It took everything in Tris not to jump up and put her arms around him. She settled for standing and gently rubbing his back. She had a feeling she was going to hate the answer, but she asked, anyway. “How old were you?”
He continued to stare out the window at the Lake Michigan waves crashing on the shore. She wasn’t sure he’d even heard the question. But he said, “I was thirteen when she had the first stroke and sixteen when she had the one that killed her.”
This time, she did put her arms around him—minefield be damned. Her heart ached for him. For the child he’d been and the sadness he’d endured. “I’m so, so sorry.”
He leaned into her embrace for a moment before pulling away, never taking his eyes from the window. “It was a long time ago.”
She followed his gaze to the waves beyond and wondered if he even saw them.
He took a sip from his mug. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I really just came in here to bring you your coffee. Clover got a phone call she had to take.”
“That’s fine. Thank you for that—and for getting rid of my headache.”
He nodded but didn’t really meet her eyes. “No problem. As long as you’re feeling up to it, we can still do the photo shoot, tonight.”
“Absolutely.”
Almost before her eyes, the vulnerable boy he’d been vanished, and he was back to business with his typical single-mindedness.
“I’d like to get all the footage to the art department as quickly as possible so we have a better chance of meeting the promised release date.”
She nodded. “Of course.”
He left her office, and she watched him go, knowing that no matter how tonight ended, she was likely to find a few more landmines on the way.
Chapter Twelve
Rory slowly made his way to Clover’s cubicle. The last thing he wanted to do right now was talk to anyone. He had no idea what had possessed him to share anything about his mother with Tristan, but he hadn’t been able to stop the words from escaping, and, god knew, he’d tried. There was something about her that made it easy to confide in her—easy to connect with her on a level that he hadn’t been able to with anyone else. Hadn’t wanted to do with anyone else. If he were honest with himself, he wasn’t sure he wanted that with Tristan, either. But that didn’t seem to matter. It was happening, anyway.
He rapped on the metal frame of Clover’s cubicle. She spun around in her chair, with a smile on her face, her purple and pink topknot wobbling from side to side. Her smile faded as she looked at him. “I don’t mean to be nosy, but are you okay? You look upset.”
He forced what he hoped was a smile. “I’m fine. I’ve just got a lot on my mind, today. I’m hoping I’m not asking you guys for too much to try to get these changes rolled out on the original schedule.”
She grinned. “It’ll be tough, but we’re all up to the challenge. Have a seat, and I’ll show you what I have so far.”
He watched dutifully as she scrolled through pages of code. He was pretty sure he was nodding and making the appropriate noises in all the right places, but his mind was on Tristan. And his mom. Since he usually made it a point to try not to think of her, he was in unfamiliar and uncomfortable territory. And he didn’t like it.
“Looks good,” he said when Clover glanced up at him expectantly. He had no fucking clue if it looked good or not. His head just wasn’t in it. But she seemed pleased, so he went with it.
He spent the afternoon making the rounds to the other programmers and artists, and he managed to pay better attention to their presentations and questions. It was going to take a lot of work to pull this off—much of it he’d be doing himself—but after talking to the entire team, he was pretty sure it was actually do-able.
Checking the time, he realized he still had at least an hour before Tristan and the others showed up for tonight’s shoot, and he needed to burn off some of his excess agitation before that happened. Closing his office door behind him, he stripped off his shirt and went to the far corner of the room, behind the mat where the punching bag hung. It had been a while since he’d needed this particular outlet. After he taped his knuckles, he attacked the bag, throwing his entire weight into it. Each punch reverberated up his arm, jarring his body. It was the best distraction he could think of, at the moment. All he wanted to do was go to Tristan and persuade her that they’d both been wrong about only wanting a single night with each other.
Since leaving her office, he’d spent the entire day trying to convince himself that another encounter with her would be a terrible idea. It was a hard lie to swallow when he could still feel the silk of her hair sifting through his fingers and smell the lingering scent of her shampoo on his skin. He pounded the bag harder. The last thing he needed, no matter how much he wanted it, was another night with Tristan. He had a business to run and an expansion to release. Since he’d just made that release infinitely more complicated, he needed to focus on things that weren’t the feel of her smooth skin beneath his hands. Or the taste of her juices in his mouth. Or, god help him, the sensation of her pussy rippling around his cock. He hit the bag harder and faster.
In the middle of the beating he gave the sand-filled bag, he realized someone was knocking on his door. “It’s open,” he called, plowing into the hanging weight again.
He glanced up and saw Tristan standing in the open doorway watching him, lips parted and eyes wide. “I’m sorry,” she finally said. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
Shaking his head, he stopped the bag from swinging and crossed the room to stand by her. “It’s fine. I need to get the stuff set up for the shoot, anyway.”
“That’s why I’m here. I figured you’d be drawing like crazy or doing other artist-y things. So, I thought I’d help.”
He smiled, but he had a feeling it was more of a grimace. “I should be working, but I just needed to work off a little pent-up energy, first.” Unwrapping his knuckles, he went into the bathroom and wiped down with a wet washcloth and toweled off. He’d had a little trouble convincing the architect that his office needed to be as big as it was, and that it needed its own bathroom, but with as much time as he spent at work, it had become a necessity. He liked his house, but he probably could have saved a fuck-ton of money since he practically lived at the office. Besides, it wasn’t as if he had anyone to go home to. And whose fault was that?
He glanced at where Tristan was running her fingertips over his desktop. Was she remembering Friday night when he’d licked her pussy until she screamed? Was she regretting that they’d agreed to only one night? She glanced up and caught him watching her. A blush raced up her chest and into her cheeks. Yeah. She was remembering. He’d bet it had been playing through her head all weekend, too.
Before he could say anything, the door burst open, and Clover bounded in, followed by Annie. Annie caught sight of him in the bathroom and looked him up and down, finally honing in on his bare chest. “So, ah…Bossman. We interrupting something, here?”
He glanced down at himself and up at Annie. “I was just going a few rounds with the punching bag while Tristan was setting up for you two.”
“Uh-huh.” Annie scanned his body again, not seeming the least little bit convinced. “Nice definition, Bossman.” She turned to Tristan. “I bet he’s just full of all kinds of surprises, isn’t he?”
Tristan swallowed hard. “I wouldn’t know.”
Annie raised her eyebrow at Tristan. “I’m not buying it.” Hands on her hips, she turned to Clover. “Do you think there’s something going on here? I think there’s something going on here.”
Pulling his shirt over his head, Rory cleared his throat. “I think if you want to keep gaming on company time, you’ll drop it.”
“Party pooper.” Annie pouted at him. “No one around here can take a joke.”
He smirked at her. “I hired you, didn’t I?”
Annie rolled her eyes and looked at Tristan then nodded his way. “I want to fight him, instead.”
Tristan la
ughed, and he was relieved to see she was relaxing a bit.
Clover, however, was discreetly glancing between him and Tristan. It was probably good that Tristan was busy pulling out weapons and didn’t notice.
She tossed swords to both of the other women and proceeded to teach them the basics. He enjoyed watching her work. She was a natural teacher—confident and competent. Annie and Clover both caught on quickly, and he got some amazing footage to use for action sequences and also really good shots of the two of them for character sketches. And surprisingly, it had only taken a couple hours. He was going to have to put in a lot of extra work time to get his part finished, but what else did he have to do?
His eyes strayed to where Tristan was putting away the weapons. No. He needed to get that thought right out of his head. Just being alone with her—having her this close—was making him rethink his one-time-only policy. Hell, he’d been rethinking it long before now. Surely, it was possible to have a sexual relationship without any kind of emotional attachment beyond friendship.
“I think that went well,” she said, interrupting his train of thought. “They’re quick learners.” She glanced over her shoulder at him. “Did you get some good shots?”
“Yeah—do you want to see?”
She walked over to where he sat at his computer. He didn’t miss the way her eyes drifted over his desk again.
Fuck it. He was about to throw caution to the fucking wind. “Unless, of course, you’ve posted some new photos on Tumblr that you want to show me.”
She stared at him. Her mouth opened and closed a few times. Finally, she said, “I’m not sure if I should be offended, amused or weirdly turned on.”
He spun his chair all the way around to face her. Unable to help himself, he trailed his fingertips along the outside of her knee. “Do I get a vote?”
“I think we both know where this will end up if we were to look at my blog,” she said, ignoring his question, but she didn’t step away from him.
“I agree. But, seeing as how neither of us want a relationship, but we both want each other, ending up there wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing. Would it?”
Her nipples tightened beneath her thin, knit top as he watched. She held his gaze. “So no commitment?”
He shook his head.
“And it stays secret? I don’t want it getting around the office that I’m shagging the boss.”
“It stays secret,” he confirmed.
“Good.” Holding his gaze, she lowered herself to her knees and moved between his spread legs.
His already hard cock ached at the sight of her on her knees.
She slid her hands up his thighs and reached for his belt buckle. “I want a chance to finish what I started the other night.”
He raised a brow at her. “It’s unlikely that I’ll allow you to finish…but you’re welcome to try.
Chapter Thirteen
Tristan’s gaze dropped to where her hands were unbuckling Rory’s belt and opening his jeans. She couldn’t believe he’d changed his mind about the one-time-only rule, but she wasn’t going to question her luck. She also wasn’t going to take it for granted. Who knew how long this arrangement would last? And she wouldn’t delude herself into thinking this meant anything more than amazing sex. She didn’t want anything else. She had a new job in a new area, and she was trying to establish herself in the field. That was enough for now. She didn’t need to add the complications of a relationship on top of it.
There was a tiny voice in her head that whispered that she was lying, but she smothered it before she could think too much about it—or worse listen to it and decide it was right.
His cock was already hard when she dragged his underwear down to free it. Wrapping her fingers around the thickness, she guided him to her mouth and gently teased the head with her tongue before tracing a line down his shaft. His breath hissed through his teeth as she traveled back up to the top and drew the tip into her mouth, swirling her tongue around the wide, flared head.
He buried his hand into her hair at the nape of her neck, scraping his fingernails across her scalp, sending shivers down her spine. “God, Tristan…”
She engulfed his length, at least, as much of it as she could fit in her mouth, while slowly pumping him with her hand. If anything, he swelled further. As it was, it was hard to take all of him. But he felt so good in her mouth—warm and thick, gliding against her tongue. The needy sounds he made only made her want more. More of his cock, more time on her knees, more pleasing him.
Slipping her other hand inside his underwear, she cupped his balls, rolling them between her fingers and gently tugging on them. His fingers tightened in her hair, pulling. Not pulling her off his cock, just rhythmically tugging as she sucked. Pre-come leaked across her tongue as she drew on him, so she redoubled her efforts. She wanted to give him the same kind of pleasure he’d repeatedly given her.
“Tristan, stop.”
She ignored him.
“Tristan.”
She took him as far down her throat as she could without gagging.
His hand tightened further in her hair. It didn’t hurt. Much. But it was enough to stop her downward slide along his shaft. With gentle, but firm pressure, he pulled her off his cock and held her motionless, both by the strength of his grip and the intensity of his gaze. He stared at her as if he were both confused and desperately searching for an answer. To what, she had no clue. His expression was raw, and there was something in his eyes she’d never seen before.
“You need to stop,” he said.
She shook her head, his hand still tight in her hair.
“I’m not ready for this to end,” he said more firmly.
She dampened her suddenly dry lips. “Then, stop me.”
His expression hardened, but she recognized the excitement there. He yanked her head back and leaned forward, stroking her neck with his long, strong fingers. Her breath caught in her throat as he wrapped them around her neck. Her pussy immediately flooded as he applied pressure. It wasn’t enough to keep her from breathing…just enough to keep her from breathing easily. That slight force combined with the heat glowing in his eyes was almost enough to make her come. She whimpered. That was the only way to describe the noise she made.
“Are you wet?”
Not trusting herself to speak, she nodded as well as she could.
“Show me.”
The command in his voice was unmistakable. Releasing her hold on him, she slid her hand inside her leggings and into her panties and paused, feeling suddenly self-conscious.
“Go on,” he urged, absently stroking her neck with his thumb. “Show me how wet this makes you.”
She took a breath and skimmed through her folds, dipping her first two fingers into her cunt. She was slick and more than ready for him.
“Deeper.”
She shuddered at his rough tone and plunged her fingers deeper.
Removing her hand from between her legs, she held it up to him. Leaning forward, he drew her fingers into his mouth, sucking her juices from her skin. Each draw created an answering pull in her womb, and she trembled with the need for release. He slid his tongue between them, licking away all of her essence. Finally, he freed her and stared into her eyes.
“Do you remember your words?”
“Yes,” she whispered. But she couldn’t ever imagine saying “red”. Not to him.
“Good. Take off your clothes.”
She tried to climb to her feet, but he kept his hands around her throat and tangled in her hair. “I don’t remember telling you to stand.”
Her breath caught, and she shoved her pants and underwear down her hips, balancing on one knee then the other to strip them the rest of the way off. She wasn’t sure how to get her shirt off since Rory didn’t seem inclined to relinquish his grip. But she pulled her arms out and let it hang around her neck then took off her bra, dropping it on the pile with her pants. Her breasts felt swollen, and her nipples ached to be touched, but she let her
hands fall to her sides and waited to see what direction Rory would to take this.
He released his hold on both her hair and her throat and nodded at her shirt. “You can take that off, now.”
She tugged the fabric over her head and put it with the rest. He reached out and stroked a fingertip over her shoulder then trailed it down her chest and over the swell of her breast, skimming over her taut nipple.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured before leaning back in his chair. He patted his thighs. “Up here. Sit on my lap.”
Tris stood and turned around only to have him snag her around the waist and pull her on top of him. His jeans felt slightly rough on her bare skin, and his cock was like a brand against her backside. He guided her to lean against his chest, and she could feel his heart thundering against her back. He might act unaffected, but his heartbeat told another story, entirely.
“Drape your legs over the arms of the chair. I want you spread wide.”
She wondered if he could feel her heart pounding. With directions like that, it was a miracle it hadn’t slammed right out of her chest.
Shifting, she did what he’d asked. Well, he hadn’t asked. He’d demanded. But so far, he hadn’t demanded anything of her she hadn’t wanted to do. She shivered. She wasn’t cold, but she’d never felt so exposed.
Rory dragged his fingertips from her knees to her inner thighs—not scratching her, but leaving pinkish-red welts in his wake. Her pussy clenched emptily, and she squirmed against him, wanting more than he was giving her. She wanted his hands on her mound, on her breasts, pinching her nipples, his fingers inside her channel, but instead, he teased her, avoiding those areas completely.
The position nestled her more snugly to him, and she felt his cock jerk slightly against her. A small, warm damp spot coated her skin. He hadn’t come, but he was definitely aroused and leaking a bit. She was glad to know she wasn’t the only one affected by what they were doing.
She rocked against him.
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