Bad Things (Tristan & Danika, #1)(60)

He had me wet and quivering before he poised himself at my entrance, the heavy warmth of his body sliding over mine. He held my legs wide as he entered me, easing in much more easily than the last time.

“See,” he rasped into my ear, “we fit just right.”

“Yes,” I gasped.

He began to move, slow, heavy strokes that had my hands flying to his shoulders, scratching mindlessly.

“I swear to God, I’m finding something to tie you up next time,” he grunted, gripping my hands back above my head firmly, his chest rubbing mine as he thrust, grinding into me, harder, faster.

My legs wrapped around his waist, tightening as the pressure built.

I felt myself clenching around him right before I lost it, my head pushing back into the bed, a rough, desperate cry escaping my lips, as I came.

I knew that he followed me as his mouth latched onto the pulse in my neck, his breath escaping in a raw gasp of a noise, his hard length grinding right into the end of me and holding himself there, wedged deep, his length pulsing with his release.

“You feel so good, sweetheart. I swear nothing’s every felt better in my whole f*cking life.”

I felt my body go limp as the powerful tremors eased, and his words made me literally melt. I had the oh so stupid girl thought that if I could just have Tristan, I’d never need anything else, not ever.

I had the crucial and inescapable realization that I wanted him. Not just in bed. Not just as a friend, but all of him. Every piece of the puzzle. I’d never wanted anything so badly in my life.





CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE





He left me briefly, presumably to take care of the condom, but I didn’t even lift my head up to look. For what I mused was the first time in my life, I felt well and truly sated.

I’d never come with a man inside of me. Hell, before yesterday, I’d never even had an orgasm with a man in the same room. Tristan always liked to joke that he had magic hands, but I was beginning to lean towards the idea that he had magic in every part of his body.

Turned out, feeling sated made me talkative, and so I found myself spouting out revealing little confessions between bouts of sex.

“That’s the first time I’ve ever come with a man,” I told him as I felt his weight on the bed. My eyes were closed, and I didn’t think I’d moved even one inch since he’d left me.

His hand went to my belly in a light caress. “You want to tell me what that’s all about?”

My breath trembled out in a long sigh, and I very deliberately didn’t open my eyes. “Do you really want to know? I’d hate to unload on you if you don’t feel like hearing my life story.”

His hand went still on me, and my eyes shot open, going to his face.

He was glaring, and it made me flush. “Please tell me you know me better than that, Danika. Seriously. That hurt my feelings. Of course I want to know. Tell me.”

I just nodded and closed my eyes, not wanting to look at him while I spoke.

“Sex…didn’t start out good for me. In fact, it was pretty horrible.” My voice was almost cold as I told it. Just stating facts, I told myself. It was the old you. Nothing to cry about now. “I was,” I searched for the right word, the word that made me sound less like a victim, “coerced.”

“Coerced?” There was already clear rage in his voice. God, the man could get worked up in a heartbeat.

“There’s a bit of a backstory, but it’s boring—”

“Danika,” he said darkly, censure in every syllable. “You know me better.”

I did know better. He’d always been a great listener, a great friend.

“My mother disappeared on me and my sister when I was about fifteen. We tried to hide the fact that she was gone. We were good at covering up for her. I can’t remember a time when we didn’t have to, for one reason or another. She was an addict. Hardcore. Opiates had her basically bedridden for my entire childhood. She wasn’t a functional person; she probably didn’t even know what that was.” I’d spent a lot of time trying to forgive her for that, but it hadn’t been easy, and I still wasn’t sure some days if I even knew what real forgiveness was.

“When she wasn’t bedridden, she was gone, doing God knows what.”

He’d grabbed my hands, rubbing the stress right out of them as I spoke. It helped. It felt good, distractingly good, which was what I needed. I hadn’t told this story in a long time, and it wasn’t an easy one to tell.

“We hid it for about a month before social services got wind. I suppose it was with good intentions that we were placed together into a foster home. It wasn’t much of a home, it was a trailer actually, and the family we were put with was…not ideal. It was an older couple, poor as dirt. The wife worked. She was gone a lot. The husband wasn’t.”

His hands tightened on mine briefly before starting up again.

“There might be people with good intentions that help with foster care, but that system is broken. So broken that it puts young girls with old perverts without a qualm.”

“God, Danika.”

My voice was calm and steady as I continued, just stating facts, “We weren’t there long before he started…coercing me. He knew which buttons to push, as predators tend to. Lucy told me that. She’s helped me work through it.”