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Her head slammed back into the pillow as she came.
It was over so fast that she barely felt it; so fast her thoughts did not have time to restart; so fast that she didn’t have time to second-guess where she was or who she was with or what she wanted. Need had filled her being, her skin, her chest, her heart, her slit.
Pumping, rushing need filled her cheeks.
Tristan tugged off her trousers and her panties, his mouth joining where his fingers had been, the wet heat of his tongue stroking her, his clever fingers finding their place, working her slit, the stiff joints giving and curling and tickling deep inside her.
She writhed in his grasp, but he refused to let go. He held her down, a rough arm against her as he worked.
This time, she rode the waves to her completion, gasping as she grabbed the headboard, calling out Tristan’s name as she came.
He gave her no pause.
Seconds after she panted her end, his cock filled her, his chest warm and damp and hot as he slid atop her, claiming her, biting her neck as he pumped. She grabbed at the headboard harder, gasping, moaning, calling out.
“Lila,” Tristan called out, his accent rolling the vowels in the way that made her toes curl and her slit dampen.
They crashed together, his pumping more urgent, his hand caressing her cheek.
She called his name once more in the silence.
“Lila,” he whispered as he claimed her mouth, barely catching his breath as he gripped one of her legs, both of which had curled around his waist as he’d mounted her.
Her hands moved to his face, the skin wet below his eyes. With her thumb, she wiped away a tear.
“Lila.” He panted one last time, then took her mouth, his cock still inside her, unable to break free due to her hold.
All at once, she tasted him properly. The taste of whiskey replaced by a hint of wine.
Wine he’d drunk with someone else.
The differences in the bedroom finally came to her attention. Tristan’s easily broken headboard had been replaced. A new scent filled the air, some perfume or lotion that Lila had not noticed Katia wearing.
Lila twisted in his grip, her senses returning far too late for dignity. She shoved him away and rubbed at her lips. Knocked off balance, her ass fell onto the cold hardwood floor.
Gods. What had she done?
“Was that just words to you?” Tristan rolled onto his back, still panting.
“What in the world do you think you’re doing?” She scooped up her clothes, thrusting her legs into her panties and then her trousers.
Gods, she’d still had her socks on.
Tristan sat up, his spent cock still glistening. “Me? That wasn’t just me.”
She slipped on her bra and shirt, her nipples sensitive against the fabric, and fled into the kitchen.
Coffee. She’d been making coffee.
Tristan tugged on his clothes and followed her into the kitchen. “What was that to you? Was it real enough?”
Snatching a mug from a cabinet, Lila wrenched the coffee pot out of its slot. “I could think of a few other words for it. You have the nerve to call me a cheater, and then you do that? Are you planning on telling Katia that you fucked your ex-lover tonight? That I’m all over you?”
“What do you want me to say? I miss you. It hurts.” He wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand.
Gods, manufactured tears. Once upon a time, it might have worked upon her. “It’ll fade. So will your memories of me. I will never ever want you like that again, Tristan DeLauncey. And after tonight, I’ll not return to this place, no matter what. You’re nothing but a liar. It’s probably how you write your columns so well. Two faces to show to the world, two—”
“Oh, shut up!” he snapped, as she poured coffee into her mug. “Save your holier-than-thou spiel for the next idiot who climbs into your bed. What just happened is not some great revelation about my character. I loved you. I still love you. Those feelings don’t just turn off.”
