He washes his hands and face in the bowl. I place a fresh bandage on his arm as he does, satisfied that the gash is protected for now.
“Your father is obviously connected,” he continues. “Is there anyone else close to you who could be in trouble?”
I frown. “My father has a desk job. He’s not out in the field.”
“That doesn’t mean anything. He can piss people off from his desk. You have no idea what kind of situations he could be involved with.”
I press my lips tightly together. What Tristan’s saying could be true. My father could never talk much about his work due to the confidential nature of it. I grew up knowing this, but nothing about his nine-to-five routine ever bled into our home life to make me think he was into bad things. Certainly nothing akin to the hell I’ve experienced today.
“It’s been a long day.” Tristan’s tone betrays his fatigue.
His eyes are tired but still vibrant. Full of life and the glimmer of determination I recognized as he sent me off with Mateus. He seemed different then. Less heartless captor. More…Tristan.
He sighs and runs his fingertips over my hands, taking them into his. “What would you have done…if I didn’t come back?”
I worry the inside of my lip and try to maintain a brave face, but the possibility of losing him all over again is too fresh. Never mind how I may not have been able to escape with my life when a vehicle full of men with guns were on the hunt for me.
I look away, not trusting myself not to break my composure. “Honestly, I don’t know.”
He pushes my hair over my shoulder, his touch unexpectedly tender. “Me neither,” he says softly.
He weaves his fingers into my hair and drags them gently over my scalp and down my neck. I close my eyes at the sheer relief of his touch. I hear the rough slide of his body coming off the desk, feel the warmth of his proximity. We’re so close that his masculine and earthy scent hits my senses.
When he leans in, I can feel his breath and then the tip of his nose across my cheek. I’m trembling, uncertain if I can handle the sensations his closeness brings. When his lips trail my jaw, my breath hitches.
“Tristan… What are you doing?”
He skims his hands down my arms, splays his palms across my back, and brings me tighter and closer against him.
“I’m remembering you.”
ISABEL
He spins us and lifts me onto the desk, spreading my legs to take the space between them. He steals my next sharp intake of breath with a rough kiss. That quickly, he’s all over my senses. His hands are everywhere, and so are mine. Raking over his broad shoulders, kissing his jagged scars with my fingertips, reclaiming him, one inch at a time.
His stubble scrapes my lips. “Can’t stop. Not this time.”
“No.” God, if he stops now, I’ll never survive.
I’ve been held on the brink for far too long. Starved of Tristan and all the things his touch once inspired. Passion on my skin. Faith in my heart. A future with him in it.
He pulls my shirt over my head and leans in quickly to reclaim my mouth. The kiss is almost bruising in its intensity, but I revel in it. I unhook my bra, let it fall to the floor, and hoist myself closer so our bare chests meet. Close enough to feel the tick-tock rhythm of his heart.
Our exploring touches fill the minutes. My ragged breaths turn to whimpers. Where I was tentative before, I’m frantic now. I press my nails into his flesh, silently begging for more.
He palms my breasts, squeezing and stroking the tender tips until I’m pulsing with desire.
“I need to taste you.” He tucks his hand under the waistband of my shorts, new heat in his eyes.
How many times had I fantasized about this moment since he left? Those words on his lips, that promise lingering in the air between us?
I nod breathlessly, my lips tingling and my skin on fire.
Inch by inch, he draws my shorts down my thighs, baring me completely.
Then his lips are soft and slow, leaving a wet trail over my breasts, down my belly, and over the tiny jewel at my navel, almost all the way to the place where I throb for him.
His next touch is featherlight as he opens me under his hungry gaze. He’s fixated on the space between us. I whimper when he bends, and his exhale barely kisses my flesh. I curl my hands over the edge of the desk. I’m afraid to move another inch, lest he change his mind and leave me this way, so vulnerable and needy.
But he doesn’t back away. He leans in, nudges me wider with his broad shoulders, and consumes my flesh with his mouth. The delicious contact pulls another helpless cry from my lips.
“Do you have any idea what this does to me, Isabel? Being this close to you. Tasting you. Knowing the sounds you make…”
He pauses only a moment before coming at me again. Tasting and taking and tormenting with every wicked lash of his tongue. The more he gives me, the more I need. I’m greedy, ravenous for as much of him as he’ll offer. As if his instincts are linked to mine, he licks me harder, grips me tighter. I fist his hair and struggle to keep up with the sharp incline of sensation.
I’m so close, my hips lifting into his ministrations, when he straightens abruptly. He curves his hand behind my neck and brings us together. “I want the rest of you.” The sound is gritty and molten. Rock and fire.
I reach for the button of his jeans and wrap my legs around his narrow hips.
He kisses me hard, flooding my mouth with the taste of me and this unhinged lust we’re drowning in. He presses his erection against my sex.
“Isabel…” He cups my cheek, forcing my stare to his. “It’s not going to be the same. You need to know that.”
A few heavy seconds pass between us. I believe him and I don’t. I care, and the next second, I’m convinced I don’t. I shake my head as much as his grip on me will allow. “I don’t care.”
His eyes darken with lust and restraint I’m not sure he’ll be able to maintain. Yet he holds back, seemingly unable to take us further. Why?
Because this is more than our two bodies seeking sexual relief. This is my war-torn heart colliding with the reality of our present turmoil. No matter how hard I pray, I’ll never have the Tristan I fell in love with. The man before me—the one who took the slice of a bullet fighting off those men today—is the only one I’ll ever know again.
I exhale a shaky breath, drag my gaze down his scarred chest and back to his haunted eyes. “I’m not the same. I’ve changed too.”
Maybe not on the outside. Maybe not in the ways that matter to a man like Tristan. But at this moment, we’re matched in our intensity. In our brokenness. We’re both empty and unwilling to survive another minute without being filled. What’s this life if we can’t fill the emptiness with each other?
I reach for him, but he takes my arm and shifts me off the desk. His next kiss is different. Sweet and savage. Tender and unapologetic. As if he’s already asking permission for what will happen next. Turning me swiftly to face the table, he holds my wrist behind my back.
His breath is warm at my ear. “Like this.”
I inhale a quick breath to feed the adrenaline spike he’s inspired. I nod. And then I can feel him guiding my legs apart, pushing inside me, filling me. I tense and release, surrendering to the breathtaking feeling. I moan and let my head fall back against his shoulder. He’s a wall of muscle behind me, every inch of his strength governed by the act of consuming the space between us and intimately joining us.
He releases my arm and bands my hips so I feel every inch of his next thrusts.
I slap my hands on the desk, using its steadiness for leverage. A wild heat races across my skin, but the fire burning on the inside is raging, consuming the last of my inhibitions. Obliterating the fear. Calling back memories I’ve kept at a distance for too long.
His free hand roams my flesh, plucking at my breast and then tormenting the place his mouth abandoned with a series of strokes over my clit that inspire even more primal sounds from me. I surrender to his rugged pace and race toward the firestorm of the orgasm I know is coming.