His thumb travels over my cheekbone. “See, you say that, but the evidence is damning.” He says this last bit gently as he picks up the moisture on my cheek and I do my best to blink it back.
“I found what I’m meant to do, Tristan.”
“Yeah?” His eyes light, like this personal triumph is his own. My heart expands.
I nod. “I’m going to teach women’s self-defense.”
“Fuck yeah, you are.” His smile is lopsided and his eyes crinkle. “Finally, you can take your aggression out on someone else.” His teasing draws a wet smile to my face.
“I still need a practice dummy.”
He chuckles. “Consider this my application.”
“You really think I can do it? There will be twenty people in the class. It makes me nervous.”
He ducks his head. “I know you can do it, Katie. I’ve been waiting for you to figure out how capable you are.”
“You’ve been waiting.” I’m not sure what that means.
“I’ve been waiting for you to see yourself how I see you.”
“How’s that?” I ask hoarsely.
“Capable. Confident. Competent. All those C words. Sexy. Strong enough to toss me on my ass. Loyal. Deep. Big-hearted. Big enough to keep all of us safe. Self-sacrificing even when I wish you wouldn’t be.” He’s using that rough-tender voice he used while singing, and each word plucks at something inside me, until I reach up, cup his face in my hands, and kiss him.
56
TRISTAN
She slants her mouth over mine and we stumble into my house. I lift her, grabbing her ass and wrapping her legs around my waist and fumbling for a wall or a couch or a table—there.
The wall shudders as her back meets it.
“Shit,” I gasp. “Are you hurt?”
Her response is a small growl and a hard kiss. “Don’t stop,” she gasps. “Fuck, Tristan.” Her hands are clawing at the collar of my shirt.
“Not how shirts work, baby.”
“Stop talking.”
I laugh into her neck, feeling like I can fly as she tries frantically to undress me. She feels how I feel, I think, but I don’t know, and I can’t tell from her taste. It doesn’t stop me from trying, from slipping my tongue into her mouth and tugging on her plump bottom lip.
“Katie.” I kiss her again, harder, until she moans and lets her head fall back against the wall. Her small breasts are rising and falling with her rapid breaths. “Katie, sweetheart.”
“Tristan,” she pants, and the amount of need she puts into my name makes me shudder. She rolls her hips against my erection, and pleasure streaks through me, hot like lightning, crackling through my stomach.
God, I want her.
How did I go so long without her?
I’m not going without her again. I need to make this good. As good as I possibly can, because every time we’re together might be the last time.
I would rather die than let there be a last time with her.
“Katie,” I murmur. I press a kiss under her jaw, trying to slow the frantic beating of my heart. “Tell me it feels good.”
She whimpers and presses closer to me. I watch her lids flutter as I ease my hand up her shirt. Soft skin, smooth muscle, then perfect nipples under my fingers. I roll the left one, pinching gently, watching the play of desire across her face.
