Her thighs tightened around my arm, her hips jerking as her body tried to fight the pleasure and chase it at the same time. Then—
Her cunt clenched around my fingers, hard, desperate. Her back arched as she came with a loud, ruined moan, shaking apart in my hands.
“There’s a good fucking girl… keep going. I want to see you wet my fingers more, baby…”
Her whole body jolted, helpless, overstimulated, her legs kicking, her hands clawing at my arm as the aftershocks tore through her.
My own body was screaming at me to finish this properly, sit her on my dick, to bury myself in her warmth, but I held myself back by a thread.
Averythin thread.
As her shaking finally slowed, I slid my fingers out. Her pussy clenched around nothing, still pulsing, still hungry. I lifted my hand to my mouth, watching her the whole time.
I moaned at the sweetness of it. She looked at me in total shock. I turned her in my arms, letting her rest against my shoulder as I helped her stand and pulled her underwear back into place.
“No more?” she asked softly.
I almost smiled. She could barely stand, and yet she was already asking for another round.
“Doll. No. It’s been a long day. You need your sleep.”
She pouted, straddling my lap again. Her expression was a mix of sadness and lingering desire. I looked deep into her eyes, my voice turning stern.
“And what I don’t want to see is a bratty, needy little girl beg or pout for something she’s not getting… understood?”
The pout vanished instantly as she nodded. I placed one last kiss on her lips, a smirk tugging at my mouth.
“Good girl…”
Chapter twenty-two
Ingrid
Isat shoulder-to-shoulder with Tristian, feeling the tremors radiating from his body as we sat in the hospital waiting room. He was a cage of nervous energy; his knee bounced against the floor, and his hands, usually so steady when they held a paintbrush or my waist, were shaking. It was the first time I’d ever seen him truly afraid.
I leaned my head against the rough fabric of his jacket, sliding my hand into his to offer whatever small comfort I could. He let out a sigh, his thumb tracing the back of my hand.
He’d opened up to me about her already—about the accident that left her paralyzed and the brutal matches he fought just to keep her in this room. He carried the weight of her condition like a punishment, as if he were the one who had failed her. Knowing how much this cost him, it touched my heart that he was willing to let me into this sacred, painful part of his life.
“… I really hope she’ll like me…” I whispered. The words felt fragile in the quiet room.
He looked down at me, the intensity in his gaze softening. “She’s going to love you, doll…”
I nodded, wrapping my arms around his waist and squeezing tight. He pulled me closer, anchoring me to him until a nurse named Margaret called us back.
My heart hammered against my ribs as we walked down the sterile hallway. I found myself tugging at the sleeves of the hoodie Tristian had given me, a nervous habit I couldn’t suppress.
We entered a room filled with a rhythmicbeep-beep-beep: a heart monitor.
Tristian’s mother lay perfectly still. She wasn’t as frail as I had imagined, but there was a dullness to her skin that spoke of years spent away from the sun. Tristian took the chair beside her bed, his voice dropping to a vulnerable register I’d never heard before.
“Hi, Mom…”
Tears stung my eyes instantly. There was so much raw love and regret packed into those two words. I tried to blink them back, turning my head so he wouldn’t see me crumbling.
“I… I’m sorry I haven’t been around much lately. It’s been a bit rough these last few weeks.”
My mind flashed to the images of the club, to Darragh’s predatory smile, the way Tristian had run to protect me, and those last haunting words from Darragh: he’d put something to Tristian, something he had to consider under threat of something bad happening—an “offer.”
