“I wanted to hate you,” she whispered. “But I don’t.”
“I know.”
She stumbled out of her chair, dragging her bag from the top of the bar, as she continued toward the door. “I don’t hate you, Tristan Montgomery, and that scares the hell out of me.” She continued walking, not bothering to look over her shoulder to make sure he was following. She knew he was. She felt him with every hair on her body, every drop of blood that surged to the surface of her skin.
“I don’t hate you either, Samantha Elizabeth Smiles. I never have.”
19
Chapter Nineteen
They walked down the sidewalk back to their room. Their hands occasionally brushing, his body so close she could practically feel the heat radiating off his skin. It was then that she realized how much the four rum and cokes had affected her. She felt tingly and warm. All the way to her toes. All over her belly. But it was more than that which warmed her insides. It was Tristan. The way he walked, the sound of his voice, the way she felt from the simple brush of his fingers.
He guided her back to the B&B, past a donut shop, a movie theater, and a bunch of other shops she didn’t remember. “Are you sure this is the right way?” she asked. “I don’t remember any of this.”
He only nodded, placing his hand on the small of her back to keep her moving forward. To be fair, when she’d left the room after changing, she wasn’t exactly paying attention to the shops. She was fuming. Crying. Ridiculous. And for some reason, she trusted Tristan. She trusted him to take care of her. To keep her safe. To make sure she didn’t fall. Honestly, she always had. For as many faults as Tristan had, he was someone who always looked out for his friends. That’s why he had so many of them. He was someone who always looked out for his family—which now that she thought about it, was the reason he always bugged Renee so much. He was too protective. Too involved in her business. Just like a big brother should be.
Soon enough, down a sidewalk covered with too many pebbles, Tristan opened the door to their room. Once inside, her eyes set on the single king-sized bed set smack dab in the middle of the wall. Nerves tickled the back of her spine, and she walked quickly to their bags in the wardrobe closet. She fetched her PJ’s from the front pocket of her backpack and carried them to the restroom to change. Neither said a word to the other as she moved around the room.
She set her bedclothes on the counter, bracing her arms on either side of the sink as she stared at her reflection. Her cheeks were pink and flushed, her lips red from crying too much, but she didn’t hate what she saw. Her hair was down, a little wild from drying on its own. It framed her round face perfectly. She looked pretty. Sexy even—and she was single for the first time in her adult life. She looked to the door leading back to Tristan and frowned. Because behind that door was a single king-sized bed, and a man who sent shivers down her body and spine.
Not knowing what to do with this information, she quickly changed. It wasn’t something she should even consider. Something she should think about at all. After brushing her teeth and splashing water on her face, she opened the door.
Tristan was sitting on the side of the bed, his long legs sprawled out in front of him, making him look large and confident. He looked into her eyes, down to her white t-shirt, then farther, to the sliver of blue that peeked out from the hem of her shirt. Perhaps it was the alcohol thinning her blood that made her do it, or the way he was looking at her, but she walked toward him, without a word, and stood between his legs.
He looked up at her, his voice deep with warning. “What are you doing?”
She shook her head, her hair hanging loose around her shoulders. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “I don’t want to think anymore.” Her heart was beating wildly, like a frightened bird, begging to be set free, but she couldn’t make herself move away. She wanted him, wanted him so badly she couldn’t think straight. She fell to her knees, to the patch of bed between his thighs, and he didn’t move away. They were face-to-face for the first time in far too long, their hearts beating as one, and her body surged with sexual awareness.
She couldn’t resist him any longer. She didn’t have to. His scent was all too familiar, and she remembered it like it was yesterday. Masculine, earthy, raw. “I want you so bad it scares me,” she whispered.
He let out a hard breath. “Samantha.” There was a warning in his voice, low and soft, but he wrapped his arms around her waist, contradicting himself. He buried his nose in her hair. As though he knew this was a bad idea, knew it would lead to nothing but pain, yet he couldn’t walk away any more than she could. He needed her just as much as she needed him. Like the sea needed the shore, like he needed oxygen to breath.
“How many drinks have you had?” he asked. His breath in her ear sent goose bumps down the length of her body.
She arched her back, allowing his five o’clock shadow to brush against her neck and her sensitive skin. “It doesn’t matter,” she whispered.
She pushed her fingers through his hair, gripping him, cupping his skull. She touched her lips to his throat, inhaling deeply.
A groan came from within him, deep and guttural. He shifted her to his lap and pulled her closer until her legs were spread and she was straddling his hips. The hard fabric of his waistband pressed against her sex, and the thin fabric of her shorts was doing nothing to dull her senses. The friction sent a surge of fire to grow in her belly. So strong she had to stop herself from calling out.
At first she froze, because she wasn’t sure how far she wanted to take this. She’d broken up with Steven less than six hours ago. She and Tristan still had two days ahead of them on their trip, but her body quickly took over all thought. Her hips moved, almost involuntarily, as though she couldn’t take any more deprivation. She’d denied herself too long, lied to herself too long, and her body was finally protesting.
She lowered her mouth to his neck, letting her tongue run along the sensitive skin of his throat. “You make me feel things, Tristan. Things I’ve never felt before with anyone.”
He groaned again, grabbed hold of her face and kissed her. It wasn’t soft, and it wasn’t sweet. It was rough and textured and layered with want. Her hips moved against him again, circling, grinding, and rocking against him, back and forth. She could feel the tension building, could feel him hard beneath her.
His hands held her face steady while his tongue pushed into her mouth. It was a hungry kiss, a starving one. It was so urgent, raw, overwhelming, that she almost forgot to breathe.
The tension climbed inside her, excitement all-consuming, freeing her thoughts and senses. They were both completely clothed, yet she’d never been more aroused in her life.
As quickly as it all started, he lifted her from his body and tossed her onto the bed. He rose to his feet, as if he’d just been pricked by something sharp, and raked his hands through his hair. He stepped backward, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”
Every feeling of want collapsed inside of her, the heat in her belly quickly became frigid, like a bucket of ice had just been dumped over her head. She was mortified. Nauseated. She rolled to the side of the bed and put her feet to the ground. Her stomach churned sickeningly.
“Samantha,” he said, still out of breath.
But she didn’t answer. She couldn’t, because if she opened her mouth, she might cry.
“Are you okay?”
She closed her eyes, knowing full well she wasn’t, but taking every last drop of willpower, she turned to face him. He looked tired. Tortured. Confused.
“Yes,” she whispered. “I couldn’t be better.” She rose to her feet, walked to the bathroom, and flicked on the shower. She stripped off all her clothes and stepped under the water, so quickly it didn’t even have a chance to warm up.
It was six years later, yet she’d let the same thing happen. Somehow he’d snuck under her walls, made her believe he’d changed, yet he couldn’t have been more the same. He was the same Tristan who’d broken her heart all
those years ago, and she was stupid enough to let him do it again.
She stayed in the shower longer than necessary. Washing every inch of skin he’d touched. Every bit of her he’d kissed. She then stayed longer—until all the water ran ice cold and her body was numb. She stepped back into the room, praying he’d gone to sleep, and found him lying in the corner of the room with a pillow. He didn’t have any blankets, any comfort at all, but she didn’t care. She climbed into the large bed alone, her hair still wet from her shower, and lay there, staring up at the ceiling, until she finally fell asleep.
Silence. That’s what she gave him the next day. It was easy for her, being an only child. She was used to being alone, used to having no one to talk to, but she could tell it bothered him, and that was the goal. She was hurt, embarrassed, and she wanted him to know it. She wanted to push him away. To push him so far he would have no way of crawling back up to her heart again. Because he had fooled her once, and that was shame on him. But now he’d fooled her twice, and that was completely and utterly a shame on her.
Tristan received a message bright and early from Bob the next morning. The Mustang was ready. They stopped at a small cafe in town to pick up breakfast, then ate it in the car as soon as they were on the road. She could tell he was bothered, that he hadn’t slept, but she wouldn’t let herself care. She set herself up with a new audiobook, then zoned out for the long drive ahead.
At one point, they pulled off the road to get gas. Tristan unbuckled his seat belt and got out of the car to place the nozzle in the tank. “There’s a cafe across the road,” he said to her. “It looks pretty nice, if you’re hungry?”
She adjusted in her seat and didn’t answer.
“Samantha,” he said again. “Are you hungry?”
She closed her eyes and continued listening to her book.
Before long, the headphones were ripped from her ears, and Tristan was standing beside her. There was hurt in his eyes. A hurt she knew she’d put there.
“Are you hungry, Samantha?”
She only shook her head, placed her headphones back on her head, and closed her eyes again. She expected him to go inside and eat without her, but he didn’t. He got back on the road, where they carried on toward their destination with empty stomachs.
The hours passed slowly, more slowly than they had the whole trip, but eventually the sun began to creep its way down to the mountains. Tristan pulled off the road to the shoulder of the barren overgrown highway, and put the car in park. His arms were tense against the steering wheel, his eyes focused on the sun, which cast a golden hue to the whole sky. “Is this how it’s going to be for the rest of the trip?”
She swallowed her saliva, her stomach rolling with sorrow, because the raw emotion in his voice caused her throat to instantly thicken. “Like what?”
“You not talking to me? Not looking at me.” He turned in his seat to face her. He was a mess. There were bags under his eyes, deep dark circles, and a crease in his forehead she’d never noticed before. “Is this all because of last night?”
She turned in her seat toward the door and tried to open it. To get out of the car, because she could feel her eyes welling over, and she couldn’t bear him seeing that again.
He leaned across the seat and pressed down the lock, not letting her go. “Answer me, Samantha.”
She turned back to face him. Anger surged through her body and reddened her face. “Yes!” She yelled. “Yes, this is exactly how it will be.”
“Why?”
“Because! If you don’t want me, Tristan, then just tell me! If you don’t want me, say it with words! Because I can handle words! But why let me embarrass myself like that? Why let me make myself a fool over you again?” Tears began to roll down her cheeks and she turned away.
He grabbed hold of her face, bringing her back, his thumbs brushing the tears from her lower lids. “You think I don’t want you? You think that last night didn’t almost kill me to push you away?”
She remained silent, but he kept talking. “I’ve never wanted anyone like I want you. I’ve never felt as out of control as I did last night. I may not be perfect, but I wasn’t going to sleep with you while you were drunk.”
Her chin began to quiver, and she opened her eyes. “I wasn’t drunk.”
“Yes, you were. You were stumbling all the way back to the room.”
“There were pebbles.”
“There were no pebbles,” he whispered. The corners of his lips lifted in a hesitant smile.
Her cheeks flushed again and she closed her eyes, but he pulled her onto his lap, causing her to open them again.
His eyes met hers, intense but without apology. “I want you Samantha. I’m sure you can feel how much.”
She swallowed. Hard and forcefully. Because yes, she could feel it.
He lifted her again and she spread her legs, straddling his hips like she had the night before. But he held her steady, not allowing her to move.
“What is it about you that I can’t seem to get enough of? Why do I have dreams about you when I haven’t seen you in six years?”
She shook her head, knowing she could have said the same words. There was something between them that drew them together. It was bigger than life. Bigger than anything she’d ever felt before.
He looked into her eyes, searching her face. Everything he was feeling lay out before her. “Do you want me, Samantha?” It was a question she thought she’d never hear, but one that sent every nerve in her body to stand at attention.
“You’re my best friend’s brother,” she heard herself say, even though her body was screaming for her to give in already.
He pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her body. “I know who I am. I know who you are. But none of that should have anything to do with your answer.” He kissed her throat, causing her to loll her head back, allowing him better access.
It was wrong, so wrong to give in to this. To the Temptation of Tristan Montgomery, who was laying himself out there like a buffet of drugs to someone who had an addiction. “I want you, Tristan.” It was soft, breathy, almost inaudible, but it was all that was needed.
His lips crashed against hers, and her arms wrapped around his neck. She was at complete surrender to whatever this was.
She moved her hips again, and this time he didn’t stop her. He kissed her throat, her collarbone, then lifted her tank top over her head, leaving her bare to him. He cupped her breasts, taking each nipple into his mouth, and rolling it with his tongue.
Whatever this was, she couldn’t stop it even if she wanted to. Their want for one another was like a magnetic pull, a gravity that only grew stronger with time.
She tugged at his shirt, not caring that they were on the side of the highway. She needed his skin against hers. She needed him now.
He pushed her back to her seat, and shifted his body above hers. He pulled off his shirt, his bronzed skin golden from the last bit of sun in the sky.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered softly against her neck. He moved his hips, grinding into her, and the pads of her fingertips dug into his back. His touch felt so good, so achingly sweet, that she wanted to push him away and pull him closer all at the same time. Every movement with Tristan was like this, every kiss, every touch, felt like magic. A hundred times better than chocolate, a thousand times better than anything she’d ever touched, tasted, felt, in her entire life.
He rocked into her again, his lips exploring her jawline and throat. She reached for the button of his jeans, unable to take this torture any longer. Her movements were rushed, awkward, shaky, but she finally found him, then wrapped her hand around his girth, and he groaned.
The sound was almost guttural, mixed with all the relief she felt simply by holding him in her hand. It was a sound of want, and she couldn’t help but move her hand down his shaft to hear it again.
He found her waistband, his thumbs dipping inside right before he pulled them downward. She lifted her hips, allowing him to pull them
all the way to her thighs, her legs, until he discarded them to the backseat where they belonged.
He didn’t join her again right away. He just knelt there on his knees, looking at her, his eyes hungry, raking over her body, her breasts, her thighs. She didn’t turn away. It was the second time she’d seen him naked, yet this time, she wouldn’t allow herself to be embarrassed, to be scared. He was perfect. Sculpted. Muscular.
Then his fingers began to inch up her thighs. Slowly at first, softly, and she didn’t look away. She wanted to see all of it. The way his cock twitched when he reached the apex of her thighs. The way his eyes fluttered when he discovered how wet she was. One finger dipped inside her core, deep and without apology, then the other. His fingers curled inside her, his thumb cradling her on the other side, adding the perfect amount of pressure. Her head lolled back, and she let out a moan.
His body joined her once again, solid, warm, heavy. She dropped her thighs open, completely surrendering to his every move, his every touch. The tension climbed inside her, strong, fast, to the rate it was almost scary. She didn’t want to finish without him. She’d never felt this way before. With so much fire in her belly, so much delicious pressure inside every crevice.
She pushed his hands away, then grabbed his hips and pulled him closer. But he only looked at her and shook his head.
“I don’t have any protection. I won’t be able to stop.” His voice was tight, guttural, almost strangled, but she didn’t care.
“I’m on the pill.” It was a simple invitation, but that was all that was needed.
His mouth slammed to hers again, his body anchoring her in place, until his hips found hers again. His whole back tensed. His hips, his stomach…but then he slowly sank inside her.
He was larger than she was used to, wider, but he stretched her in the most intoxicating way possible, and she welcomed the pressure. She lifted her hips, allowing him to sink even deeper inside, and then he began to move.
The Boy I Hate Page 15
