friction sending me into orbit. My orgasm rips through me and I scream his name repeatedly.
“That’s right, babe,” he growls followed by an increase in his pace.
“Please,” I beg, still coming.
His movements become erratic as he releases my hair, bringing his hands back to my hips, and there is a deep bellow as he comes. His thrusting slows as he glides in and out, his hands lightly trailing across the skin of my ass and then up my back. I take some of his weight on me as I lower myself to the floor. Tristan pulls out and lies down, wrapping his arms around me, positioning us both so I am half on him with my head on his chest. I nestle into his side and throw my arm across his stomach while propping a leg around his hips. He kisses my forehead and lets out a sigh that sounds as though it were held for hours.
Tristan pulls me closer and rests his chin on the top of my head while stroking my back with his fingertips. “Kiss me,” he orders.
I lean in, tipping my head back, and he drops his head and kisses me. Our lips and tongues move together for a while, deep and sweet. He lifts his lips from mine and touches them to the tip of my nose and my forehead before he shifts down. Then he places them against my neck, where he buries his face and gives me a good squeeze with his arms.
“Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up, cupcake.”
I nod against his chest and pull myself to a sitting position. He stands, taking my hand and bringing me up with him, and we head to the steps of his apartment while retrieving the clothing we discarded in the throes of passion.
In this moment, I realize just how much this man can hurt me. I’m in deep this time, and that scares the shit out of me. I shouldn’t have allowed this to happen. It’s going to end so very badly, knowing what I know now. How can I do this?
I love him. Oh my god! I freaking love him! This isn’t like me. I don’t let my guard down. I don’t open myself up to catch feelings for anyone so intimately. I know better, and damn if I did it anyhow.
I fucking fell in love with Tristan Holt.
I am power-walking from my office, the sound of my heels clicking on the marble tiles echoing through the halls. For the past few days, I have felt extremely nauseated. My mouth waters and I feel the bile marching up my throat. I pick up the pace and end in a full-on sprint, making it to the bathroom in just enough time.
After my stomach empties itself into the toilet, I rinse my mouth and splash water on my face. I stare at myself in the mirror, taking in my skin, which is pale and a bit clammy. My eyes appear dull too. Earlier in the day, it dawned on me that I haven’t had my period yet this month, which puts me at three weeks late. Three weeks! How the hell did I miss that?
There’s a loud knock at the door, causing me to jump. “Open up, sugar. I have it.”
Curtis.
I shift my gaze from my reflection, open the door, and let him in. On his lunch break, he ran out to buy me a pregnancy test.
Another kick to the gut today? It’s the twentieth anniversary of when my father killed Tristan’s mother.
A kick to the face? The local newspaper just ran a story about that fateful night.
A kick to the head? I haven’t read it yet, but the countless messages I have received from Emma told me that I was mentioned in that story as one of the survivors and the daughter to the man charged in Alexis Holt’s death.
Shit!
Curtis opens the box, removing the contents and placing them on the counter. “According to the directions, you pee on this stick, wait two minutes, and voila. We’ll know if we’re going to be the proud parents of a little bundle of joy.”
“Shit,” I whisper.
I take the stick and observe it for a second while examining my life choices in my head, trying to figure out where I went wrong.
Well, here goes nothing. “All right. I’ll be
“That’s right, babe,” he growls followed by an increase in his pace.
“Please,” I beg, still coming.
His movements become erratic as he releases my hair, bringing his hands back to my hips, and there is a deep bellow as he comes. His thrusting slows as he glides in and out, his hands lightly trailing across the skin of my ass and then up my back. I take some of his weight on me as I lower myself to the floor. Tristan pulls out and lies down, wrapping his arms around me, positioning us both so I am half on him with my head on his chest. I nestle into his side and throw my arm across his stomach while propping a leg around his hips. He kisses my forehead and lets out a sigh that sounds as though it were held for hours.
Tristan pulls me closer and rests his chin on the top of my head while stroking my back with his fingertips. “Kiss me,” he orders.
I lean in, tipping my head back, and he drops his head and kisses me. Our lips and tongues move together for a while, deep and sweet. He lifts his lips from mine and touches them to the tip of my nose and my forehead before he shifts down. Then he places them against my neck, where he buries his face and gives me a good squeeze with his arms.
“Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up, cupcake.”
I nod against his chest and pull myself to a sitting position. He stands, taking my hand and bringing me up with him, and we head to the steps of his apartment while retrieving the clothing we discarded in the throes of passion.
In this moment, I realize just how much this man can hurt me. I’m in deep this time, and that scares the shit out of me. I shouldn’t have allowed this to happen. It’s going to end so very badly, knowing what I know now. How can I do this?
I love him. Oh my god! I freaking love him! This isn’t like me. I don’t let my guard down. I don’t open myself up to catch feelings for anyone so intimately. I know better, and damn if I did it anyhow.
I fucking fell in love with Tristan Holt.
I am power-walking from my office, the sound of my heels clicking on the marble tiles echoing through the halls. For the past few days, I have felt extremely nauseated. My mouth waters and I feel the bile marching up my throat. I pick up the pace and end in a full-on sprint, making it to the bathroom in just enough time.
After my stomach empties itself into the toilet, I rinse my mouth and splash water on my face. I stare at myself in the mirror, taking in my skin, which is pale and a bit clammy. My eyes appear dull too. Earlier in the day, it dawned on me that I haven’t had my period yet this month, which puts me at three weeks late. Three weeks! How the hell did I miss that?
There’s a loud knock at the door, causing me to jump. “Open up, sugar. I have it.”
Curtis.
I shift my gaze from my reflection, open the door, and let him in. On his lunch break, he ran out to buy me a pregnancy test.
Another kick to the gut today? It’s the twentieth anniversary of when my father killed Tristan’s mother.
A kick to the face? The local newspaper just ran a story about that fateful night.
A kick to the head? I haven’t read it yet, but the countless messages I have received from Emma told me that I was mentioned in that story as one of the survivors and the daughter to the man charged in Alexis Holt’s death.
Shit!
Curtis opens the box, removing the contents and placing them on the counter. “According to the directions, you pee on this stick, wait two minutes, and voila. We’ll know if we’re going to be the proud parents of a little bundle of joy.”
“Shit,” I whisper.
I take the stick and observe it for a second while examining my life choices in my head, trying to figure out where I went wrong.
Well, here goes nothing. “All right. I’ll be
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