“I’m proud of you, you know,” he said, his voice low and rough.
I placed my hands on his shoulders, shaking my head. “I haven’t—”
“You have,” he argued, his grip on my hips tightening. He pulled me onto his lap, and I wrapped my arms around his neck. “And I don’t deserve your bravery or your strength.”
“I-I wouldn’t have been brave if it wasn’t for you...”
“You’ve got to stop giving me so much credit, doll.”
“But you know it’s the truth...” I whispered, my heart in my throat. “If it wasn’t, I wouldn’t still be so happy to have such a caring, overprotective, and loving boyfriend.”
He froze for a second, then pulled me closer, his lips grazing my ear. I let out a soft giggle as he hummed, his warm breath sending shivers down my spine.
“A caring, overprotective, and loving boyfriend, hmm?”
“Handsome too,” I whispered.
He let out a deep, rumbling chuckle. Before I could blink, he had me on my back, his heavy frame hovering over mine.
“Well, my girlfriend is brave, strong, caring, and adorable,” he murmured against my skin.
My breath hitched. “Y-you think she’s adorable?”
“Of course I do... she knows she’s my pretty little doll baby.”
His hand trailed down my stomach, and I shuddered. He groaned, his gaze sweeping over me with a raw, dark appreciation. “Yeah... she’s fucking pretty, all right...”
His lips crashed onto mine, and the world outside ceased to exist. It wasn’t a kiss like the other times. This one was different. Heavier, slower, more intentional and hungrier.
My fingers tangled in his hair, my mind finally quiet. He moved his hand to my chest, his touch gentle yet firm over my sports bra, watching me tremble. He was looking for consent, for a sign to keep going. I nodded, my body arching into his touch. His hand squeezed rough, my body jolting against him.
“Tristian—” His name came out broken.
He answered with his mouth on my throat, his free hand sliding under the hem of my shirt, his hand warm against my skin. I bit my lip as his hand slipped under my bra, my buds pebbling at his touch. He toyed with them as I tried to stay quiet.
Then, the sound of a car door slammed outside.
I froze, panicked. My father’s voice, muffled but unmistakable, drifted up from downstairs.
Tristian pulled back. His eyes moved to the window, jaw tight, already calculating. Only a moment later, a series of thunderous knocks at the front door.
The voice rang through the walls. “Chicago PD, open up.”
My eyes widened immediately. Tristian signaled for me to stay put, but I didn’t. I burst out of my bedroom and hurried to the steps as he followed.
Downstairs, I could see my abuelita standing near my father, who was staring at the door in shock.
Deep voices continued to push through as my father opened it, and for the first time in my life, I heard something new in his voice when he spoke.
Fear.
“Can I help you, Officer?”
“Samuel Rodriguez. We received an anonymous tip regarding a domestic abuse case. We’d like you to come down to the station for questioning.”
My father hesitated. “I have no clue what you’re talking about, Officer... An anonymous tip?”
I looked at Tristian. He was as confused as I was. If it wasn’t him, then—
