Bad Things (Tristan & Danika #1)(78)

I loved his desperation, loved feeling like he couldn’t get enough of me, and even if it meant something different to him than it did to me, I was going to savor it while I could.

He peeled my dress off me from behind, pushing me onto my stomach on the bed. I heard him working out of his own wet clothes before his hot body was pressing hard onto my back. He pushed until I was grunting under the weight of him, hugging me hard.

He eased off quickly, raising up to his knees, and using a hand on my belly to bring me with him. His hands on my hips had me on all fours, bracing for him. I heard him ripping open a foil packet before he was at my entrance, pushing just inside.

“Touch yourself,” he ordered.

I reached down with one hand, rubbing my clit as his c**k teased at my entrance, and his hands found my br**sts, skimming over them with a light touch. I pushed back hard, working him in another inch.

He moaned, his fingers rolling my ni**les, then tugging at them. “Work that clit faster, sweetheart. You aren’t wet enough to take all of me yet.”

“I am,” I argued, twisting my hips towards him, desperate to feel him deeper.

He pulled out completely.

“You think so?” he asked, something in his tone making me crane my neck to look back at him.

“Yes. Feel me. I’m wet. I want you inside of me.”

His fingers snaked down, slipping into me, proving my point with their slick entry. “So you are. Okay, then. Ask me for it.”

I straightened, bumping into him until we were both on our knees, my back to his chest, his legs between mine keeping me wide open. My head fell back so I could look up at him. “What?”

“You want me inside of you. I’m telling you to ask me for it. Be specific, and say please. Also, use my name.”

My first instinct was to tell him to go f**k himself, but something in his tone, some strange possessive thread, made me think he’d do just that, if I didn’t ask. And something about that possessiveness, especially coming from him, just made me more desperate to have him buried deep inside of me.

“Please f**k me from behind, Tristan. Please bury your c**k as deep inside of me as you can go, as many times as you can, until I lose my mind.”

My tone was sarcastic, but it still did the trick. He pushed me down until my face hit the mattress, my knees still pushing my ass high, a position he took full advantage of, grabbing my hips and plunging into me with one deep thrust.

I stuffed a pillow in my mouth to keep from screaming as he went at it, rough with me as he’d never been before, his size making it nearly unbearable, it was so intense. And yet, I found myself building up to that pinnacle faster with his heavy, hard, needy thrusts.

He pounded deep, relentlessly bringing me over the edge. He lifted my hips higher as I clenched around him, grinding deep and, with a low groan, emptying inside of me.

He lay heavy on my back when he’d finished, kissing my cheek, and hugging me close.

I was so exhausted that I drifted off before he’d even pulled out of me.

I woke again sometime in the night. It took me a few disorienting seconds to figure out why.

Tristan’s arm had tightened around me, squeezing the breath out of me. He was at my back, leg thrown over my thigh, arm over my chest. Somehow, I still hadn’t woken up in fear. I slept so deeply in his arms, so peacefully.

His mouth was at my ear, his voice a deep, comforting rumble. “Missed you.”

I shut my eyes, a wave of absolute contentment running through me. I love you, I thought. “I missed you, too,” I said.

He relaxed against me, and we fell back to sleep.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

I woke up alone. I had a small hope that he was already up, but a quick search of the house dashed that hope in a hurry.

My reaction to his absence was a strong one.

I started making breakfast for the boys, tears running down my cheeks.

I’d never been so emotional, and this one last thing, him disappearing before I woke up, made me realize what a mess I’d become.

I had it together by the time the boys woke up, but my composure was a fragile thing. The morning was torturous, and I had to struggle to be good company for the boys, when it usually came so easily.

After lunch, the boys helped me walk the dogs, a slow, disorganized trek around the neighborhood.

My heart tried to pound right out of my chest when we circled back to the house, and I saw Tristan’s car, and moreover, Tristan leaning against the back end of it, arms folded across his chest, straining the material of his T-shirt rather distractingly.

He grinned as we rounded the corner, and everyone; the dogs, the boys, and me, started rushing to him.

He met us halfway, greeting the boys and the dogs with pats on the head.

His smiling eyes met mine, but the smile died when he saw how I was watching at him.

“What’s wrong, boo?” he asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

I hitched up one shoulder in a self-conscious shrug. “Nothing. I just thought you’d disappeared on me again.”

He straightened from where he’d crouched to pat the dogs, wading through them to move close to me.

He cupped my face with both hands, his eyes studying me carefully. “No. No. No, sweetheart, it wasn’t like that at all. I just went to run some errands. You were sleeping so peacefully; I didn’t want to wake you.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but he bent his head down, touching his lips to mine, before I could get a word out.