Rock Bottom (Tristan & Danika #2)(14)

He pulled my hand over his heart. “That hurts me. This is all yours right here. All of me. No one else gets a thing from me, you understand? I wouldn’t do that to you. I wouldn’t make all these promises if I didn’t intend to keep them.”

I nodded, blinking back tears.

He moved back into me, pinning me to the wall. His forehead touched mine as he gripped my hips, shifting until he was poised back at the core of me. “I’m f**king done with this record deal if it means I’m losing your trust. This is forever for me, sweetheart. I want it all with you. You’re the thing that gets me up in the morning and lets me rest easy at night. I wouldn’t have survived some of the shit these last few months if it weren’t for you. You’re my rock, Danika, and I need you to trust me.”

I nodded again, then gasped as he thrust hard into me.

It had been weeks for us, and so it was a fast coupling. Fast, but satisfying.

As always, he waited until I came before he let himself go, holding me tight on his c**k as he emptied himself deep inside of me with a gratifying shout.

He caught his breath, growled for me to hold on tight and without pulling out, carried me to the couch, lying back so I was riding him.

His hands went to my hips, gripping tight, and his eyes flew to mine. There was a world of worshipful desire in his eyes that I craved like air.

“Ride me,” he ordered, or begged. It could have been either, his tone was so rough, his eyes so intent.

He was hard and ready to go again, which I’d become accustomed to. It took a lot to really satisfy him, after days apart.

I started to move, circling my hips, seating myself hard, then pulling up again. I rode him how he loved, my movements sure, my hands cupping my br**sts. I knew how it titillated him to watch me touch myself, and I was rewarded with a harsh groan and a hard surge of his hips under me.

I pinched my ni**les, my head falling back, hips still grinding on him with more frantic, jerky motions as I grew close.

My own release made me pause as I shivered and gripped around him like a vise, squeezing him tight as each wave of pleasure took me. He wasn’t far behind, surging high inside of me as he went over.

We didn’t move for a long time after. My hands sifted through his hair as we kissed leisurely, lazily. I thought I could have slept for days after that delicious interlude.

He pushed me back slightly to smile up into my face. “I missed you.”

“Always. Every second of every day.”

CHAPTER SIX

DANIKA

I was getting dressed the next morning, in the process of buttoning my jeans, when I felt him running a light finger along first one of my shoulders, and then the other.

I glanced down at myself. A line of small bruises patterned my shoulders, which brought my eyes down to my chest. One abused breast had received a similar treatment.

The man at my mother’s house had left his mark on me. Tristan’s talent for distraction had helped me forget the entire thing, for a time, but the bruises were an unwelcome and brutal reminder.

I could feel the tension in his voice when he asked, “Where did these come from?”

I’d always been a terrible liar, but I still gave it an honest try.

“Hmmm?” I attempted, going for casual. I made a point of glancing behind me, where his hands were tracing, my brow furrowing as though I had no notion where they’d come from. “No idea. Could have been anything.”

“Those bruises look like handprints.” His tone was deadly.

I began to backtrack and tiptoe. It was a fact that Tristan had a temper that was not to be messed with, and if he had a clue what had actually made these bruises, he’d go ballistic in a heartbeat.

“I bruise easy. I’ve never even noticed them before, so it must have just happened.”

He took a quick step back. A man his size didn’t move that fast without an impact. I turned to study his face. The arrested look of horror on his face didn’t help. I saw right away that I’d played it all wrong.

“I did that? That was me?”

I began shaking my head no before he’d gotten a word out. “No, no, no. It definitely wasn’t you.”

“How can you say that? You don’t know where those marks came from, you said. I must have grabbed you there yesterday. I did that to you.”

“It wasn’t you, okay? I swear. Can we just drop it?”

He seemed to catch something in my words, or my tone, that had his expression changing from horrified into perceptive, an even more troublesome option. “What happened, sweetheart? Tell me how you got those bruises.” His tone was all cajoling charm.

I didn’t let it sway me.

He moved until we were face to face, brushing light hands over my shoulders and up into my hair, fisting until he’d tilted my face up to his, his body moving close enough to mine to stop my brain from functioning properly. “Tell me.”

“They don’t even hurt. You’re overreacting.”

He blinked, looking taken aback. “Overreacting? Okay. So tell me what I’m overreacting to.”

I swallowed, feeling very nervous about his response, my mind still trying to find an excuse for the bruises. I honestly thought he might kill the guy if I gave him the real story.

“It was a misunderstanding,” I explained, licking lips gone dry.

His face became very blank. “A misunderstanding did that? Where can I find this ‘misunderstanding’?”