Bad Things (Tristan & Danika, #1)(91)

His arms tightened again, his voice a frustrated growl in my ear. “You’re being ridiculous. We were talking, and that was it. I don’t have feelings for her. I haven’t for years.”

“You were flirting with her,” I snapped.

He moved his lips to my neck, pressing there so softly that it made me shiver. “Maybe I was, but it was harmless.”

“Harmless?” I tried to elbow him again, but my arms were locked down tight, so I tried kicking my heel back into him. He didn’t even seem to notice when my shoe made contact with his shin. “How was it harmless? It wasn’t harmless to me. It hurt like hell to see you flirting with your ex!”

His hands were on my arms, and he started stroking softly, a soothing motion, his face nuzzling into the spot just behind my ear. “I didn’t think of it like that. I thought it was harmless, because it didn’t mean anything to me, but I’m sorry if it hurt you. You’re right, that’s not harmless, and it won’t happen again. Just understand this, even if we weren’t together, I’d never go near her again, not like that. I know that woman too well to ever want to lay a finger on her, okay? And I don’t need anybody but you.”

I took a deep, trembling breath, finally convinced that what I’d seen hadn’t been two exes that still wanted each other.

“But, sweetheart, listen carefully, when I say that I don’t need anybody but you, what I mean is that I never have. I need you. I’ve never needed anyone or anything the way I need you. I need you in a way that would break me if I lost you. Being with you makes every part of my life better. Every second I get with you is the best second of my life. I’m not good at expressing myself, not like you are, but I treasure this thing between us. Don’t think I don’t.”

I nodded, my heart racing. He’d never said anything so revealing to me before, and I savored every word like it was a feast. And I’d been starving.

His mouth moved back to my neck, kissing and biting at that tender flesh.

I gasped.

“I need you. Now.”

“I think you might just enjoy it when I have jealous fits,” I told him.

“I just might,” he murmured, biting down on that tendon between my neck and shoulder. “But let’s not pretend I don’t want to f*ck you just about every waking moment, regardless.”

“Let’s not,” I agreed, almost laughing now. The man could give me serious mood swings.

“I need you right here, right now.”

“Here, here?” I asked dubiously. “Here as in the balcony, in the middle of a party?”

“Here, here,” he affirmed, his hands sliding down my arms, gripping onto my wrists, pulling them out from my body.

He nudged me forward two steps, wrapping each of my hands carefully around the top of the metal rail that ran the length of the balcony. Even his touch on my hands was a caress.

“Hold on,” he warned.

I gripped hard, instinctively obeying the command in his voice.

It was a hot summer night in Vegas, and so I wasn’t wearing much. He slid my little khaki cargo shorts and panties down my legs with one smooth motion. I stepped out of one leg, not bothering to step out of the other side of the shorts. Hell, I didn’t even kick off my flip-flops. It wasn’t that type of a f*ck.

Tristan’s hands ran up my body, starting at my ankles, up my calves, over my ass, across my naval, finally going to the front clasp of my bra to snap it open. He freed my breasts from their confines, but left my little white tank, and even the straps of my bra on. It wasn’t that type of a f*ck, either. This was a direct access, get at it as fast as you can kind of f*ck, and I was right there with him.

His knee moved between my legs, nudging them a few inches farther apart, and I heard him unfastening his own shorts, and pulling himself free. He rubbed his bared erection along my already slick sex, over and over.

I stared over the balcony’s railing, thanking God that it was dark, and that his apartment was facing away from the other buildings. We were on the third floor, but even in the daytime, I would have only been looking at a large concrete wall and the desert field beyond.

His mouth was at my ear, telling me in detail just how good I felt, as he worked himself into me. One of his hands slid up to pluck at my breast, his other moving to grab my hip hard as he seated himself to the hilt. We both let out a low groan as his hips made solid contact with my ass.

Balcony sex should have been a quickie, but it wasn’t that. It wasn’t a rough race toward the finish. He brought me over twice in a row, with his perfect strokes and his magic hands, and the sexy things that came out of his mouth. He took his time with me.

At some point, someone began to open the sliding glass door. The door itself was quiet, but the racket they made moving the blinds out of their way was loud enough to give us warning.

“Go back inside and shut the f*cking door!” Tristan barked out, not even slowing his strokes. Sure enough, that worked like a charm.

And strangely, hearing that rough command in his voice, that raised voice he almost never used, brought me over with a helpless little moan.

That had him moaning and jack-knifing into me, shouting out my name with his own release. “You like it when I yell at people, huh?” he panted into my ear as he leaned hard against me, both of us recovering.

I didn’t answer, didn’t even acknowledge the question. I wasn’t sure what to think of it myself.