Lovely Trigger (Tristan & Danika #3)(31)

His mouth moved to the sensitive tendon between my neck and shoulder, biting down gently, he plunged in hard.

I bit his hand (not gently) as he started to f**k me in earnest.

I had to brace both hands on the table in front of me.  It wasn’t all that sturdy; it began to shake, clanging into the wall with each movement.

I didn’t give a damn.

A few delicate fans fell off, and still I couldn’t make myself stop, even knowing I’d be sorry later.

That was the all-encompassing, undeniable control he had over my body, the absolute power.

The power to make me forget, and to make me let go.

He stretched me, my flesh clenched around him.  He surged in and out of me, filling me, taking all of the emptiness away for that brief respite.

I throbbed in time to his steady rhythm.  As ever, he played my body to his beat.  Who else?  It had been tuned for his hands alone.  The years apart had only illustrated that fact even further.

In huge glowing neon letters.

His mouth stayed on my neck, licking, sucking, his free hand digging into my hip, anchoring me for his relentless thrusts.

The pressure inside of me built with each sure thrust, until I was biting so hard at his hand that he pulled it away.

I tensed as I felt the wave coming, muscles drawn tight as he continued to pound into me.  I bit back a cry as my entire body began to convulse.

I broke, shuddering, clenching, wave upon wave of pleasure washing over me, crashing relentlessly, again and again.

Like it was rinsing me clean.

I couldn’t quite stifle one tiny sob as I came down from that impossible high.

He was folded against my back, himself shaking and emptying inside of me, as I came back into my trembling skin.  I’d missed the beginning of his release, as I’d been so involved in my own.

“My God,” he gasped.  “Are you okay?”

I nodded weakly.

“Well, I’m not sure I am.”

He started to pull out, and I let out a little involuntary noise of protest.  He hugged me tight from behind.  “Sweetheart, you are going to be even angrier with me if we get caught like this, or I’d stay inside all night.”

His words jarred me into remembering where we were.  I couldn’t quite believe it.  I’d been transported, for a few addictive minutes, into another place, another world.

His pants were fastened, my skirt straightened, when he spoke again, “Can we agree that we need to talk?  Not in a week, not in a month, but tonight.”

“I’m work—”

“When you’re done.  I can wait.  Obviously.”

I nodded, not looking at him, focused on the pile of fans we’d knocked over onto the floor.

I got to work picking them up and straightening them.   None were damaged, thank God, but not for lack of trying.  We’d knocked every single one of them off the table.

Tristan tried to help me, but I waved him off.

“Go away.  Go look around, or mingle, or something.  I can’t get anything done with you around.”

Instead of offending him, that made him smile.  The man was still perverse.

I got back to work, but I was so distracted that I felt like a basket case for the rest of the night.

Every time I turned around, there he was, looking my way, smiling at my annoyed looks.

What was wrong with him, behaving like no time had passed since we’d been close?  Acting as though we still were close.

It was disarming me, and I needed my arms.

After a time, as I did my usual hurry back and forth through the different exhibits, answering questions, handling sales, placating artists, I noticed that he’d stopped following me around.

Somehow, that was even more distracting.

The event was winding down before I saw him again.

I happened upon him in one of the smaller rooms, alone with some woman.  They were laughing together, and as I very nonchalantly moved in for a closer look, pretending to straighten a picture on the wall, I realized that I recognized her.

She had deep red hair and a pale but luminous complexion.  She was beautiful and very young.

She was a famous singer.  I knew the name of at least three of her songs, so she was very famous.  She was one of those young starlets that were always being linked romantically to other celebrities.

And at the moment, she seemed to be very interested in my ex-husband.

I couldn’t recall them ever being linked in the gossip rags.  Though I liked to pretend I didn’t keep track, I was up to date enough that I thought I would have remembered this connection.

The girl was just so young.  Nineteen, if I was recalling it right.

She wasn’t too young to make him laugh, or to appreciate whatever he was saying enough to laugh herself, and to touch his arm several times, and just in general seem ecstatic to have his attention on her.

I turned around and left.  I didn’t need to see that, or hear it, or ever think about it again.

I couldn’t, however, manage to keep my mouth shut for even a second when he approached me again, several minutes later.

“God, it was bad before you were famous.  You must have to beat them off with a stick now.  Or not, I guess.  There’s plenty of you to go around.”

His expression, which had been smiling, wiped clean, becoming very blank.  “I don’t think we want to go there.  Either of us.”