Bad Things(73)

“I got a boyfriend when I was about seventeen. He said he loved me, seemed to mean it, and I was so ready to love somebody that I fell for him hook, line, and sinker. I probably rushed into the sex part of that, but it was actually my idea. I wanted to get it over with, especially doing it with someone my own age. It was never about liking it. It was about…enduring it, and feeling like it was my choice. My next boyfriend was a slight variation of pretty much the same damn thing.”

My voice had stayed steady, my breathing even, as I told the embarrassing mess of a story, but Tristan’s wasn’t. His breathing was uneven, and messy, and spoke clearly of temper.

“Where does he live?” Tristan asked very, very quietly.

“Who? The old man?” I’d never say his name, not ever.

“Yes. Where does he live?”

“What? You making plans to go kick his ass?”

“Or kill his ass.” He sounded so deadly serious that I opened my eyes to study him.

“He died of a heart attack when I was seventeen. Been in the dirt for years now. No need for murder.”

I was teasing him, but he didn’t look amused. He looked troubled, and it was the kind of trouble that didn’t go away with teasing.

“I didn’t mean to kill the mood, but that’s it, that’s why I think sex hasn’t been good for me.” My tone was flat, but I felt so vulnerable, so open, and ready to be wounded again, and I strongly suspected that wound would come from whatever his reaction might be.

Words seemed to pour out of me in a jumble, as though I couldn’t say them fast enough, because I’d clearly rather wound myself, than have it come from someone like Tristan, who could really do some damage. “Probably not the sort of thing you want to hear about someone you’ve slept with. I’ll totally understand if you don’t want to do anything else with me. The things I’ve done are…disgusting. Believe me, I know that better than anyone.”

He was on me, angry and domineering, before I’d finished speaking.

He slanted his mouth over me, his movements angry, but his kiss so soft. When he pulled back to speak, his words were soft too. “You could never be disgusting, sweetheart. Never. I’m so sorry for what happened to you. You deserve so much more than what life gave you, and I wish to hell I could go back in time and kill that sick old man before he ever hurt you.”

“Thank you,” I told him, my voice thick. He’d hit all of the right nerves with a few short statements, soothing my wounds, instead of inflicting new ones. I should have had more faith in him. “But I really will understand if you don’t want me anymore.”

His answer was to move down my body with soft, feather light kisses, the contact sweet, his intent just the opposite.

He buried his face between my legs, eating me out with enthusiasm and skill. Skill and…talent. He had me gasping out his name, just on the edge, before he pulled back, turning me onto my stomach.

He pushed my legs out and up, until my knees were bent, my thighs spread. I tensed as I felt him positioning himself on my back.

He rubbed my lower back, and murmured soothingly. “Relax and arch your back for me a bit. I’ll make it good, sweetheart, I promise.”

“Are you putting on a condom? I can’t see.”

I felt him sigh against me. “Yes, of course I will. You made your wishes very clear. I wouldn’t take that choice away from you.”

I relaxed. He’d grasped that situation quickly.

The old man had never used a condom, never given me a choice about it, and I’d hated that so much.

“Thank you.”

I heard a foil packet being opened. “Tristan,” I said quietly.

“Yes, Danika.”

“I trust you. It’s really nice.”

“It is really nice. Thank you, Danika.”

His fingers moved between my legs, slipping between wet folds to plunge into me. He started up a steady rhythm with those magical fingers. He only pulled them out when I was on the edge again, panting and twisting against the contact.

“Danika, sweetheart?” he rasped.

“Yes, Tristan?”

“I’m done being sweet, if you don’t mind. I need to f*ck you really hard now, if that’s okay.”

The way he said it had me smiling, almost giggling.

“I’ll make it good,” he promised

“Yes,” I breathed, closing my eyes, submitting to the act as I could only seem to do with him. As strange as it seemed, this was just what I wanted, what I needed, after that confession. There was no better way for him to show me that it hadn’t changed the way he felt for me.