Page 105 of The Temporary Bride

Tristan responds without hesitation, kissing me back as if it’s an instinctive response by this point. For a second, it’s exactly what I need, his mouth on mine, his hands pulling me closer. But then I feel it, the way he’s holding back, the careful deliberateness in his touch that wasn’t there before. His hands move over me like I’m something fragile, and he starts to slow down, starts to pull away a little.

I know he means well. I know exactly why he’s doing it.

But it still makes something in me rebel immediately.

I’ve spent enough time feeling broken. Feeling like something that needs to be handled carefully, set down gently, kept away from anything too sharp. Spencer did that to me years ago, and I spent years letting that night reshape how I moved through the world. But I’m not that person right now, standing on the side of this road with Tristan’s hands on my face and the sun going down around us and Spencer finally, finally gone from my life. I’m not fragile. I’m furious and grateful and overwhelmed all at once, and I need Tristan to stop treating me like glass and remind me of who I actually am.

I shake my head, keeping my hands twisted in the front of his shirt so he can’t pull away. “You won’t hurt me,” I tell him. My voice comes out steadier than I expected. “I trust you. Touch me like you used to. Please.”

His eyes flare, heat moving through them fast, but he holds himself still. I can see what it’s costing him, the tension in his jaw, the way his hands have gone rigid on my face.

“I need you too,” he says in a low voice. “I always need you.” He exhales slowly. “But if I touch you the way I want to right now, I don’t think I can hold back.”

“I don’t want you to.” I hold his gaze, not looking away. “I just need you to remind me that I’m yours. That’s all I need right now.”

He looks at me for a long moment, something working behind his eyes. The road is empty in both directions, the air warm and still around us, and I can hear my own heartbeat and the distant sound of birds somewhere and nothing else.

“Are you sure?” he asks quietly.

“Yes.” I don’t hesitate even a little. “More sure than I’ve been about anything. Please, Tristan.”

Something in him gives way all at once, like a thread snapping, and then his mouth is on mine again and there’s nothing careful about it at all. His hands are everywhere, pulling me against him, sliding under my shirt, gripping my waist and my hips and squeezing like he’s trying to make up for days of holding himself back all at once.

I stumble back a step, and my shoulders hit the car behind me, the metal warm against my back. He presses into me and kisses me the way he used to before all of this, deep and hungry and without restraint, his hands moving over me like he owns every inch of me.

Good. He does.

That thought flits through my mind as his hands slide up under my shirt, running over my ribs and waist before moving higher. I arch into every point of contact, trying to get closer.

He makes a rough sound against my mouth and then his hands are at the backs of my thighs, lifting me onto the hood of the car. Warm metal meets my thighs as my skirt rides up. His shirt is wrinkled from my hands, and his eyes are dark, his chest rising and falling with deep breaths.

He takes a second to just look at me, taking me in, his gaze moving over my face and down my body and back up again.

“I’m going to fuck you right here,” he promises. “On the side of this road, on the hood of this car. Is that what you want? What you need?”

I nod, unable to speak.

His nostrils flare. “Okay, dimples. Then I’ll give you what you need. I’ve been wanting to get my hands on you for days, and I’m done waiting.”

My heart thrums in my chest as I nod again. “Please,” I say again.

He shoves my skirt up over my hips and yanks my panties down and off in one motion, dropping them somewhere on the hood beside me. The air hits my bare skin, and I shiver, goosebumps rising up my inner thighs, but his hands come back immediately, warming my skin and turning my shiver into something else entirely.

“God,” he groans, his eyes roving over me. “You’re so fucking beautiful, dimples. Every single time I see you like this, it undoes me. I don’t think that’s ever going to stop.”

I pull him closer by the front of his shirt, my patience running out, and he groans and reaches for his belt. He finds my lips in a messy kiss as he works it open, shoving his pants and boxer briefs down enough to free his cock. His crown presses against my entrance, and I dig my heels into the backs of his thighs, urging him on.

“I need to be inside you,” he rasps. “So fucking bad.”

He grips my hips, pulling me toward the edge of the hood, and slides inside slowly at first, working his way in carefully. But when I press my heels harder against him, pulling at his shirt, he gives up on restraint and drives the rest of the way in with one thrust.

The breath rushes out of me, a ragged cry pouring from my lips.

He goes still, both hands gripping my hips, jaw clenched tight, waiting. I can feel every inch of him, the stretch and fullness of it, and I whimper softly at how fucking perfect it feels. How it fills something inside me that I never knew was empty until I met him.

“You can move,” I gasp, knowing he was giving me time to adjust. But I don’t need it. I don’t want it. I just want to feel more of him.

“Thank fuck.”