His eyes widened in momentary surprise at her blatant demand.
She smiled at him. Something about the way he so confidently commanded this situation made her feel inherently safe within it. As if she could do anything, say anything, and he’d rise—literally—to the occasion. His sense of play was equal to his sense of honor. He’d stop if she asked.
Just as he’d likely use that tongue of his on her all night if she asked him to.
“I want you to make me come.” Her thighs twitched and she trembled as she moved against the hands that restrained her. “And then I want you to do it again.” When he continued to stare at her, she smiled. “You said my wish was your command?”
He grinned then, and it was so wickedly perfect, she found herself laughing in sheer joy of the moment. Of finding the perfect partner in crime…or passion, as the case may be. “As it happens, your command dovetails nicely with my own wishes,” he told her, then leaned closer, his gaze still locked on hers. “Like this, then?” he asked, oh-so-innocently. Wicked, wicked man that he was. He flicked out his tongue, expertly brushing over her, making her hips jerk hard, making her moan.
“Yes,” she managed, sliding down so she lay flat on the bed once again. “Most definitely yes.”
“Or perhaps this.” He drew his tongue slowly over her, then pulled her between his lips, gently suckling, then flicking his tongue over her again.
The sensations wound tighter and tighter, so close, so close. She wanted it to last, this exquisite pleasure. It was so good, too good. But he wouldn’t let her. Not this time. He continued teasing, tormenting, until her gasps became whimpers, and her whimpers became moans, until she was begging him, with her body, with her words, to finish what he’d so brilliantly started. “Tristan, please—”
And please her he did, driving her over the edge with a series of tiny tongue flicks that had her swearing she saw stars as she came almost violently against him.
“Bree,” he coaxed, once she’d stopped thrashing against him. “Bree, luv,” he said, kissing her thighs, soothing her as she came back to earth.
Quite drowsily, she managed to open her eyes and gaze down at him. “Wow,” was all she could manage.
He chuckled, and even that gentle vibration made her twitch and jerk as aftershocks of pleasure still continued to rock her.
She reached blindly for him, wanting to feel the weight of him on top of her, wanting him to fill the aching, desperately needy void inside of her that had yet to be met. But he nudged her hands away. “I’m no’ finished with you yet,” he warned her, all teasing smiles and devilish twinkle.
“No?” she asked faintly.
In response, he very gently, very softly, drew his tongue down over her, making her gasp and buck involuntarily. “No,” he murmured. “Relax, let me have my fill of ye.”
Well, when he put it like that…He followed up his request by continuing to caress her, gradually building her back up. She was deliciously relaxed now and a languid peace had spread its way through her. The intensity and need built slowly this time, her soft moans becoming more insistent as he brought her from one plateau to another. Her back arched almost lazily, but fully, as he drew her closer and closer to the edge. He kept her hovering there, a breath away, as her heart rate increased, her whimpers turned to growls, and her hips bucked with growing impatience, only then did he push one finger inside of her. She gasped sharply, clenched tightly…and came instantly. Muscles so aching with need clamped down on him hard, as she writhed beneath him and milked the orgasm for every last drop of pleasure it could give her.
The sensations were still shimmering through her in delicious little aftershocks when he finally drew away from her. She whimpered in automatic disappointment at his sudden absence, and fought to open her eyes, pull herself back from the foggy haze of pleasure she’d drifted into and focus on the moment. The fight was worth it. As she opened her eyes, she saw Tristan standing at the foot of the bed, slowly shucking his shirt and pants.
Splayed before him like the wanton, sated creature she’d so easily become, she took unabashed and quite avid pleasure in watching him disrobe. She’d seen him close to fully naked before, but it was nothing compared to now. Lit only by a small bedside lamp, the soft yellow light bathed his tautly muscled body in shadowy hues, highlighting every dip and curve so beautifully, she thought she could be content simply staring at him.
Until he slid off his pants, and she saw for the first time the full depth and breadth of his desire for her. Then she decided a far more up close and personal exploration was definitely going to be in order. “You’re beautiful,” she murmured, unaware she’d actually spoken the sentiment until he glanced up at her as he slid a condom packet out of his dresser drawer and tore it open with his teeth. It was hard to tell in this light, but he looked a little abashed at her blunt appraisal, and glanced away as he rolled the condom on.
“Are you blushing?” she asked, a very satisfied smile spreading across her face. She felt edgy and needy again, and liked the idea that he wasn’t impervious to their byplay, either. She wanted him badly, and yet she found herself in no immediate hurry to speed things up. She understood now his desire to slow things down when he’d had his turn with her. His body twitched at her slow appraisal and her smile spread to a grin. Somehow she didn’t think he was going to be any more patient than she’d been. Come to think of it, she didn’t want to be patient, either.
“Perhaps I’m no’ used to being looked at as if I were Sunday supper,” he said at last.
She laughed, unable to remember a time when she’d felt this good, this relaxed, this happy. “Is that a bad thing?”
He crawled onto the bed and she shuddered in anticipation.
“I don’t know,” he said, his voice close to a growl. “Why dinnae ye tell me?” He moved slowly up and over her body, pulling one of her thighs up onto his hip as he did.
He lifted her up as he slid between her thighs, stopping just as he pushed against her. She wrapped her legs around him, keeping her hips tilted, wanting to push herself up onto him, but let him set the pace. Even if it killed her. She wasn’t an aggressive partner in bed. Or she hadn’t been. Tristan made her feel very earthy, intensely female, and definitely like his equal. He made her want to play, made her want to drag him down…and deep inside…and keep him there. For a very, very long time. Forever was sounding pretty good at the moment.
She’d come to her senses later.
He pushed one hand into her hair and cupped her neck, tilting her face to his. “Bree, luv, I wanted to take this quite slow, savor every bit of you…but I’m afraid my restraint is about worn through.”
She nudged him closer by digging her heels into his backside. “Slow next time,” she told him, her voice quivering right along with the rest of her body. He made it so easy for her to speak her mind, say the things she’d only ever let herself think. “Hard and fast now.”
He didn’t flash a grin as she’d expected. If anything, his face grew more serious, his eyes reflecting a desire that should have overwhelmed her…but instead made her feel cherished and cared for.
“Bree…”
“I know,” she whispered. “I know.” She slipped her hand behind his neck and urged his mouth to hers. And as she mated her tongue with his, he pushed into her. She groaned, deep down in her throat…and felt something move inside her chest, close to her heart, as he started to move inside of her body.
The soul kiss continued as their bodies moved together, almost the more intimate of the two joinings. She felt his body gather, tighten, as he moved deeper, faster. She met him thrust for thrust, grunt for grunt, and when he finally came, they both cried out.
He gathered her close and buried his face in the curve of her neck, pressed his lips to the pulse point he found there, then rolled them gently to their sides. She felt thoroughly loved and wonderfully replete…which probably explained where the sudden lump in her throat came from. It had, after all, been a very long day, fra
ught with a lot of emotional highs and lows. It was only natural to feel a bit weepy.
Tristan shifted up, grabbed a couple of pillows and stuffed them under his head, then pulled her up next to him, cradling her in the shelter of his bigger, stronger body. Tucking her close, he pressed his face to her hair and slid one of his legs across both of hers. Never had she felt so cosseted, so cared for…so completely and utterly safe.
She pressed a small kiss to the center of his chest, then snuggled in and let sleep overtake her. She’d sort out the avalanche of emotions tomorrow when she was rested and thinking more clearly. For now, she was going to enjoy a night of deep, undisturbed sleep. In Tristan’s arms.
“Thank you,” she whispered, not sure he heard her, nor that she wanted him to. She didn’t want to explain all the reasons she felt that way, most of which had very little to do with the physical pleasure they’d just shared. Because then she’d have to explain them to herself.
Tomorrow. She’d deal with everything tomorrow.
Just as sleep claimed her, she felt him smooth back her hair and press his lips against her forehead. “Aye,” she thought she heard him murmur. “’Tis thankful I am, too, luv.”
Chapter 10
They’d awakened at some point during the night and crept out to the kitchen, like two thieves in the night, whispering for no reason, only to have to stifle bursts of laughter and a squeal or two of surprise when one or the other would snatch the other close for a quick kiss or teasing squeeze.
Tristan had let Jinty out into the stormswept, early morning hours for a quick run while the two of them made quick work of the stew he’d left warming in the covered pot on the stove. Then he’d made her squeal quite loudly when he’d tossed her over his shoulder and taken her back to bed, where he’d stripped his t-shirt off of her and spent a delightful hour exploring her exquisitely sensitive nipples, then making love to her once more. He’d intended to go slowly, to savor it more, savor her more. But she’d surprised him and taken control, rolling him to his back, straddling his hips. From the moment she’d sat up, shaken her hair back, and grinned at him, he’d been completely lost. He gripped her hips and let loose, each of them taking the other for a wild, fast ride that left them both breathless and laughing in delight.
She was absolutely irresistible to him. He told himself it was simply because she was something bright and shiny-new to play with…intoxicating and initially addictive. But as he’d lain next to her afterward, watching her sleep well past the wee morning hours, he wondered about that. He felt as if he’d known her forever, his comfort with her was so utterly complete. It had been but one night…and he already didn’t want to imagine a morning where she wouldn’t be nestled beside him. He’d been alone thus far in life, and he was comfortable with that, but he’d never been lonely. When she left…he would be both.
Tristan shifted slightly in the armchair so the thin, early-morning light sifting through the window just behind him would illuminate his sketch pad somewhat more brightly. He didn’t turn on the bedside lamp. He wanted to capture the sunrise precisely as it was, with the light gradually sliding across his bed, across Bree’s body and face. His hands moved swiftly, with easy confidence, as he studied the tableau laid out before him.
He looked over the rough charcoal sketch, but even his overly critical eye liked what he saw. He flipped to a fresh sheet and began again, this time drawing her legs, tangled in the sheets, one foot tucked beneath her other ankle. He smiled, liking the fact that he already knew she liked to hook one foot over his ankle in her sleep and draw him close, keep him close. He’d awakened about an hour earlier to find her sprawled next to him, flat on her stomach, her face turned away from him…but hooked at one ankle…and with her hand comfortingly pressed to the center of his chest. He’d lain there for the longest time, thinking he rather liked the sensation of being claimed, liking that she’d felt proprietary about him, even in her sleep.
It should have made him feel cornered or trapped, which was typically how he reacted when someone got the least bit clingy. But those former someones weren’t Bree Sullivan. With her, he wanted to be a marked man, wanted her to want him, wanted her to want more of him.
Wanted her to want to stay.
He continued sketching. Another of just her feet, one of her hand, clutching a fistful of bed linen. His body stirred, remembering what those fingers had felt like, clutching a fistful of his hair. He wanted her again. Had never stopped wanting her, even when his body was too spent to do anything about it.
He flipped another page and did a few quick studies of her face, not quite smooth or serene, even in sleep. He wanted to soothe away the last of those hollows, see the shadows leave her entirely. He imagined he would be able to recreate her face at will for ages to come, without ever having to lay eyes on her again, so permanent a mark had she made on him. He studiously avoided thinking about that day, the day that she’d leave here. Perhaps even today.
He absently rubbed at the spot on his chest, soothing the immediate aching sensation that very thought had incurred. For all that he was artist and dreamer, he was also a pragmatic realist. Flock owners, landowners, had to be. He’d already put a call in to Alastair Henderson’s repair shop, leaving a message that he’d need the older man, or his daughter, Kat, to come out with their tow truck at their earliest convenience. He smiled a little, imagining his future sister-in-law’s reaction upon finding a very tousled and happily content woman tucked away under his roof. She’d tease him mercilessly, for certain, then immediately hunt down Brodie to tell him all about it. But she’d also be sincerely happy for him. And it was that fact that had given Tristan what little peace he’d been able to scrape together about this whole ordeal.
He wanted Bree to stay. For however long she thought she could manage it. Sure, he knew he was only asking for greater heartbreak when the time ultimately came that she had to go. But he knew life was too short and too unpredictable not to cherish the things that made a man happy and fulfilled for whatever the duration of that happiness. It was something he’d tried to tell his oldest brother, Dylan, on several occasions. Not that he’d listened. He’d shrugged off his baby brother’s insight, saying he’d dealt with his grief and had moved on with his life. Even though it was quite plain to anyone with even a passing knowledge of the tragic circumstances of Dylan’s recent past, that nothing could be farther from the truth.
But his brother losing his wife so abruptly had only underscored Tristan’s beliefs in holding on tightly and enjoying fully whatever life brought his way. He paused in his sketching and watched Bree snuffle softly into her pillow. She might only be in his life for a short time, but his heart had immediately recognized her as someone very special. He didn’t bother to analyze it. A waste of far too precious time.
Yes, he’d shamelessly and selfishly do whatever he could to keep her here for as long as possible, if he thought she’d benefit by it in some way as well. If it was better for her to go…then he’d respect that. But she’d said herself she needed a safe haven, needed a place to step out of the insanity and regroup. He could give her that, wanted to believe that was why their paths had crossed, if for nothing else.
And Kat and Alastair Henderson could help him in that endeavor. He’d enlist their help in keeping Bree’s identity under wraps, keep her from any unnecessary intrusion by the world at large. His village might be filled with nosey, opinionated busybodies who, in his estimation, spent far too much time concerned with the business of others…but they were also fiercely loyal and protective of their own.
And if Bree was in Tristan’s care, then by extension their loyalty would convey to her as well. If he asked them to help him maintain her privacy, he knew they’d rally for him. It was one of the things he cherished about life out here. And they knew, each and every one, that he’d do the same for them.
He smiled a little, his sketch pad forgotten as he watched Bree begin to stir and stretch. Yes, he’d willingly endure endless ribbing from the
same townsfolk whose help he intended to enlist, but that was part and parcel of the deal. The outside world would be persona non grata…but the gatekeepers would assume full access to this new chapter in his life. Payment for services rendered.
Tristan was surprised to discover that the prospect of being the focal point of village gossip for the immediate future didn’t bother him so much. In fact, it shocked him somewhat to realize that he rather fancied the idea of taking Bree into Glenbuie, introducing her around. But not quite yet. He hadn’t gotten his private fill of her yet, and he was feeling quite greedy and proprietary over her himself.
He slid the sketch pad to the floor and stood, stretching the kinks from his back and shoulders, having lost track of the hours he’d spent in that chair, capturing every detail of Bree for all posterity. Images that needed no recording as they’d be perfectly preserved in his mind’s eye for the remainder of his days. Of that he was certain. And yet, it had felt so wonderful to translate those images, his view of her, to paper. He’d felt freed, his creativity finally unshackled and available to him again, to command at his whim. He’d never again take that gift for granted.
She rolled to her back, and the invitation was too much for him to pass up. He crawled onto the bed, stretching his body out on top of her, eliciting a surprised little grunt. Before she could fully awaken, he rolled to his back and pulled her across his chest, tucking her against him and hooking his legs around hers to keep her nestled atop his body.
To his everlasting pleasure, she immediately snuggled closer. “Mmm,” she managed, then pressed a sleepy kiss to his throat.
“Hungry?” He’d already fed Jint and let her out for a run. His stomach had grumbled earlier, but at the moment he hungered for something else.
Bree wriggled on him a little, as evidence of his newly awakened hunger grew. “Is that a proposition?” she mumbled, yawning and stretching a little.
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