His brows furrowed as he took it from her fingers. “Everything okay?”
She looked up, her stomach so twisted she thought she might be sick. “She didn’t answer,” she whispered. But a vice tightened around her heart and she couldn’t remain quiet. “I don’t think we should say anything to her. About this.” She waved her hand around the elevator, but the meaning was clear. She didn’t want to tell Renee about them. About whatever this was. Whatever had happened between them.
“Okay,” he agreed. But it was a little too quickly. A little too soon…
Her brows furrowed, because for some reason his easy agreement hurt. She said it wouldn’t, had told herself a thousand different ways that this time she could stop it, but… “She’s the bride,” she explained. “And I don’t want any attention going anywhere else.”
He nodded.
“I’ll tell her later. I mean, if it comes up. When she gets back from Cabo.”
He nodded again. “Sounds good.”
The doors opened, but neither of them exited. He looked at her, a frown making his handsome features somehow more heartbreaking. “Are you okay?” he asked. “You’re acting funny.”
She was like a deer caught in headlights, unsure which direction to turn. Because if she went right, her future was waiting. Without a career, without a relationship, without a best friend. But if she turned left, if she asked him about the message, she might find things she never wanted to know. Things that would cut deep, would alter all they shared together, and leave her broken at a time she needed to be strong. Instead, she walked toward him, right into the fire, and wrapped her arms around his body. His heat was scorching, his body solid and strong, and even if it killed her later, she would allow herself to hold him just a little bit longer.
He wrapped his arms around her waist, so tight it was almost crushing. “Are you okay, Samantha?” he asked her once again.
“I’m perfect,” she whispered, though she knew it was a lie. But she was good at faking happiness. So good she’d fooled even herself for six years.
He grinned at her, apprehensively, but still sexy as hell, then lifted her in his arms and walked out of the elevator to the door of their room. He entered the card in the slot, not allowing her to slip. “Good.”
He kissed her lips and pushed it open. It was a kiss of goodbyes, of last chances, and not wanting to let go. He kicked the door closed, carried her to the bed in the middle of the room, laid her in the center, and knelt beside her. His eyes were only on her, as though she was someone to be worshipped. As though he was admiring a fine painting he’d spent a lifetime trying to see. He began unbuttoning her top, pushing it roughly over her shoulders before climbing on top of her to straddle her hips.
She was pinned beneath him, unable to move if she wanted to, but she didn’t care. He unfastened the clasp of her bra, pulling the cups to each side.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered. He then lay between her open thighs, and she wrapped her arms around his back, desperately. He rocked into her. She could feel him hard beneath his jeans, could feel his heart racing, but when she moved her hands to free him, he took both of them and held them above her head.
His mouth covered her nipple, causing her head to press back into the mattress. Because when he touched her, all thoughts were irrelevant. There was nothing else. No weddings, no secrets. No months or weeks. No days or nights. Just this one. She wanted this to last forever. For his lips to kiss her a thousand times, for him to keep telling her she was beautiful.
His mouth moved down her belly, and his hands unfastened her shorts. She lifted her hips, allowing him to slide them down her thighs, until she lay there completely naked, shaking with desire.
He knelt between her thighs again, and pulled his shirt over his head. Then he grabbed her by the hips and yanked her body toward him. His fingers ran down the tops of her thighs, all the way to her knees before climbing up again.
She pulled in a long breath, completely fascinated by his skilled fingers. He inched closer to the apex of her thighs, until one finger slipped between the slick folds.
“Fuck,” he whispered. Two fingers plunged inside her, making her arch her back against the sheer pressure. “You’re so wet.” His eyes were on hers, hungry, starving, and watching her every move. He curled his fingers inside her, pressing up toward her belly. To a place she’d never been touched before. She trembled at the sensation, her body climbing higher toward climax in just a second. His thumb began to move in slow circles at her nub, his fingers rocking her, coaxing her.
She began to pant. She wanted him so bad she couldn’t even think. She wanted him so bad it was hard to breathe.
His fingers plunged inside her. Again and again, curling, rubbing, stretching her. His head then dipped down, and suddenly his mouth joined his fingers.
She couldn’t handle any more. She couldn’t take one more second of this sweet, sexy, titillating torture. She closed her eyes, clenching the sheets in her fists. His mouth was warm and soft, his breath cool, his groans heavy.
He began to kiss her. Really kiss her. His tongue plunging in and out, his whiskers abrasive against her inner thighs. Every inch of her body screamed for release. All her senses were stimulated at once. She felt her body involuntarily tighten, tense, and she knew she was about to release. She grabbed hold of his hair and tried to pull him higher so she could take him with her. He wouldn’t budge. He only pinned her hands to her sides as he counted his slow torture.
He kissed her, sucked her, ravaged her, until she was a quivering mound beneath him.
“Tristan,” she begged, even though she didn’t exactly know what she was asking for. “Tristan.” His fingers kept plunging, his thumb stroking, but he lifted his head slightly, his eyes hungry on hers. “Let go, Samantha. Don’t fight this.”
She shook her head, her pulse beating a thousand beats. “Tristan,” she called out again.
“I got you,” he demanded.
Her body instantly shuddered, giving in to his will. Her head fell back to the pillow, and her core clenched and pulsed all around his fingers. Her whole frame melted into the mattress, like butter under the sun. His body settled upon hers, heavy and solid, and she kissed his head, holding him firm to her breast.
“Where did you learn to do that?” she asked, but then thought better of the question. “Never mind, I don’t want to know.”
He laughed on top of her, kissed her nipple, her collarbone, up to her lips where she could taste herself on his tongue.
She was his. Wherever he wanted to go, whatever he wanted to do, she was at his mercy. She was his, and she was a fool to ever think otherwise.