Bad Things(100)

“Oh, God, you’re going to make me lose my lunch,” an unwelcome voice burst out from the entrance to the kitchen.

Tristan straightened, shooting Dean a very unfriendly look.

“Get a room,” Dean muttered, rolling his eyes. He strode to the fridge, grabbed a beer out, and twisted the cap off.

“Some privacy, Dean,” Tristan ordered, his voice hard.

“Fuck you, man. This is the kitchen. You don’t get privacy in the kitchen.”

“You owe me, after that little scene earlier with your topless parade. Now give us some privacy.”

“You’d already f*cked both members of the topless parade within the past week. I really didn’t think you’d be offended if one of them came to get me a beer without a shirt on. When did you turn into a f*cking prude, Tryst?”

A few short sentences killed my good mood. We weren’t exclusive then, I told myself. It still hurt. And I had to wonder if and when Tristan would hurt me like that again.

Tristan took Dean’s words even worse than I did. He moved across the room, crowding the other man against the refrigerator. He stabbed a finger into the smaller man’s chest. “Watch your f*cking mouth, and listen carefully. If you disrespect my girl again, we are going to have a problem.”

“Me? I’m disrespecting her? Would you say I’ve been more or less disrespectful than you when you were f*cking everything in sight for the past two weeks? Does she know about that?”

I saw Tristan’s hands clenching into fists, and I was moving before I knew I was doing it. I ran to him, hugging him from behind, and pulling hard.

He let me take him back, and back, until my butt was hitting the counter.

“Please don’t,” I whispered, my cheek plastered to his shoulder blade.

Tristan pointed at Dean, and his voice was shaking with fury when he spoke. “None of this is any of your f*cking business, but I will educate you just this once. She and I weren’t together then, but we are now. And if you can’t behave properly in her presence, you know where the f*cking door is. That’s all you need to know.”

Dean threw his hands up in the air, looking annoyed, just how he’d started, as though the entire exchange hadn’t affected him a bit.

“Now give us some privacy,” Tristan growled.

Dean left without another word.

Tristan turned into me, lifting me back onto the counter. His mouth came down on mine, hungry and hard. His hands were everywhere, one slipping under his shirt to grip my ass, the other slipping up to tug at my nipple.

I gasped when he slipped between my legs, and his bared erection slid along my wet cleft.

I turned my head away, breaking the kiss. “Tristan! We can’t…not here. There’s no privacy.”

“He won’t come back,” he said hoarsely into my ear, pushing that first delicious inch inside of me.

“It’s still—ah—the kitchen…oooh.”

He shoved into me hard, pulling my hips to the edge of the counter for a better angle.

“Watch us. Watch my cock sliding into you, sweetheart. It’s too perfect.”

I glanced down. He’d lifted my shirt, and pulled his jeans down just enough to bare him. I watched his thick hardness pushing into me with breathless fascination.

His mouth took mine when he was seated to the hilt, but he ended the kiss abruptly, his eyes moving down to his cock dragging out of me. I couldn’t help it, my gaze following his. I moaned at the sight and feel of that heavy pull.

“Feels so good,” I gasped.

“Feels like heaven,” he growled, taking my mouth again.

One of those magic hands slid down, rubbing my clit in perfect little circles that brought me over the edge.

He followed with a rough shout.

“There’s no way Dean didn’t hear that,” I told him when I finally had my breath back.

He ignored my statement, pulling out of me. “Hopefully I didn’t destroy another batch of ravioli. I’m starved.”

That was a change of subject if ever I’d heard one. I watched him drain the pasta, trying to think a clear thought. He was so good at distracting me from absolutely everything but him.

He brought a ravioli to my lips. “Try it. You’ll like it.”

“I’m not a big fan of simple carbs,” I told him, but I took a bite.

He gave my mouth a brief kiss as I chewed. He was right, they were good. Maybe not homemade Tristan good, but certainly the best frozen pasta I’d ever tried.