Drawn to You: Volume 1: The Prequel (Millionaire's Row Book 5)

by Vanessa Booke

  Despite the amount of time that Tristan has lived with us, it seems he’s made it his mission to keep me at a distance. I feel like I’ve done something wrong, but I have no clue what it is. His relationship with Nicholas is the same as it was several years ago, yet he hasn’t said much to me. I haven’t forgotten the nights I used to sneak into his room or the way he would read to me until I fell back asleep. He was always someone I could run to even if it were just from my nightmares.

  I watch as Penelope hangs on his arm gently pressing into his side. Her light laughter sends me over the edge. I can’t deny that I feel a strange connection to Tristan. Sometimes I feel like there’s a piece of me that left with him when he went away. I can’t even recall the number of times I cried myself to sleep after my father told us him and his mother had left.

  “Em, are you all right?”

  I turn to find my Ceci staring at me intently. In her hand is a glass of champagne that I almost wish I were daring enough to drink myself. Her gaze shifts towards Tristan and Penelope and then back to me. I can almost see the wheels turning in her head as she takes in the scene. I don’t know what to tell her and I don’t know why it hurts to breathe after watching Tristan and Penelope go upstairs together. I overheard my brother mention her name, but I didn’t think anything of it until I saw her hanging on him.

  Ceci nudges me. “Is something bothering you?”

  “No,” I say with a forced smile. “I’m just feeling a little lightheaded. I think I’ll go to bed early.”

  “Okay, so you want me to go?”

  “You can stay,” I offer.

  “That’s okay. I’ll just call my parents to come pick me up. I’m sorry you’re feeling sick. I guess this hasn’t been a very good birthday.”

  “It’s fine,” I say.

  Ceci embraces me and swiftly plants a kiss on my cheek before heading back to the kitchen. After waiting several minutes, I finally make my way upstairs, silently praying that I don’t hear Tristan and Penelope fucking in one of the guest rooms. To my surprise, I catch Penelope in the hallway adjusting the bottom of her dress and patting her hair. Perfect. At least I’m glad I’ve already missed their fuck fest. She looks at me with a smirk as her eyes and gleaming with satisfaction.

  “You must be Nick’s sister.”

  “I am,” I admit with annoyance. “And you must be the current flavor of the week.” I smile at the memory of Ceci teaching me the phrase.

  An annoyed look crosses Penelope’s face as she walks over to me. She stops a few inches from me taking her time to scan the lavender dress that my mother gave me to wear tonight. Her eyes trail down my skin stopping just above my collarbone.

  “It must be hard…”

  “What?”

  She looks up with another smirk.

  “Living in the shadows of your older brothers.”

  “I love my brothers.”

  “I’m sure you do, but it must suck being the only one who didn’t get their good looks. You’re like a scrawny little boy.”

  Anger pulsates through me as I stare at the brunette with inflated tits. I’ve never been the type to stare endlessly into the mirror, but I know I’m not as ugly as she’s making me feel right now. My hand itches to slap her across the face, but I stop myself at the sound of Tristan’s voice.

  “Penelope, what are you still doing here?”

  I watch her turn toward Tristan with a pouty expression. She walks over to him wrapping an arm around his neck and slowly sliding the other down the front of his pants.

  “I thought we were going to finish what we started,” she says.

  “Sorry, I’m done playing.”

  I bite back a smile at the torn look on her face and the huff that follows as she stomps her foot. I bet she wasn’t expecting to hear that.

  “And just so we’re clear… don’t ever talk to Emily that way.”

  Tristan brushes past Penelope as she reaches out to touch him. He stops briefly to intertwine his fingers with mine and I feel him tugging me with him as we head back down the staircase. I watch Penelope’s mouth drop in surprise as Tristan hooks my hand through his arm.

  “Why did you leave the party?” he asks, drawing my attention back to him.

  “It’s not much of a party… Why didn’t you stay with Penelope?”

  Tristan smiles. “I’m not really into women like her.”

  “Okay.”

  “When I’m with someone, I want them to be mine. Completely. I don’t want to see the last guy they slept with when I look at them.”

  “So you want to be with a virgin?”

  Tristan laughs. “I want someone who’ll give themselves to me, entirely. I want my lips forever ingrained on their skin and in their mind. I want them to need only me because the reality is… I’ll only need them.”

  My cheeks flame at Tristan’s words and the thought of his lips on my skin. I brush my hair forward hoping to hide the red blush creeping its way up my cheeks.

  “What are you thinking about, Lily Pad?”

  “Nothing,” I stutter.

  “It sure doesn’t seem like nothing,” he says with a wink. “Don’t worry. I won’t be mad if you dream of me tonight.

  “You’re embarrassing me.” I laugh.

  “Are you ready for me to give you your other birthday present?”

  “Yes,” I smile.

  “Okay, close your eyes.”

  A bubble of excitement rises up my chest as I obediently close them while waiting for Tristan’s gift. I hear the rustling of his jacket as he steps closer. Maybe he stuffed my gift in his coat pocket? Several seconds pass followed by a thickening silence that seems to go on forever. I’m almost tempted to open my eyes, but the soft touch of Tristan’s hand sliding around my neck stops me. The smell of his cologne engulfs my senses as he steps down and closes the space between us. Confusion trickles through my mind as he pulls me against his chest. His mouth is on mine before I realize what’s happening. The taste of cinnamon and mint exudes from his lips as they press against mine. I bite back a moan as his grip tightens, leaving my skin aflame. The kiss between us only lasts for a few seconds, but it leaves me paralyzed in a euphoric state.

  “I always keep my promises,” he whispers.

  My eyes are still closed when I hear him leave and head down the stairs. My body fights against me as I force myself to turn and head for my room. What was that? It isn’t until I’m in my room again that I realize what he meant by always keeping his promises. If you still want me to kiss you when you’re my age, I will. His words are tattooed in my mind. I don’t think I’ll ever forget tonight.

  NINETEEN

  EMILY

  My morning thoughts are filled with the memory of Tristan’s lips on mine. No matter how many times I bite my lip, I can’t recreate the thrilling sensation that charged through me the moment he touched me. If it weren’t for my stomach practically begging me to eat something, I’d be happy to stay in bed and relive the moment over and over. Famished or not, there’s only one person who I’m looking forward to seeing today.

  In the kitchen, I find Tristan standing with a glass of whiskey in his hand. The sight of his disgruntled appearance causes me to do a double take as I slowly take in the messy flop of black hair that seems to stand up from his head.

  “Tristan, are you all right?”

  “No, not really.”

  He looks up at me, but I do my best to avoid his gaze as I round the corner of the center island. My nerves have been on high alert since last night. The kiss between the two of us still lingers at the forefront of my thoughts. I can’t help but wonder if Tristan spent last night thinking about what to say to me because I was definitely thinking about what to say to him.

  “How are you feeling this morning?” he asks.

  The reverberations of Tristan’s husky voice fill the room sending shivers down my skin. I inhale and exhale slowly before turning to answer him.

  “Fine.”

  It’s the only w
ord that doesn’t manage to escape my mind as he stares at me with interest. My eyes shift to the bottle of wine sitting on top of the granite countertop that Ceci left behind. I’m tempted to take a drink of it. I’ve had wine a few times in front of my parents. Fortunately, wine and champagne are the two exceptions that they’ve allowed me at my age.

  “I’m not sure if I believe you. You’re not even looking at me as you answer.”

  I slowly make my way over toward the middle of the kitchen island and scour the cabinets for a wine opener. Tristan’s heavy gaze follows me as I pop the cork and pour myself a glass of the imported Moscato. As I tip the glass to my lips, I hear irritation in Tristan’s voice.

  “You’re not old enough to be drinking.”

  “What?”

  Tristan’s jaw flexes ever so slightly as I hold the glass to my lips. Why is he so upset today? Did I do something wrong?

  “Ceci brought me the wine. I didn’t think it was a big deal. Sometimes Nicholas lets me have wine or champagne.

  “You’re too young to start drinking so early.”

  “I’m not trying to get drunk,” I say, stubbornly.

  “There’s some cranberry juice in the refrigerator. I think you’d enjoy that more.”

  “Why are you being so bossy today?”

  My cheeks flame in frustration at the tone of his voice. I know I’m not twenty-one yet, but why is he acting like I’m a child. I’m not. I feel a strange static charge electrifying between us as he steps closer toward me, leaving mere inches between us.

  “That’s not how you show someone you care.”

  “You don’t think I care?” he asks.

  “No, I don’t.”

  “You’re wrong, Emily.”

  I close my eyes at the way my name rolls off of his lips. It’s the first time in a while that he hasn’t used my childhood nickname. Against my better judgment, I lean into him and the scent of Tristan’s cologne consumes my senses. It’s a unique mixture of the salty ocean breeze and firewood. He leans in close, so close that I’m not sure where my skin begins and his ends. Tristan’s lips trail across my neck sending a strong pull at the center.

  “You don’t know just how wrong you are.”

  They’re the only words that leave his lips before he sends us crashing inside the pantry. Tristan’s hand grips my ponytail and his mouth crashes down on mine sucking every thread of air from my lungs. His touch sears my skin as it slowly unravels me. The sensation is enough to send my whole body into overdrive. I reach up to grab the back of his neck, but he turns me pushing me up against the pantry shelves. I feel his searing hot fingers pulling down my pants, and in the next moment, his erection is rubbing up bare against me.

  “Tristan,” I moan.

  “Fuck.”

  The words coming rushing out of his mouth as he turns and leaves me panting inside the pantry. My head feels like it’s floating above my shoulders as I step back trying to gather my balance. I run my hand over my swollen lips, excruciatingly aware of the blissful sensation between my legs.

  TWENTY

  TRISTAN

  It was a mistake. A mistake that I won’t be repeating again. Ever. At least that’s the promise I tell myself over and over again as I send a text to one of the subs from the Pleasure Chest. I’ve been avoiding inviting someone to come play in the same house as Emily, but after this morning, I’m not sure I can wait any longer. Fuck. There’s no sense in denying that I’m scorched by the consuming need to kiss Emily again. To own those lips and silence her questioning eyes.

  I know I’m playing with fire, but I can’t get the urge to touch her out of my mind. Seconds earlier, when I felt her lips pressed against mine, my control snapped. The thing I value so highly completely incinerated before my eyes. There’s no clear way to explain it, except that her moan unleashed something inside me. I wanted to fuck her. To show that insatiable mouth of hers where it belongs.

  What the hell am I thinking? If anyone could see the shit that’s going through my mind, they’d lock me up. This is the first time my fantasies are not something that I’m willing to make a reality. Not without consequences. Not without losing control. This morning and the other night should’ve never happened, but the sound that escaped Emily’s greedy little mouth only made denying my desire harder. It made me harder. And the ugly truth of it all is that I started something I should’ve stopped weeks ago.

  TWENTY-ONE

  EMILY

  It’s a needy moan that startles me awake. The soft sound of her voice vibrates through the air ventilation and into my room. My eyes flicker open and I stare into the darkness of my bedroom. It’s happening again. He’s down there with another one. I hold my breath as I strain to hear their voices. My heart races as their cries fill me with a lustful warmth, and I flush at the wicked thoughts that flood my mind. Thoughts of him touching me, thoughts of him spreading me open and taking me from behind. Thoughts of me being the naked woman entangled in his sheets.

  A gasping voice calls out his name. Tristan! I hear his deep, throaty roar and the sound of her moan desperate for release. This isn’t the first time I’ve heard him take a woman down to his room. There have been many nights I would lie here wondering what it must be like to be on the other side of that vent. I shouldn’t be having sexual fantasies about Tristan. He’s not my older brother by blood, but it doesn’t make the situation in the pantry any easier to swallow. Even the kiss we shared on the stairs blurred the lines between us. I don’t know how I should look at him anymore. Brother? Friend? Or something else entirely?

  I turn over and try my best to go back to sleep, but their voices draw me in, and before I realize it, I’m panting with them. I grow wet at the touch of my nail gliding across my bud. If he only knew how many times I’ve pictured him touching me. I close my eyes and imagine his hand inside me, pressing up against me and rubbing me at a slow, torturous pace. I arch at the warm sensation that starts at my center and builds its way up. My nipples harden as I roll one of them through my fingers.

  I’m so close. After several minutes pass, my hand grows tired. Frustration consumes me as the image of Tristan touching me dissipates. I lie there annoyed at the lack of release in my life. Most of my high school friends lost their virginity long ago, but I’m still stuck with mine. My best friend has reassured me that there’s no need to rush into anything, but when everyone around you is doing it, it makes me wonder if she’s just saying it because she feels bad.

  After several minutes of tossing and turning and doing my best to drown out the sound with my pillow, I muster the courage to get out of bed and walk down the long set of stairs to Tristan’s bedroom. I’ve always wondered why he chose to take one of the bedrooms downstairs. They’re usually reserved for guests. From the bottom step, I spot a cascade of light seeping out from his bedroom door.

  The scene before me sends a rush of heat straight to my center. I clench in arousal at the sight of Tristan’s long, muscular frame kneeling between two lovely legs adorned around his shoulders. I’ve never seen anything like it. I can’t see her face, but I hear the way her voice grows tight with each lick. Her body trembles as he kneels back and inserts two long fingers inside of her. I can feel myself dripping at the sound of his digits sliding in and out of her quickly.

  I’m so lost in the haze of it all that I don’t realize I’ve moaned aloud. Tristan stops and turns on his knee. His hazel eyes grow wide at the sight of me standing there as I watch the intimate session between two lovers. His lips part as if he’s about to speak, but he says nothing. Embarrassed at being caught, I turn and flee from his watchful eyes. They burn into my mind, threatening to unravel me.

  I’m halfway up the stairs when I feel someone grab at my heel. I turn and nearly tumble down, but warm hands are there to catch me. Despite the overwhelming darkness of the house, I know that it’s Tristan. His fingers are slightly calloused from the constant pressure of the drawing pencil in his hand. I’d recognize those hands anywhere. His body ho
vers slightly over mine as he stares down at me. I can feel the cold steps of the stairs digging into my back.

  For a moment, the only sound I hear is the ragged breath as it flows in and out of his shallow gulps. My breath hitches as I watch the reflection of the moonlight catch his face. His hair is ruffled into a mess and there’s a strong shadow of facial hair spread across his jaw and cheekbones and around his lips. I subconsciously reach out and touch his face. His skin burns beneath my fingers. If it weren’t for what I had just seen, I would be worried that he’s getting sick.

  Although the darkness of the house cloaks his frame, I know he’s fully nude. In his haste to catch me, he must’ve forgotten to cover up. It isn’t until I feel his erection pressing against my stomach that I sense a strange shift in the air between us. Without a word, Tristan positions himself between my legs. The world slows to a halt as his hand glides up my nightie. His warm fingers slide across me, leaving a trail of heat behind them. I tremble at the sensation. It’s like nothing I’ve ever imagined. It’s better. I feel him watching me as he pushes up the soft fabric of my nightgown and positions himself at the opening of my center. I writhe against him as he rubs his cock at my opening.

  I moan, and in one quick movement, his fingers wrap around the front of my mouth. He stops for a moment, listening for the slightest movement upstairs. My frantic thoughts return to the memory of the woman whose legs were wrapped around his shoulders only moments earlier. Where is she?

  Tristan loosens his hold on my mouth and leans in, letting out a harsh whisper against my ear. “You’re so fucking wet.”

  It’s the first and only words out of his mouth before I feel him thrust inside me. A sharp pressure hits me, and I immediately push back against him. This is what my friend Ceci had warned me about. Tristan slows to a stop as he sees discomfort etched across my face. I flush as concern and then disbelief fills his eyes.