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“So you didn’t just come to yell at me again?”
“I was worried,” he repeated, sitting next to her. “Lila, I have to tell you something.”
“What?”
But Tristan didn’t say anything at all. He cupped her cheek and leaned toward her.
His lips slid in between hers.
She tasted whiskey. Her stomach rolled, but she calmed i
t by force of will.
Tristan scooted closer and wrapped his arms around her. The smell of his soap filled her mind. Skin met skin as his hands slipped under her blouse and jacket, calmly stroking her spine, lips pulling on hers, swallowing them up, tugging gently, tongue tracing.
His heart thumped in his chest.
Hers thumped too, but for a different reason. It was the thump thump thump of outrage and anger. This was her chance. This was her chance to get the idiot out of her mind, to finish it once and for all, so that she’d never have to regret him the next time someone like Peter tried to put an extra hole in her head.
Screw Tristan. If he could use her as a tool, she could use him like one too. She didn’t have time for a vacation, anyway.
She wound her fingers around the back his neck, threading through his hair, grazing the scar where his slave’s chip had been cut out. Pulling him to her harshly.
Tristan moaned at the contact, and she flicked her tongue.
His eyes closed, lashes dark against his cheek. His lips crooked into a small smile before meeting her lips for another kiss.
The smile rubbed at her, hit her the wrong way.
She ignored it.
The thin blue scrubs offered little cover, but it was too much for Lila to bear. She recalled the glimpse of him the night before, his chest bared to her, and her arousal deepened.
She closed her eyes tight, only wanting to feel. She wanted him pressed against her, hard, wanting to be lost in his warmth, those hands stroking all over her body. Any hands, any at all would have done the job.
At least his voice was finally silent, their anger spent in other ways.
She yanked the top of his scrubs over his head, and Tristan complied, pushing her back onto the bed, still kissing, moving atop her. His hands, such soft, quick hands, snaked over her blouse as he undid each button one by one by one, his lips never leaving hers.
He undid the clasp of her bra, and she shoved it and her blouse over her shoulders.
When her breasts met the cool air, she wrapped her legs around him, felt his erection against her trousers, watched his face pull back as her thighs squeezed. He chuckled at the pressure and kissed her nose.
She took his lips, hard, hating him for his easy mood. She rocked her hips to meet him, tugging at the drawstring around his waist.
He dug his face into her neck. “Lila,” he murmured, his voice soft, accent heavy on his lips.
He left a trail of kisses across her skin while his hand slid over her hard nipples, warming them.
His mouth moved to her chest. He sucked on her breasts while his hands dipped lower and lower, unbuttoning her trousers.
Every part of her wanted him to touch deeper. To feed her.
His fingers slipped inside her trousers, grazed her, found her clit. “I’ve wanted you for so long.” He kissed her neck as he rubbed her, warmth spreading, gasping.
She nearly came at the first stroke.
Her back arched, knocking his hand free.
