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“You don’t get to claim the corruption card. Thanks to you, I’ve discovered that vanilla soft serve isn’t my jam. I don’t feel bad about the things we’ve done. You shouldn’t either.”
“I should, though. You’re my best friend’s little sister.” He tips my chin down and covers my mouth with his. This kiss isn’t possessive. It’s soft and sweet. Something shifts between us, elating and terrifying.
Before we can take it any further, my brother walks through the door. I’m out of Tristan’s lap and across the couch between one heartbeat and the next. What if we’d been in the kitchen instead of up here?
“Hey, party people! Who wants to hit the bar?” Flip calls.
“We’re up here watching a movie,” Tristan calls back, quickly cuing up one of my favorite old-school action movies.
My heart is in my throat and my stomach flip-flops.
A minute later, Flip’s head and shoulders appear. “Come on, man. Let’s go out.”
“We have early practice tomorrow. Maybe take a night off. Plus, we have snacks.” Tristan motions to the ridiculous mountain of sugary treats.
Flip surveys the coffee table. “I could skip the bar tonight, I guess.”
He joins us on the couch, eats an obscene amount of sugar, and crashes within half an hour. Tristan puts his arm around my shoulders and presses his lips against my temple. “I’m going to fast forward to the end, and Flip can put himself to bed,” he whispers.
“Okay. I’ll use the bathroom while you deal with him.”
I’m in the kitchen filling my travel mug with water when my bleary-eyed brother disappears into his bedroom with a mumbled good night. Tristan puts the full-sized cake in the fridge and sets the three half-eaten ones on the counter. He grabs a fork and takes a seat at the island, patting the stool beside him.
I climb up and prop my cheek on my fist. He slides the fork through the cake and touches the tines to my bottom lip. I part my lips and take the bite. It’s lemon cake with a berry buttercream in the center. Tart and sweet and delicious.
“I like this.” He eats a forkful of cake.
“They make the best cakes in the world.”
He flips open the second container and forks a chunk of carrot cake. “Not the cake. I mean, you’re right, it’s awesome. But I like this.” He motions between us with the fork before offering the bite to me.
“You like feeding me cake?”
“Yeah. I like the way you savor things. How you don’t rush to get to the end too fast.” He takes another bite. “Which one?”
I tap the first box, and he cuts me another bite. I finish chewing before I say, “I like this, too.”
He sets the fork down and tucks a finger under my chin. “I really hate it when I make you cry. I’ll try not to do it again.” He presses a soft kiss to my lips. “Come to bed with me?”
I nod.
Tristan closes the lids on the mostly eaten cake slices and laces our fingers, tugging me toward his room. If Flip came out right now it would blow this whole thing apart. My heart is racing, and my palms are damp as Tristan pulls me into his room and locks the door. He takes my face in his hands and kisses me.
Just like in the loft, it’s soft and sweet. And it continues as we undress, his fingers skimming my curves, touching all the places that make me sigh and bite my lip to contain my moans. He kisses a path down my stomach and makes me come with his mouth and fingers, then rolls a condom on and fits himself between my thighs.
“Aren’t you going to turn me into a pretzel?” I ask as the head nudges my entrance.
“Not tonight.” He pushes in on one smooth stroke, and his eyes flutter shut for a second. When they open, he caresses my cheek.
“Why are you being so nice?”
“I’m making up for all the times I’ve been needlessly mean. Don’t worry, I’ll go back to being my asshole self after the orgasms.” He smiles, but there’s an emotion lurking behind it that I can’t pin down.
He drops his head and kisses me, rolling his hips. The sex is slow, intimate. The orgasm builds, and I fight back a moan as it threatens to pull me under.
“Look at me,” he demands as his hand circles my throat. “I want your eyes on mine when you come on my cock.”
I force them open and struggle to keep the low keening sound from bubbling up.
“So fucking good, Bea. It gets better every time,” he whispers.
He crushes his mouth to mine and swallows my desperate sounds.
Everything is changing.
Reframing.
Shifting.
And I worry how my heart will manage when this ends.
Because it has to.
Just not tonight.
CHAPTER 14
TRISTAN
“You’re on fucking fire tonight, man!” Flip crashes into me.
