hardness press against her center, sending her mind far, far away.
She felt herself being carried, whisked through the room into one more familiar. She remembered the glinting weapons nailed to the walls, the breeze slipping through the cracked window, and the bed that filled most of the room.
Tristan dropped her onto it, and she barely felt the fall.
Tristan’s shirt fell to the floor along with his trousers. The chest she’d wanted to see, needed to see, stood before her, his cock erect and at the ready. She stared at them both, robotically tossing her shirt away to join his clothes.
Her bra came next.
He fell into her, unbuttoning her trousers as his lips touched hers, calmer now.
She was not calm, though. Not when his quick fingers slipped under her panties, finding the clit he’d learned how to rub months before, so wet, so hot, so ready to be used. His tongue slipped into her mouth then traveled down her chest, pausing on her breasts.
Nipping.
Lila pulled at his hair and moaned as he stroked her toward completion.
Her head slammed back into the pillow as she came.
It was over so fast that she barely felt it; so fast her thoughts did not have time to restart; so fast that she didn’t have time to second-guess where she was or who she was with or what she wanted. Need had filled her being, her skin, her chest, her heart, her slit.
Pumping, rushing need filled her cheeks.
Tristan tugged off her trousers and her panties, his mouth joining where his fingers had been, the wet heat of his tongue stroking her, his clever fingers finding their place, working her slit, the stiff joints giving and curling and tickling deep inside her.
She writhed in his grasp, but he refused to let go. He held her down, a rough arm against her as he worked.
This time, she rode the waves to her completion, gasping as she grabbed the headboard, calling out Tristan’s name as she came.
He gave her no pause.
Seconds after she panted her end, his cock filled her, his chest warm and damp and hot as he slid atop her, claiming her, biting her neck as he pumped. She grabbed at the headboard harder, gasping, moaning, calling out.
“Lila,” Tristan called out, his accent rolling the vowels in the way that made her toes curl and her slit dampen.
They crashed together, his pumping more urgent, his hand caressing her cheek.
She called his name once more in the silence.
“Lila,” he whispered as he claimed her mouth, barely catching his breath as he gripped one of her legs, both of which had curled around his waist as he’d mounted her.
Her hands moved to his face, the skin wet below his eyes. With her thumb, she wiped away a tear.
“Lila.” He panted one last time, then took her mouth, his cock still inside her, unable to break free due to her hold.
All at once, she tasted him properly. The taste of whiskey replaced by a hint of wine.
Wine he’d drunk with someone else.
The differences in the bedroom finally came to her attention. Tristan’s easily broken headboard had been replaced. A new scent filled the air, some perfume or lotion that Lila had not noticed Katia wearing.
Lila twisted in his grip, her senses returning far too late for dignity. She shoved him away and rubbed at her lips. Knocked off balance, her ass fell onto the cold hardwood floor.
Gods. What had she done?
“Was that just words to you?” Tristan rolled onto his back, still panting.
“What in the world do you think you’re doing?” She scooped up her clothes, thrusting her legs into her panties and then her trousers.
Gods, she’d still had her socks on.
Tristan sat up, his spent cock still glistening. “Me? That wasn’t just me.”
She slipped on her bra and shirt, her nipples sensitive against the fabric, and fled into the kitchen.
Coffee. She’d been making coffee.
Tristan tugged on his clothes and followed her into the kitchen. “What was that to you? Was it real enough?”
Snatching a mug from a cabinet, Lila wrenched the coffee pot out of its slot. “I could think of a few other words for it. You have the nerve to call me a cheater, and then you do that? Are you planning on telling Katia that you fucked your ex-lover tonight? That I’m all over you?”
“What do you want me to say? I miss you. It hurts.” He wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand.
Gods, manufactured tears. Once upon a time, it might have worked upon her. “It’ll fade. So will your memories of me. I will never ever want you like that again, Tristan DeLauncey. And after tonight, I’ll not return to this place, no matter what. You’re nothing but a liar. It’s probably how you write your columns so well. Two faces to show to the world, two—”
“Oh, shut up!” he snapped, as she poured coffee into her mug. “Save your holier-than-thou spiel for the next idiot who climbs into your bed. What just happened is not some great revelation about my character. I loved you. I still love you. Those feelings don’t just turn off.”
“Oh, so now you still love me?” She put the coffee pot back onto the holder. “Do you love Katia too? Is this what monogamy means to the workborn?”
“Do you know how hard it is to see you here, whispering with my brother, crawling into his room every night? You left me, remember? You left me to be with another man.”
“No, you left me because the Randolphs needed an heir, and you couldn’t handle it.”
“You left me for your family. It seems you ran away from them in the end anyway. If you cared so damn much about your family, then why haven’t you gone back now that you’ve been cleared?”
“That’s between me and my friends.”
“Dixon knows?” He shook his head. “You do so love your secrets.”
“And you do so love your women. You’re just like the highborn. You just don’t want to admit it. At least the senator and I didn’t lie to ourselves or to one another. Will you lie to Katia when she gets back?”
He retreated from the kitchen and pulled open the locker.
“Will you?” she shouted.
“Relationships aren’t supposed to be so damn hard!”
“What relationship? The relationship between you and Dixon? Or the one between you and Katia? Because you and I don’t have a relationship, Tristan. We never did, and we never will.”
Glass clinked against his mug. Lila smelled whiskey from across the room, whiskey Tristan took into the bathroom.
The door slammed shut.
Water gushed through the pipes as the shower turned on.
Chapter 21
Lila twisted and turned beside Dixon while the walls caught the neon light that streamed through the closed window. As usual, he’d cranked up the heater, leaving the room hot and stuffy, the sheets damp underneath her back. The fabric scratched at her skin, and her shirt wrapped around her belly. The moans and groans next door sounded pleasant, at least for the occupants.
Lila finally kicked the sheets away, her head tilting to the dozing man beside her. She knew she should sleep on the couch. If she didn’t go now, Dixon wouldn’t get any sleep either.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
She gripped the sheets between her fingers, squeezing. Katia and Tristan had been going at it for hours, harder than they’d gone at it before.
“Asshole,” she muttered, rolling to face the wall. She snatched her palm from the bedside table and checked the display, the light far too bright in the dark room. Her father had still not replied to her message.
Neither had Max.
Behind her, the light switched on with a soft click. Dixon grabbed her shoulder, rolling he
r onto her back.
“Sorry.”
Dixon yawned and wiped the sleep from his eyes. Propping his head up with his arm, he lay beside her, his expectant expression unsettling. He prodded her in the ribs.
“What?”
He pointed to his mouth.
“You’re hungry? I could heat up something for you.”
Dixon rolled his eyes. He pointed to his mouth again.
“I’ll go sleep on the couch. I’m keeping you awake, and I have work to do, anyway.”
Dixon shot over her, pinning her to the mattress with his smooth chest and belly, his ass raised as he fumbled with something on the floor. Clothes rustled. His abdomen pushed into her. Another yawn cut through the air.
He wiggled back, notepad and pencil in hand. Which one is keeping you up? Your father or the idiot?
Lila shrugged.
The prime minister hasn’t replied yet?
Lila shook her head.
He probably didn’t want to wake you.
“He’s never worried about that before. What if he’s in a holding cell?”
What if he’s not?
“What if he is? Isn’t this just like me? I have immunity. I slither through, and other people pay for my mistakes. If I had done my job, Mr. Shaw would still be chief and my father would be asleep in Falcon Home.”
If only she’d worked harder finding La Roux all those weeks ago instead playing house with Tristan. If only she’d slipped into Bullstow three nights ago after Shaw’s demotion instead of latching on to the oracle’s case. She should have made sure Shaw’s files had been destroyed.
She hadn’t even thought about them. Why had he kept the files in his office, anyway? Why not somewhere more secure, some place he could access if needed? A safe deposit box? His mattress? His fireplace?
This isn’t your fault.
“Isn’t it? My father is going to die because—”
Because Shaw kept records. He’s the one who made the mistake, not you.
“Perhaps, but—”
They made their choices, Lila. Perhaps the meeting has lasted so long because they’re prompting the senate to change. Maybe now the committee will realize now what has been done to protect it.
“They called Mr. Shaw incompetent. They said that it was his fault for not providing his men with adequate training. They’re not going to change their minds now.”
There’s nothing you can do until your father messages you.
“I know.” She peeked at her palm again.
Still nothing.
That’s not the only thing keeping you up. I saw Tristan’s face after Katia and I returned. Something happened between you two while we were gone, didn’t it?
Lila opened her mouth, then closed it. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
You haven’t wanted to talk about it for days.
Lila rolled away, turning back to the wall. “Blair is good for you. You’re writing a lot more now. You’re—”
His notepad smacked against the back of her head.
Lila winced, rubbing where it had struck. “I don’t want to—”
It’s adorable that you think you have a choice.
“What do you want me to say?”
I just want you to talk. We’re friends, aren’t we?
“You’re probably the best friend I have. Maybe the only friend.”
That’s not true. Mòr and Kenna and Connell like you.
“I hardly know them.”
Dixon turned the page, continuing to scribble. Tristan and Katia keep me up too.
“And Blair?” she whispered, spinning back around to catch his face.
A grin flitted across it.
“You and Tristan have people in your life, good people, while every part of my life feels like it’s been ripped into shreds. I can’t take anything else happening to me for a while. I just need to know that my father’s okay.”
It’ll get better.
“Did it get better for you? Is that why you keep wandering away from the shop?”
Is that what Tristan told you?
Lila nearly screamed. After she left the shop, she’d not miss this, both Dixon and Tristan endlessly asking questions about the other. “You should talk with him yourself.”
Dixon chewed on his lip. I like the oracle’s compound. It feels like I’m home again, but better. It’s the same feeling I get when I’m around you.
“I know what you mean.”
I’ve missed you. Don’t go away again.
“As long as you don’t drag me back here. You can come over to my place when I get one.”
You’re not going back to your mother’s compound?
“I’m not ready for that.”
Dixon considered her answer, but he did not press further. So what did you mean by good people? Do you think Blair is good, then?
Lila’s mouth twitched.
He prodded her in the ribs. I’m going to keep poking until you talk.
Lila batted his hand away when he nudged again. After she flinched and didn’t answer, he tossed away his notepad with a splat upon the floor, poking her in the same spot. At the last moment, his finger shot up and waggled under her armpit, twisting under her shirt. His skin skittered against hers, causing an involuntary tremor.
“Dixon, stop,” she squealed, giggling.
He shook his head, his finger aiming for the spot once more. Hopping atop her, he pinned her abdomen to the bed under his bare thighs, both hands tickling, careful not to sit upon her with his full weight.
She squealed again, thrashing on the bed, dodging him as she reached for his midsection. “Stop it, Dixon.” She laughed, her fingers skittering up his chest to his pits. “Stop it!”
“Ahhh,” he exclaimed, jumping off her when she touched a ticklish ridge on his side.
They stared at one another, a showdown, hands at the ready, fingers twitching. “I know where to touch you now.” She snickered. “Come here, grasshopper.”
He shook his head, the echo of a laugh still on his lips.
Suddenly he lunged.
Lila giggled and dodged.
She didn’t move fast enough.
Two fast hands sank under her arms, leaving her squealing and thrashing and gasping.
She kicked out, connecting with Dixon’s abdomen. His arms wheeled as she connected, and they both landed in a heap and a dull thump against the floor.
The hardwood cooled her skin. Her ass throbbed and ached. It was the second time she’d landed on her butt in several hours.
They turned their heads, each eyeing the other’s face.
Dixon lifted his hand in a pincer.
Lila erupted into fits, her side burning from laughter, her lungs not pulling in enough air for her to breathe.
Dixon wasn’t much better off. He sputtered alongside her, smacking the heel of his palm against the floor. The other flopped around his midsection as though trying to hold it inside.
The sounds in Tristan’s bedroom quieted.
Dixon realized it too. He let out a fake moan, mocking his brother’s, and shoved the empty bed three times against the wall, the booms echoing in the small room.
“Stop,” Lila hissed, sitting up. “What are you doing?”
He shoved the bed again.
Crawling to his notepad, he scribbled off a few lines. What happened that night at the Closing Ball? What happened between you and La Roux?
Her laughter died as quickly as it had lived. “I don’t want to talk about it, Dixon,” she whispered, folding her legs underneath her.
He gave her another poke and pointed again to his question.
“I chose the wrong person. Just drop it.”
Another poke.
“You have your secrets. Why can’t I have mine? L
et’s just keep them, shall we? We’re highborn. It’s what we’re good at.”
Dixon licked his lips and fiddled with his shamrock bracelet. His eyes roved over her face, studying each feature in turn.
All except her eyes.
He wouldn’t meet them.
All at once, Dixon crossed his legs and bent over his notepad, his pencil skating over the page. No. I don’t want to keep secrets from you anymore. We’re not highborn. We’re exiles, and we’ve made one another into a family. We’re best friends, and best friends can tell each other everything.
Lila nodded. “I’ll always keep your secrets.”
Dixon turned back to his notepad. Tristan came to live on the Holguín estate in Beaulac when I was young. I remember him well, this odd slave boy from Bordeaux, following me around and asking me to sing, just like so many others. I didn’t care much about him until I was older and learned we shared a father. I hated him for that. I didn’t want a workborn sibling, especially one who was a slave. I was ashamed. I treated him terribly. In the end, Tristan forgave me. He did more than forgive me. I was an idiot, Lila. I ignored everything my highborn parents and tutors always taught me.
“What did you do?”
He smiled bitterly. I fell in love. Some girl from a rival family. Her name was Adelisa. She was blonde, beautiful, smart, and forever clad in the indigo dresses and boots of her family. I had never wanted anyone or anything so much in all my life. I was sixteen years old, and I thought I could trust her. I told her everything.
“You told her a secret. You told her something you shouldn’t have.”
Dixon looked in her eyes helplessly. I don’t know. They said I told her something, something that lost our family a great deal of money, but they wouldn’t even tell me what it was.
“Who wouldn’t tell you?”
Who do you think?
Lila sucked in a breath. “The Holguín blood squad?”
Dixon nodded. Adelisa and I had just come back from a movie. She stopped her car at the north gate, ready to drop me off at home, but the blackcoats had left it unattended. No one lifted the gate’s arm. I should have known that something was wrong, but it wasn’t until three trucks boxed in her car that I knew for sure. The blood squad snatched me from the passenger side and told her that our relationship was over. They told her she should enjoy her matron’s good graces while she still had them. Then they beat me on the hood of her car until I passed out. I just remember them asking her if it was worth it, over and over again. She didn’t even look that upset.
