“Tristan, oh my God. I'm going to die...”
“No, love. This is the beginning of your new life as a woman.”
Right when she felt she'd burst into a million pieces, Tristan quickened his pace, pumping harder. Then it happened. Like a leaf on a windy day, she shook from the gust of desire as she reached a shuddering orgasm.
Seconds later, Tristan grunted and jerked.
Julie may be new to this whole making love thing, but she wasn't ignorant about protection. They didn't use any and somehow that thought made her feel elated. So what if their union resulted to her getting pregnant? She loved him and wanted nothing more than to have a part of him to treasure forever.
Their position, their chests pressed together, gave Julie a chance to feel his heartbeat. It made her want to cry. What a sentimental fool you are, Julie. Maybe all women cried when they lost their virginity. Yeah, that must be it. And not because of her overflowing joy from having Tristan's hard body on top of her.
Up above, the bright stars winked and danced as the thin mist of clouds rolled by. Watching the midnight sky from under the protection of the glass hut felt as wonderful as the man nibbling her neck, caressing the parts of her his long arms could reach.
Tristan shifted, using his arms to support his weight and looked down at her. “You're crying. Did I hurt you?”
“No, not at all.”
“Tears of regret then?”
Reaching for the lock of hair covering his left eye, she tucked it behind his ear, only to fall back again. “I will never regret this, Tristan.” How could she regret sharing something wonderful with the man she loved?
Tristan grinned before kissing her forehead. “I hope the tears are not for my poor performance.”
Julie shook her head as more warm tears ran down the side of her face. “You made me feel beautiful.”
“You are beautiful. Inside and out. I love—we all love—everything about you.”
“Thank you.”
Tristan rolled off her, but his arm remained around her midriff.
“Tristan.”
“Yeah?”
“What you made me do...that was beyond my imagination.”
“Do you regret it?” He combed her damp hair back and kissed her forehead.
“No. Not at all. It's just I, me doing that, was...was it normal? I mean, I've seen videos and read books about that kind of thing happening in bed, but porn is not normal, right?”
“Between two grown, mature people, what we did is normal.” He planted a loud kiss on Julie's shoulder and then got up. “Lay still.”
Julie watched him walk to the pedestal-style sink in all his nakedness. She couldn't help staring at his back, butt, and thighs. Lord, he is magnificent. When he turned around, she still stared. Her eyes focused on his half-aroused cock.
Tristan chuckled. “You like to stare, don't you?”
“If I like what I am seeing, yes.”
“Naughty girl.”
Tristan came back toward the bed holding a washcloth. It was too late when she realized his intentions.
“What are you doing—No!”
“Let me.”
Julie groaned as he began to wipe the traces of blood mixed with his semen off her thighs and vagina. He kissed her hipbones and the tiny brown birthmark on the upper side of her thigh, close to her groin. “Interesting mark.”
“Ugly, you mean.”
“Seahorses are not ugly. Yours is shaped like one.” Balling the soft bloodstained material, he tossed it inside the sink. “Julie, thanks for the gift.”
“You mean my virginity?”
“Yeah.”
“You're welcome.”
“Julie?”
“Hmmm...”
“I didn't use protection. Making love with you wasn't part of my plan. I knew it was too dangerous to be alone with you. You're so irresistible. And yet...”
She snuggled closer to Tristan to feed on his warmth. “It's alright.” She didn't care if she became pregnant. Her mother was younger than she was when she became pregnant with her. She could handle raising a child.
“Julie, you know you could get pregnant.”
“Tristan, I don't care. I love babies,” She sighed and kept her eyes closed.
* * * *
He'd had women in the past, but never a virgin. Julie responded to his touch without inhibitions, but with feelings that surpassed the strong urge to simply have sex. She made him feel more than wanting to reach for orgasm. He actually made love.
Gathering her in his arms, they stayed in that position. The scent of their lovemaking lingered, trapped in the small glass hut. Somewhere, an owl hooted. The night creatures were stirring, which meant it was time for them to go back to the house. He didn't want to though. He wanted to stay that way until the sun began to rise.
Lying there with Julie in his arms was the best thing that had happened to him since his divorce. Tristan wiped the thoughts about Carly away. He wouldn't let his precious moment with Julie get stained with his ex-wife's bitter memories.
“Something wrong?”
“Nothing, love. Julie, we should go back.”
“We will. As soon as I get my bones back. I feel like overcooked noodles. Limp.”
“I don't.”
“I can tell. You're poking my belly. Can we do it again?”
Nose to nose, he smiled at her. If he were to decide, he'd keep her here until she was round with his baby, but if he used his noggin instead of his throbbing dick, he wouldn't touch her again. It was bad enough that he made love with his sister's best friend, but getting her pregnant would be worse, with or without her approval. “I don't think it's a good idea, Julie.”
Julie nodded, but the smile on her face vanished. “You're right. I don't know what I was thinking. Sorry for asking.” She tried to get off the bed, but he pinned her with his thigh.
“Not so fast, Strawberry. Look at me.” He waited until Julie focused her eyes on him instead of his chin. “This is your first time. You're still sore.”
“If I weren't a virgin and not sore, would you make love with me again?”
Making love with her again would only deepen his growing attraction for her. As it was, his feelings for her were nearing the fine line between physical attraction and love. If they continued with this, he would only place his heart in jeopardy again. “No. You wouldn't want it anyway.”
“What makes you think that?”
“You're a decent woman. Having sex with a man you knew only through your friend would bite you back in the ass—as soon as the sun rises and the magic of this place is gone. What do you say we go back to the house and share a slice of brownie?”
“You're right. Tristan, you've heard the saying what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas, right?”
“You want us to stay a secret?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“In case I marry someone you know.”
[Back to Table of Contents]
* * *
Chapter Four
* * * *
What the hell was she saying? Was she interested in one of his brothers, like Carly had been? All night afterward, he watched her interact with his family. His brothers flirted with her, but Julie just laughed at them. She didn't feed the fire by flirting back.
Tristan thought about his friend, Edmund. The two had met last Christmas. On Christmas Eve, Edmund declared he was in love, although he didn't say with whom. Was Edmund who Julie was referring to as someone he knew? Something invisible hit him in the gut. The pain made him release his breath through clenched teeth. God damn it. So what if Julie married someone he knew or not? She wasn't his.
A short night with her in his arms didn't give him right to claim her. They weren't going out or anything. Julie was free to date, marry, whomever she chose, but why did the idea hurt?
The fuck!
He stared at the small dot of water stain on the ceiling. The spot had been there since he was in sixth grade. H
e always stared at it until sleep came. This time though, it didn't help him. Julie's words nagged at him like a suppurating sore.
Damn it, Tristan. Kill the infatuation. Nothing will come of it.
Punching his pillow a couple times, he lay on his stomach and buried his face, shutting out Julie's image as she reached her orgasm.
* * * *
“What do you mean you have to leave? It's four-thirty in the morning, Julie.” Kirsten plopped down on the couch with her eyes half-closed.
Julie picked up her overnight bag and hitched it on her right shoulder. She felt terrible. Kirsten looked half-dead with her arms listless on her sides. “Sorry I dragged you out of bed this early, but I didn't want to take off without telling you.” She paused. “Kirsten, are you listening to me?
Kirsten nodded. “My ears are open, not my brain. Don't expect me to remember anything you say tomorrow.”
She could believe that. She'd known Kirsten long enough to know her friend wasn't a morning person. Her brain, Kirsten told her on many occasions, was slow in switching from sleep to alert mode.
Unlike her. Sometimes she believed she was part rooster. Awake before the sunrise, ready to cock-a-doodle-doo to announce the newborn day. Her addiction to watching the sunrise started when her mother took her to Rome for her birthday present. They went to the top of Gianicolo Hill to watch the sunrise. It was a memory she would treasure forever.
There was nothing more satisfying than watching the color of the dark sky turn into different shades of purple and orange, followed by the yellow sun coming up behind the Olympic Mountains. It was like watching a new day being born. So invigorating and awe-inspiring. And it fueled her mind like grease to an engine. It helped her write better and come up with a new premise.
Like this morning. She was wide-awake and raring to go. Sadly, not to write and watch the sun, but to face another horrible accusation her stepmother threw at her. “I don't think I'll be a good company after hearing Weatherholt on the phone. The old man called at this hour and sounded too worried. I can't ignore him.”
“Your lawyer was born worried. Let's go back to bed.” Kirsten let out a long yawn that sounded more like a groan.
“I wish, but there's no way I can go back to bed and sleep. I have to go home, Kirsten. Weatherholt said Marla mentioned something about me using a different name, a shameful name. I think she found out that I am a writer. You know a lot of people are opposed to erotic romance.”
“They are bigots. There is nothing wrong with contemporary romance spiked with hot sex scenes.”
“Right. Still, Mom was a very religious woman. Marla knew about it. So if my books are the reason why she's coming again, then I am in trouble. You know the will's stipulation.”
“I know. If your father can prove you have done something stupid that is an embarrassment to the family name, he will then have the right to claim the remaining three quarters of your mother's fortune. The whole thing is obtuse.”
She wanted to agree with Kirsten, but she couldn't. The stipulation was her mother's way of teaching her to be an obedient child, a good child. And she would keep the promise she gave to her mother that she could be the Julie Parrish she wanted her to be.
“You know why Mom added the condition in her last will.”
“Still... Anyway, you've fended off Marla's whacko made-up accusations before and you didn't even see them coming. You can do it again. You. Shouldn't. Worry.”
Julie thought for a moment. If she followed her heart, she'd stay. She'd been looking forward to spending a week here. Yesterday was an example of how much fun she would have if she stayed.
Nevertheless, Marla was the epitome of an evil stepmother who would do anything to get her hands on Julie's inheritance. Thanks to her wino father, Marla learned about the stipulation and was now on a personal quest to prove that she broke it. According to Weatherholt, Marla found just the reason to make her evil dream come true. His tone hinted that he strongly believed whatever bullshit Marla had told him.
Did Marla find out about my books? God, I hope not
Depleted, Julie adjusted the strap of the overnight bag on her shoulder. “Maybe you're right, Kirsten, but for the sake of my own sanity, I think it would be best if I go home. I am not sure if my books are Marla's reason for coming after me this time, or something else.”
“Whatever...but if you stay here, we could think of a solution together. You shouldn't be alone in that humongous house anyway. What if Cruella shows up with her asshole son? Who would help you? Sebastian's a pervert. So stay and we'll talk about this, let's say, after five hours?”
“Sorry, Kirsten. I have a bad feeling about this.”
“God, Julie. Surely, Weatherholt and Marla's lawyer wouldn't consider writing romance books besmirching your family name. Your characters are wild and horny as sluts, but you don't act like them. Although, I believe the horny part is based on you.”
“I'm not horny,” said Julie in defense.
“Yeah? Then how do you write your hot bed scenes if you're not horny? You've got to be horny to write something like ...and with his expert fingers he stoked the fire that was slowly burning in the pit of her stomach. Heat melted her desire, turning into a sweet juice to pool in between her thighs. He suckled her—"
“Stop. Very funny, Kirsten. I'm a writer with a very good imagination. Being able to write a bed scene doesn't mean I'm horny.”
“And I'm not a Knight. Come on, Julie. Stay. I'll vouch for you. Don't worry about it.”
“Okay, maybe my books are not the reason Marla is coming, but what about the evidence Weatherholt is talking about? I don't know what it is—and not knowing is tough on my nerves. I...I have to go and think about what this evidence could be.”
“Maybe your pus-ugly stepbrother made it up. He and his mother have been trying hard to ruin your name since your dad let them in on the will's condition. Meaning, whatever evidence they have against you could be fake. You should sue them for harassment.”
And let people know how dysfunctional her family was? Drag her dead mother's name to court, have the lawyers dig into her past and show how she had lived her pitiful life? No way would she let that happen.
“You know I can't do that. Suing them would only create another problem. Marla could turn things against me. I don't want to take a probable chance.”
“I know. You have a bad rap with the law. And if it weren't for your mother's influence, you would have ended in the juvie, blah, blah.” Kirsten yawned again.
Julie cringed at the word juvie. The word she didn't want to hear for the rest of her life. The word she wished unattached to her past. She regretted giving her mother grief and shame by accumulated petty crimes, including a staged burglary to get her parents’ attention.
At the time, she thought it funny, but when her mother cried from frustration, the extent of what she had done came crashing down on her—big time.
Through tears, she explained to her mother why she turned from an altar girl to a pain in the ass. That she misbehaved on purpose to turn the attention back to her. Her mother was too upset to accept her apologies. That same month, Laura Parrish was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and given only a few months left to live. Laura had spent her remaining months tying up loose ends, arranging her own funeral and added that condition on her last will, Julie Parrish must stay out of trouble. Any action that could be construed as embarrassing, shameful, a stain on the family's name, would be reason enough for her inheritance, including the house in Edmonds where she grew up, to go to Paul Parrish.
One might question how the condition would help Julie change her ways. Well, those who knew her father would understand why she was bent on keeping her slate clean to keep Paul away from her inheritance. The man was more disgusting than any animal's dirty ass.
Laura's funeral had been as somber as the guests’ dark suits worn. Powerful businessmen and women, government officials, Paul, and Julie, sat on the cushioned chairs as they listened to the pri
est read prayers off his worn Bible. Julie cried her heart out that day, wishing for the clock to turn back. As she stared at the brass-colored coffin, she pinched her arm until she started bleeding, hoping she was just asleep and would wake up to find her mother in her home office or in the kitchen making sandwiches—nut it never happened.
At the first sign of the coffin lowering into the ground, she screamed her mother's name, begging her to come back until her throat became sore. Even after everyone was gone, she remained standing over the mound of dirt, whispering her mother's name. She distinctly remembered the loud thunder followed by a flash of lightning, the Seattle sky grayer than she had ever seen, as if it, too, was mourning. The whole atmosphere was a deep melancholy mood, but not deep enough compared to what she had felt that day.
Before she let her father lead her away from the grave, she repeated the promise she gave her mother while she lay dying in her hospital bed. A promise she kept to this day.
Julie adjusted her overnight bag. She shouldn't bother Kirsten about her problems. Her friend was conversant, but still seemed half-awake.
“I have to go. Thanks for everything. I'll call you when I get a chance. And please don't worry about me.”
“I won't—wait! How about using your way out, Julie? It's about time you draw your ace.”
“Jeez, you look half-dead, but you still want to chat?”
“No, I just thought about your out.”
“You know where I stand on that.”
Honestly, she thought about using her out. She could end the agreement and Marla's ridiculous attempt to get her money, too. The will didn't say anything about courtship or anything. Just get married and the stipulation would be over. But marry who? She wasn't in a relationship right now. Hiring someone to marry her in exchange for money was out of the question, although the idea of entering a loveless marriage would be better than facing her wicked stepmother.
A paradigm of her mother's life was enough for her not to follow suit. Besides, if she hired a groom, Marla would definitely find out about it. Damn Marla.
Wicked Knight Page 6
