Bad Things (Tristan & Danika, #1)(56)

“You’re not a what, boo?” he asked, a rough whisper in my ear that made me tremble.

My mind was blank. I couldn’t even remember where I was, let alone what he meant by that question.

“You said you can’t come twice. You never do. And you started to say you weren’t…?”

My mind grasped the conversation, if only barely. His big fingers were still inside of me, and it was hard to focus on anything else.

“I’m not a multiple orgasm kind of girl,” I finished the sentence for him.

He chuckled into my neck, his fingers moving, pulling out, then pushing in again roughly. I didn’t like rough, but I’d never had a rough caress feel so good before, and my hips circled, moving with his hand as he started up a hard rhythm.

I made a loud sound of protest when he pulled his fingers out, but he just flipped me onto my back, quickly pushing them in again.

His eyes on my body were mesmerizing. The look on his face was stark, his gaze hungry.

“You know I just take that as a challenge, right?” he asked, moving down my body, his intent clear.

“Where did you learn to do that?” I asked him.

“Do what?” His face hovered over my groin.

“That thing with your tongue.”

“I’m not answering that,” he said firmly.

That was fine, because I quickly forgot the question.

“You know, I can do that with more than my tongue,” he said, and punctuated the words with his hand, the thrusts of his fingers turning into a rough vibration that blew my mind to pieces.

“You’re so beautiful,” he told me after I came down from my third glorious orgasm of the day.

“That was three,” I told him, stunned.

He moved up my body, smiling as though he was the one that’d just gotten off three times.

He kissed me, pushing his body onto mine, his bare chest pressing into mine, his stiff length nestling in just the perfect spot, rubbing it hard against me. If he hadn’t been wearing boxers, we’d have been as good as having sex.

I could taste myself on him, but I didn’t care, I couldn’t get enough of his mouth, or his weight on top of me. Usually I hated that feeling, of a man’s weight pinning me down, but I relished it when it was Tristan.

“I could do something for you,” I offered as he broke away from my mouth and started kissing my neck, his thick hardness thrusting against me in a frustrated rhythm.

“No. This is for you. I still owe you a back massage.”

I pulled his face back to mine, sucking at his mouth, my legs moving to wrap around his hips in a death grip. We both groaned as that pushed him partially into me, even through his shorts.

“You were so tight on my fingers. You felt so perfect.”

I pushed against him, watching his face. “I want you inside of me.”

He didn’t even consider it, just shaking his head. “That wasn’t the deal. The deal was, I get you off, not, I get you off, and then take advantage of you while you’re good and sated.”

“You’re not taking advantage. I want you. All of you. Every inch of your cock buried deep inside of me.”

He went glassy eyed, giving one last frustrated thrust against me before pulling away. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow. I don’t trust either of us right now. In the meantime, I owe you a back rub, so turn over on your stomach.”

I rolled over, closing my eyes.

He worked on my back for several minutes with his gloriously strong hands, kneading deep into my muscles, taking his time, relaxing every inch of me. I was nearly asleep before he spoke into my ear.

“I forgot to tell you,” he rasped. “All of my massages have a happy ending.”

He surprised a giggle out of me, he was so outrageous, but the giggles quickly turned into gasps as he pushed his fingers into me, starting up a fast rhythm that took me over the edge yet again.

The last thing I remembered before drifting off was murmuring a soft, “Thank you,” and feeling him gently kiss the back of my head.





My first thought as I woke up was that I’d never had such peaceful sleep in my life.

I could have gone right back to sleep, but I was quickly distracted by the fact that it was dark outside. As I realized this, I scrambled to my feet and threw on the first clothes I could find, nearly running into the living room.

Jerry and Tristan were sitting on the couch. Their voices were pitched low, and there was no sign of the boys, which meant I’d slept through bedtime.

“I’m so sorry, Jerry,” I began. “I didn’t mean to sleep the day away.”

He waved me off with a smile, standing. “No worries, Danika. Tristan and I had it covered. Everyone needs a good nap every now and again.”

“Did Bev already go to bed?” I asked, glancing toward the kitchen.

“Hours ago. She works early. I’m heading to bed, too. It’s past midnight. Goodnight, kids.”

I smiled at him. Usually when someone in their forties referred to younger adults as kids, it was condescending, but never with Jerry. I knew that he meant it as a term of endearment.

“Night, Jerry,” I told him.

“G’night, old man,” Tristan said, a twinkle in his eye.

“You think you’re insulting me,” Jerry shot back as he strolled out of the room, “but I feel twice as old as you think I look, so it’s all the same to me.”