Alone.
“So.” My voice is artificially bright and I twirl around so my back is to him. I can’t deal with the way he’s watching me. Having him so close, all that potent energy coming at me in thick, heady waves is screwing with my brain. My gaze locks on the giant king-sized bed with its silvery blue comforter and dark brown leather headboard. It’s a luxurious bed. Simple yet masculine. Comfortable looking. A bed. And we know why I’m here. It’s not to take a nap.
My knees wobble at the mental image of Tristan and I wrapped around each other in his bed and I mentally tell myself to get my shit together.
“So…what?” he asks, his deep, slightly rough voice sending a ripple effect across my skin.
“Do you bring lots of girls to your room?” I ask, tensing in preparation for his answer. I’m sure he brings tons of girls up here. I imagine these walls have seen and heard things I couldn’t begin to comprehend.
“I don’t bring any girls to my room,” he says, so carefully I turn to face him once more, my mouth hanging open.
“Wh-what do you mean?” Oh God, I’m stuttering. This can’t be happening.
“I’ve never believed any other woman I’ve met is worthy to see my bedroom,” he says, his gaze never wavering. “Just you.”
My cheeks go warm. What is he even saying? And God, the way he’s looking at me. I can almost feel his eyes touch my skin as they wander all over me. “Tristan,” I chastise. Like a dummy I can’t come up with anything else to say.
“I fucking love it when you say my name.” His voice is fierce, so is his stride as he starts walking toward me. “Say it again.”
What in the world…
“Tristan!” I start to giggle, confused by his sudden shift in mood.
“I’m serious. It makes me crazy when you say it.” He stops in front of me, so close I could reach out and touch him. Or he could touch me—and I want him to make the first move. I’m not feeling capable enough tonight. Besides the ball is in his court.
I clear my throat, wondering if it’s best if we cut the evening short. “Maybe we should—”
He cuts me off. “I knew if I brought you up here I’d never want to let you leave. The thought of you naked, in my bed…it twists me up inside. I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off of you.”
Oh. Wow. My face feels like it’s on fire. “Stop, Tristan,” I say weakly. His words are doing things to me. Making me feel…almost crazed with wanting him.
A little growl sounds from low in his throat. “From the first moment I saw you, I can’t think about anything else. I’m like—I’m fucking Romeo over here.”
Wait a minute. What he’s saying—his words sound familiar?
“I fantasize about your lips.” He touches my face, his fingertips running down my cheek, skimming across my mouth before his hand drops. “Your perfect, pink lips...”
Giddiness explodes in my chest. “Oh, my God.” I tackle him hard so he has no choice but to brace himself as he grabs hold of me around my waist so we both don’t topple to the ground. “You’re quoting fucking Harry Goldenblatt to me!” How much Sex and the City did he watch by himself?
Tristan dips his head, the smile on his face so genuinely sweet I’m breathless. “Charlotte’s my favorite.” He kisses me, the touch of his lips on mine making me immediately want more. “You remind me of her.”
“Well, you don’t remind me of Harry at all.” Charlotte’s second husband on SATC was a bald, sweating mess of a lawyer who loved Charlotte with his entire being. They were the cutest couple ever.
Tristan is a hot hunk of man flesh who uses and discards women like they’re Kleenex. Until…me? This is hard for me to wrap my head around but somehow, he likes me enough, is attracted to me enough, that he wants to reveal himself to me, bit by bit. Real bits.
Every new glimpse I get makes me like him even more.
“I feel his pain though,” Tristan murmurs, his mouth on mine once again, stealing my words, stealing my breath for the quickest second before he breaks the kiss. “I want you so bad, it’s fucking killing me.”
I set a trembling hand on his cheek, overwhelmed at his words and the gesture behind them. He watched my favorite TV show because of me. For me. That he would quote some of the sexiest dialogue I’d ever heard—I wanted to jump bald, sweaty Harry Goldenblatt the first time I watched him make that brazen, impassioned speech to Charlotte—touches me.
Such a small thing, really, but it means so much. It means he cares.
And that is the one thing that’s turning me on more than anything else.
Tristan takes my hand from his cheek and kisses it, just before he yanks me close and devours me. There’s no other word to describe how he’s kissing me. It’s all consuming, his lips sealed over mine, his hand cradling the back of my head as his tongue explores my mouth. I kiss him back just as feverishly, desperation clawing at my insides as I whimper low in my throat. Our tongues thrust against each other in a heated rhythm, over and under. Under and over. Again and again.
I break the kiss first to catch a breath and his hands are everywhere, all at once. Sliding over my body, along my sides, dipping beneath the hem of my sweater to touch my stomach. His fingers are like a brand. Scalding hot, yet making me shiver, my heart race, my head spin.
“This needs to go,” he murmurs, tugging on my sweater before he dives in for my neck, sucking the sensitive skin there just before he nibbles it. I close my eyes, my senses bombarded with all things Tristan. His hands skim up, stopping just below my breasts, his thumbs coasting up. Along the lace trimmed cup of my bra, then touching my bare skin. I suck in a breath, goose bumps rising and I feel him smile against my neck before he lifts his head.
“What are you hiding underneath here?” The little half-smile teasing his lips makes my heart flutter. He is so incredibly beautiful. Just looking at him sets my head spinning. Having his hands on me while I’m looking at him?
I’m surprised I’m still standing.
“Take off my sweater and you’ll see,” I tease, my voice this throaty dare I’ve never heard before. I sound like a total sexpot.
Clearly Tristan likes it from the heat that’s flaring in his gaze. He grabs the hem of my sweater and slowly pulls it up, his teeth sinking into his lower lip the last thing I see as he tugs the sweater up and over my head, sending it flying across the room.
“Jesus,” he breathes, his gaze locked on my chest. I don’t have much. If a guy is attracted to me physically, it’s not because of my stellar rack. Sometimes I think that the lingerie collection was a way for me to compensate where I lack by wearing expensive, beautiful bras and panties. “That bra is like…the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”
Well. I’m guessing he’s seen a lot of bras so I’m surprised.
He touches me carefully, like I might not be real as he settles those big hands at my waist and slides them up, over my ribcage, until they rest just beneath my bra. He cups me, tests my miniscule weight, can probably feel the padding that lines my bra but I don’t care.
I’m savoring this, the way stares at me, his gaze full of want.
Need.
A shuddering sigh escapes when his fingers play over the tops of my breasts, trace the delicate lace, smoothing over the silky black and white polka dotted cups. My nipples harden and my breasts are heavy, the bra suddenly feeling like a constraint.
“Did you wear this for me?” His smoky voice sends a shiver down my spine.
“Do you like it?”
“I fucking love it,” he says without hesitation as he watches his hands play with my breasts. “I can’t stop looking at you.”
I step closer to him, rest my hands on his shoulders and whisper next to his ear, “The top matches the bottom.”
“So you did wear this for me.” His hands immediately go to the waistband of my jeans, his fingers fumbling with the snap. “Take ‘em off,” he demands.
“You take them off.” I pull away from his searching hands and go to the bed, a shocked huff of lau
ghter escaping when he slips his arms around me from behind, pushing my hair away from my neck so he can kiss me there. His mouth lingers, his teeth nibble and I shiver, trying to shy away.
“Didn’t know you were such a tease,” he murmurs, his fingers back at the snap of my jeans. I slap his hands away and turn within his embrace to face him, loving the heated glow in his brilliant blue gaze. “Those jeans need to come off, Alexandria.”
“I know.” I reach for the hem of his shirt and pull on it a little. “But turnabout is fair play or whatever the heck that means.”
Chuckling, he lets go of me and reaches behind his neck, tugging his shirt off with one pull. I suck in a breath at the chest that’s revealed, my gaze bouncing, unable to stay in one spot. He’s beautiful everywhere, a work of art with defined pecs, a flat stomach and a light smattering of hair in the center of his chest. No intimidating washboard abs but he does have a golden brown trail that starts just below his navel and disappears just beneath the waistband of his jeans.
I wanna see where that trail of hair leads to.
“Wow,” I whisper and he chuckles again.
“That’s exactly how I felt when I first saw you,” he murmurs, cupping my cheeks with his hands before he leans in and kisses me.
I forget everything when his mouth is on mine. All I can concentrate on is the way he makes me feel. How my body reacts to his touch, his taste, his words. He whispers that I’m beautiful and butterflies erupt in my stomach. He reaches for the front of my jeans, slides his fingers down inside of them until he’s touching the lacy top of my panties and I’m instantly wet. And when my hands finally make contact with the warm, hard wall of his chest, my knees wobble. I can’t form words, I can’t think, all I can do is run my hands all over my skin like I’m trying to memorize it for later.
Somehow we end up on the bed in a tangled heap. His hand goes to my back and undoes my bra snap expertly, the cups springing free, revealing my lacking chest. He pulls the bra straps from my shoulders, down my arms before he tosses it on the side of the bed. Self-consciousness rears its ugly head and I pull away from him, my arms immediately coming up to cover my chest.
“Hey, hey, what happened to my teasing little angel?” His smiling face is hovering above mine, his gaze zeroed in on my face. He gently pries my arms away from my chest, his fingers brushing against my breasts and I suck in a breath. “Let me see you.”
My arms fall to my sides and I lay there like a virgin sacrifice. Eyes tightly closed, body tense, limbs trembling as I wait for his assessment. I don’t know why I’m so nervous. Not thirty seconds ago I was teasing him and laughing and now I act like he’s going to take one look at my boobs and jam. I’m being ridiculous. I know it.
But I can’t help it.
“So pretty,” he says reverently. I crack open my eyes to find him watching me with a bemused expression on his face. Well, bemused tempered with arousal because he also looks like he wants to jump me. “Relax. You’re too tense.”
He then proceeds to relieve the tension with his mouth on my breasts, blazing a trail of damp heat all over my skin, racing over me in a rush of fevered lips and tongue. One hand cups a breast while he sucks the other nipple in his mouth, lashing his tongue over my aching, pebbled flesh. I curl my hands into his hair, holding him close, arching into his mouth. I’m reckless with need, wrapping my legs around his, realizing that I have my stupid boots on and I pull on his hair tight, making him lift his head.
“What?” He sounds irritated, like I interrupted him and that almost makes me smile. His lips are swollen and damp, his eyes hazy with lust and his hair in complete disarray.
It’s a fucking great look on him.
“My boots.” I run my booted foot over the back of his jean-clad calf. “Can you help me take them off?”
The grin he flashes me is nothing short of lecherous. “I’ll help you take everything off.” He pushes away from me, going to stand at the foot of the bed so he can unzip first one boot, then the other.
“Perv,” I tease.
“You like it,” he tosses back as he yanks off my left boot and lets it drop to the floor, doing the same with the right one. Then he’s tugging at my jeans, commanding me to undo them and I draw down the zipper with shaky fingers. Blowing out a shaky breath when he practically rips my jeans off my body, I feel exposed.
His gaze burns as it runs the length of my legs, settling on my panties. “Fucking hell,” he groans, shaking his head. “You are like my every wet dream come to life.”
I frown. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”
“Baby, that is one of the highest compliments I could ever give a girl. Do you know how much I’ve fantasized about you looking exactly like this? Lying in the middle of my bed in just a pair of panties and nothing else? Jesus. It’s almost too much.”
“So all that talk of you fantasizing about me is true?” I thought maybe he was repeating lines from SATC and nothing else. Well, I was hopeful, but why would I star in Tristan Prescott’s wicked dreams?
“Oh, you reside in my deepest, darkest fantasies, Alexandria.” His voice is full of dirty, delicious promise. Anticipation skates in my veins and I know whatever’s going to happen next, I’m bound to enjoy it.
She is literally splayed out across my bed like she was made just for me. Ready for me. Only me. Wearing a pair of thin black panties and nothing else, those long, long legs slide against each other. She looks restless, maybe a little uneasy and I wonder if she’s nervous. I don’t want her feeling that way. It’s going to be good between us.
I know it.
Anticipation hums in my veins and I reach for her foot, lifting up her leg and smoothing my fingers along her calf, tickling behind her knee.
“Stop,” she says as she tries to jerk out of my grip but I only hold on tighter. A frustrated giggle leaves her when I tickle her again. “I’m ticklish.”
I decide to go easy on her but I’ll remember that for later.
Dropping her foot, I reach for her waist with both hands, pulling her to the edge of the mattress until her feet land on the floor. She props herself up on her elbows, gasping when I kneel in front of her. Her eyes are luminous as she watches me.
“What are you doing?” she asks shakily.
My hands still on her waist, I lean over and drop a kiss on the flat plane of her stomach. “Kissing you.” Hmm, and I could go on kissing her forever, I swear. Her skin is soft and smooth, smelling faintly of flowers and a hint of spice. I kiss her again, around her navel, below it. I can smell her, the scent of her arousal strong and I swear she’s hot for me. As in, heat is radiating from between her legs.
I want to explore every inch of that heat with my fingers and tongue.
She squeezes her thighs together as I kiss along the lacy top of her panties, her skin quivering beneath my lips, her knees knocking into my chest. I’m in the mood to tease. This will be a surefire form of torture for the both of us, but I can withstand it. I want to drive Alexandria out of her mind. I want to witness her falling apart.
And I want her to remember that I’m the one who makes her feel this way.
Curling my fingers around either side of her panties, I tug them down a little, just enough to expose her hipbones, that soft, secret spot just above her pubic hair. I press my mouth against her, breathing her in, closing my eyes as I leave slow, open-mouthed kisses on her skin. I consider pulling her panties completely off but decide against it for now.
“Spread your legs, angel,” I whisper as I pull back, place my hands on the inside of her thighs and slowly push them open. She doesn’t fight it, merely goes along with my wishes and I sit back on my haunches, taking in the view. The front of her panties are wet, her thighs are shaking and I kiss the inside of one thigh, then the other, drawing closer, closer…
Until I’m right where I want to be, pressing my mouth on that damp spot that’s been taunting me.
“Oh, God,” she moans so I do it again. And again. Her panties are so th
in I can practically taste her. I tease the spot with my tongue, pressing hard, harder, soaking her underwear, the musky taste of her filling my mouth. Fuck, she tastes amazing, so amazing my cock twitches behind my fly, desperate to break free. I close my eyes for a second, trying to grasp onto my fading control.
But I can’t take it. My patience has left me now that I know what she tastes like. I want more.
Pushing her panties to the side, I run my fingers down her slit, sinking two of my fingers inside her, watching intently as I push them in, then pull them out. She’s hot. Wet. Coating my fingers so that they glisten. My heart races like fucking crazy as I pull my fingers out of her grasping body and trace her folds gently. Just a ghost of a touch on her pretty pink flesh, it’s hard for me to tear my gaze away from her pussy when I also want to watch her face as I play with her like this for the first time.
“Ali,” I whisper and she opens her eyes, her gaze meeting mine. I like my nickname for her. It’s sweet and intimate, just for me. “You’re so fucking wet.” Christ, she’s beyond wet. “Does this feel good?”
“S-so good,” she chokes out, her voice strangled. Her head falls back against the mattress with a thump and she slings her arm over her eyes. “Please don’t stop,” she mumbles.
Like I could.
Fueled on by her request, I skim her folds with just my fingertips, circling around the hooded flesh that covers her clit. I rub my thumb across it, press harder, pull back the tiny bit of skin so her clit protrudes and I lean in, flicking it with my tongue, teasing it, wrapping my lips around it. Her gasping breaths encourage me and I’m greedy, hungry for more. I draw as much of her as I can into my mouth,
She tastes like heaven.
Her hips lift and she thrusts her pussy more firmly against my face and I grab hold of her waist with one hand, holding her there. I slip my finger deep inside her, making her moan as I continue to suck and lick her clit, her entire pussy. Up and down, over and over, making sure no spot is left uncovered. She’s making these hitching, whimpering noises low in her throat and I add another finger, thrusting them deep, desperate to get her off, make her come apart.