The VIP Room(61)

He planted his left arm on the side of my head as he reached down and pressed himself against my opening. He teased me, letting the tip of his cock venture inside a few inches before retreating completely.

“Tristan,” I groaned, reaching down.

He stopped my hands before they touched him. Gruffly, he murmured, “Put your hands on the headboard and don’t move them unless I say you can. If you do, I’ll just have to tie you up instead.”

I’d never been tied up before. I’d never even really thought about it until he said something, but now the image was in my mind. And, surprisingly, I wanted it. I wanted to feel helpless and under his complete control. Perhaps not now, but eventually.

Looping my hands around the headboard, I bit my lip to hold back another moan as he teased me again. He kissed me, as if pleased, and rewarded me with more of his cock.

I took advantage of it and ground down, taking him until he was imbedded deep inside.

“Fuck,” Tristan bit out, jaw clenching. With an almost helpless growl, he gave me another thrust. My back arched at the sensation. “You’re gonna be a hand full, aren’t you?”

“Just f*ck me, Tristan,” I whispered, eyes half lidded.

With a groan, he kissed me, giving my bottom lip a little nibble before doing what I asked. He covered me completely and started thrusting, rough and deep.

“Oh, yes,” I murmured. I moved with him, thrusting my hips to match his pace. We fit so perfectly; I could feel every delicious slide of his cock. My hands squeezed the headboard as he ducked his head to take a nipple between his lips. “Can I move my hands? I need to touch you.”

“Yes,” he hissed, slamming into me. “Touch me.”

Immediately, I brought my hands to arms, which were braced on both sides of my head. I could feel his bicep muscles moving, straining, coming alive. I moved my fingertips around to his back, feeling the flex of muscles there. It was incredibly arousing to be able to feel his magnificent body at work, pleasuring me.

“Look at me,” he ordered. My eyes flashed to his, remembering when he’d said something similar the first time we’d had sex. They were dark with lust. “God, you’re so f*cking beautiful.”

I flushed even more than I already was at his compliment. And then I gasped because he changed his angle, so that the root of his cock ground into my clit on every thrust.

After only a few moments, I was on the verge of climax…and when he picked up his pace, riding me harder and harder, I was there.

He continued to drive his cock into me, furious and deep, leaving me suspended in the haze of intense pleasure for seemingly hours and hours on end. My back was arched, lips parted, but my eyes never left him and Tristan took it all in, eyes greedily roaming over my face, as if I were a beautiful painting he never wanted to forget.

Thirty seconds later, Tristan was coming. His head dropped into the crook of my shoulder and he groaned, harsh and loud, against my damp skin, hips bucking wildly as he released himself inside me.

When he was spent, he dropped his weight into me and I savored the feel of him, stroking the smooth skin of his back as he regained his breath.

I gazed up at the ceiling in a happy daze. Sex with him was beyond amazing. Fantastic. World-changing.

But, even as sated as I was, a little nagging voice in my head couldn’t help but worry. It had been great last time too, and the moment he’d pulled away, I’d been blindsided.

Tristan gave a tired groan and rolled off me. He slipped out of my body; a mild twinge of discomfort made me flinch, evidence of our rough, intense coupling.

I watched, holding my breath, as he slipped the condom off, wrapping it up in a clean tissue he found on my bedside table. Then he rolled over to me, saw me looking at him.

“What is it?” he murmured, his voice thick and gravelly.

“I…” I cleared my throat, hugging my arms over my breasts. “I was just worried that…”

Immediately, his eyes flashed in understanding. Frowning, he gathered me into his arms. “I’m sorry for that, Noelle. I was a jackass. It won’t happen again.” He tipped my chin back and gave me a deep, thorough kiss that washed away my doubts.

Well, most of them, at least.

“Can I ask you why?” I murmured, suddenly feeling shy. “It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me.”

“I think I owe you an explanation, don’t you?” he said, bringing me closer.

We were on our sides, facing each other. Our legs were tangled up in a content mess and I was warm from our combined body heat, even though it was a chilly October night and my heater wasn’t working properly.

In this moment, he wasn’t Tristan Blackwell, heir to the Blackwell fortune and the head of Blackwell Financial. No, he was just Tristan, the man who’d hurt me and then apologized and then given me the best sex of my life.

“I know nothing about you,” I whispered, stroking the tips of his hair lightly. “Other than what I’ve read online and in the press. I have no idea what makes you do the things you do or why…but I’d like to. I really would.”

He smiled a lazy smile and traced the sides of my face. “You Googled me?”

I flushed with embarrassment. “Yes.”

“I Googled you too.”

I let out a surprised laugh. “What did you find?”