His hand disappeared into my hair. Curling the strands around his fist, he yanked my head back. His mouth went to my jaw, nipping and licking a path to my ear.
“Do you know what you’re asking for?” His grip tightened.
The sharp, delectable sting of pain stole a gasp from my lungs. And when his teeth sank into the skin below my ear, I thought for sure I’d combust on the spot.
Sensation overload.
Yet, not nearly enough.
“Touch me. Just...touch me,” I begged, voice filled with need. I should’ve been embarrassed. I didn’t beg. I’d never begged. But one look at the way his eyes darkened so deliciously, and I knew I’d do it again.
“You want my hands on you?” He dragged his palm along my thigh and over my hip bone while his teeth scraped down my neck. “Want me to make you feel good?”
“Yes,” I whimpered.
Gripping my chin between his fingers, he forced my gaze to meet his. “Then fucking say please.”
Oh.
Wow.
If anyone else had spoken to me that way, I’d have flipped my lid. But not with Tristan. When he used his low, demanding tone, my entire body lit up. I wasn’t just hot and bothered, I was on freaking fire.
And he was the only one who could put out the flames.
I licked my lips. “Please.”
He released a sharp shuddering breath. The same heat coursing through my veins flashed bright in his eyes. “There’s my good girl.” He inched closer.
My heart rate quickened. I opened my mouth, already tasting the kiss I knew was coming.
It never came.
“I’ll touch you, baby.” Dropping both hands to my hips, he spun me to face the wall-mounted mirror. “But you’ll fucking look at me when I do.”
I couldn’t stop the shiver from rattling my bones. I didn’t want to. I hadn’t felt like this in years. Heck, I hadn’t felt like thisever.
It was intoxicating.
Planting my palms on the countertop, I pushed my ass back against him. “I said please, so why aren’t you touching me?”
I had no idea where this version of me came from, but I wasn’t mad about her presence. Not one bit. Couldn’t be when she’d earned me a deep, dark chuckle from the man behind me.
And definitely not when he leaned in and buried his face in the crook of my neck. “So needy,” he murmured, one hand smoothing up my middle. “So damn impatient.” His other traveled in the opposite direction.
Inch by agonizing inch, he moved closer and closer to where I wanted him. I was ready for it, so freaking ready. But this man was hellbent on making me wait. Instead of slipping those long fingers inside me, he brushed the inside of my thigh.
“Trist… Ohhhh.” He’d found my nipple, pinching it between his forefinger and thumb. The sensation so incredible, my eyes fell shut. “More. I need more.”
He tsked. He freaking tsked. And before I could even fathom what was happening, he’d abandoned my breast to wrap his fingers around my throat. One squeeze was all it took for my eyes to snap open.
Capturing my gaze in the mirror, he growled, “Didn’t I tell you to fucking look at me?”
The tone, the look, even the damn choke, all of it did it for me. Throbbing and aching, he’d turned me into such a mess. A desperate, desperate mess.
“Then touch me,” I begged again.
When he just stared at me, something snapped. Keeping my gaze on his—because what else could I do when his hold was so relentless—I slipped my own hand between my legs.
