Bad Things (Tristan & Danika #1)(55)

“You do that,” I ordered, trying with all of my being not to sound like I’d just had my world turned upside down. “I need something to grip.”

“I need to go shower. Can you stand up? I don’t want you falling asleep in the pool on me.”

He helped me slip off the float, and I could stand, if only barely.

I didn’t bother putting my bikini back on, just collecting the pieces while Tristan got out of the pool and wrapped a towel around his hips.

He didn’t look at me again as he strode inside.

It was ridiculous, but I had the strong urge to beg him to hold me.

I dried off, and went to my bedroom to wait for my turn to shower.

I fell face down on the bed, feeling lethargic and fuzzy headed. I thought I could have slept for days, after that out of this world orgasm.

I heard the bathroom door open, and only realized as Tristan sucked in a gasp that I was buck naked on top of the covers, towel on the floor.

“Sorry,” I mumbled.

He didn’t respond, but I felt the bed move as he sat at my hip. My skin felt like it was on fire as I sensed him just staring at my naked back for a long time.

When he did speak, his voice was low and hoarse, and sent a shiver of pure pleasure from my head to my toes.

“I didn’t get to rub your back. Time to finish your massage.”

I nearly purred my assent.

His warm hand caressing the back of my thigh had me almost jumping out of my skin. He eased my legs open gently, and I could hear his breath coming out in hard little pants as he studied me.

He pushed a big finger inside of me, and I was still wet enough that it went in smoothly.

“I’m never this wet,” I explained breathlessly, strangely embarrassed by it.

He groaned, pushing in a second finger. He started up a rhythm that had me close to the edge again shockingly fast.

“I can’t come twice,” I warned him with a whimper. “I never do. I’m not a…” I moaned, pushing with my knees to move against his wicked fingers.

He pressed himself against my side, throwing one leg over mine to keep my legs spread wide. I knew he’d jerked himself off in the shower, but he was hard as a rock where his c**k dug into my hip through his boxers.

He bit down with just the perfect amount of pressure on the tendon between my neck and shoulder, and I came with a long moan of purest pleasure.

“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.”