“Katie,” he groans again. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
I push him against my mouth with my nails in his hip and he chokes the words away. He’s not hurting me. Just the opposite, in fact. I feel more alive than I ever have. I feel confident and sexy and wild, and of course it’s Tristan who makes me this way.
He hits the back of my throat, over and over, swelling against my tongue and tangling his fingers in my hair. His breath is labored and I slit my eyes to watch his stomach contract and his mouth go slack. His perfect, handsome features twist.
Tristan Prince is at my mercy and it’s the best day of my life.
“Can I come in your mouth?” He’s panting, trying to hold back.
I nod, and suck harder, savoring the pulse of his heartbeat that I swear I can feel in my mouth and the way his lids flutter.
His hips punch forward again, and his stomach ripples, and he shouts, jackknifing off the wall and throbbing against my tongue. Salty liquid fills my mouth and I swallow and swallow and my eyes water. He holds my gaze, looking wrecked and stunned, wearing every emotion I feel in my chest across his face.
He slumps. I let him slip out of my mouth. Our breathing is labored and loud, even over the drumming ofthe rain. I rest my head against his thigh. He’s trembling. His fingers untwist from my hair and he tries to smooth it over my scalp.
“I think I’m dying,” he murmurs.
I laugh. My shoulders shake and I rest weakly against his leg.
“Did I hurt you?”
I shake my head, too stunned for words, feeling like I’m floating.
“Come on.” He reaches down and pulls me up against him, pressing kisses to my face, my lips, my hair. “So good with you,” he murmurs. “Look at us, Katie, baby.”
I melt. He rocks me. The rain falls in sheets around us.
“Nothing is ruined,” he whispers. “Okay?”
I nod, my heart suddenly swelling. I like Tristan so much, and that trickle threatens to become an avalanche of feeling.
As if he senses it, he swats me on the butt and gives me a final kiss, before he pushes off the wall.
I try to recover my breathing, at a loss for words, feeling nervous and raw and tender. I’m so new to this, and I think he knows, but I feel so dangerously out of my depth.
When I glance at him, Tristan has my panties crushed in his fist. His eyes are gleaming.
“Underwear,” I demand.
“Nah,” he says before sliding me a sideways smile. “Think I’ll keep them.”
He shoves them into the pocket of his pants and dares me to argue with a wag of his brows.
I feel giddy as I rush to keep up with his long strides. “What do you think you’re going to do with those?”
He makes a considering sound as we round the edge of the main house. “I’m sure I’ll think of something.”
I yelp and lunge for his pocket. He’s quicker than I am and takes off at a sprint. I slip, then right myself and chase after him.
“Hurry up, Bailey. You run like a girl.”
I laugh into the rain. “I’ll take that as a compliment, Prince.”
He turns to jog backward, still grinning. His dimple is popping and his eyes are dancing, and I feel like I have champagne inside me. “Hey, you want to play chess?”
“Definitely,” I say. “My place is closer.”
“Race you,” he says before he takes off again.
