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But, that doesn’t make me want her any less.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Tristan
It’s late. Faith’s probably already asleep, thinking she’s resting up to head back to Boston in the morning. But she won’t be leaving, or sleeping for much longer, if I have anything to say about it.
I called my mom ahead of time and arranged for Darcy and Ferguson to stay with her tonight. She didn’t ask too many questions, which surprised me. But the moment I told her to tell Faith I wanted the kids there instead of home, with no other real reason given, I think my mom had a clue what was going on. She’s a mom; she’s probably known how I feel about Faith longer than I’ve known how I feel. She’s just that damn good.
I can only imagine the tears and conversations and promises that went down when Faith dropped them off. T
he kids are undoubtedly crushed, thinking they’re never going to see their beloved nanny again. Hell, Faith probably isn’t dealing with it that well, either. But I didn’t call my mom again to see how it all went. Chalk it up to being a chicken shit, but I just couldn’t bear it. I’ve got enough damn emotions churning inside me right now, and hearing about the kids’ meltdowns would only make things worse.
I sneak in through the front door, press a couple buttons on the alarm system keypad to keep it from blaring, and then drop my duffle bag onto the floor before locking the door behind me.
The house is silent as a tomb, and dark as night.
I make my way down the hallway. Faith’s bedroom door is partway open, and I can see her form under the covers.
If I’m supposed to feel guilty for waking her, I don’t. Some things take precedence over manners. “Faith?” I whisper.
She turns over, pulling herself up into a sitting position. There’s no fucking way she was asleep. When she reaches over and turns on the bedside lamp, casting dim light throughout the room, the wide, alert eyes that stare back at me confirm how awake she actually is.
“You’re home,” she says.
“And you’re beautiful.” In an instant, I’ve crossed the floor and dove toward her, crashing my mouth onto hers.
If she’s offended or upset, she doesn’t show it, kissing me back with all the pent-up desire accumulated during the weeks I’ve been gone. Skype’s great, but it doesn’t fucking compare to having my hands on her flesh and my tongue in her mouth.
We’re all hands and fingers and a flurry of desperate tugging to remove the barriers between us. I undress her, and she lets me, but I also kiss her roughly, nipping at her to mark her as my own as we fumble our way beneath the sheets.
“Oh, Tristan...”
I can’t control myself, and hearing my name so pleadingly and seductive on her lips nearly undoes me right then and there. The small whimpers and moans that come from her mouth as I hover over her, kissing the tender skin of her breasts and stomach and hips, only encourages me. I push her thighs apart, ducking my head just long enough to run my tongue along the sensitive skin of her inner thigh.
The scent of her desire for me is intoxicating. The moonlight cascading through the window of the room puts her on display as her body arches and her muscles clench in response to my touch.
Faith’s hands are in my hair, tugging me up to her. “Oh God, Tristan…please.”
She’s begging, and it ignites the fire within me into a full-blown explosion. Her voice is hoarse with longing, and aching with need.
She’s feels just like I do, I think. She’s just as desperate for me as I am for her.
I position myself over her, pushing my cock against her entrance.
“Faith—”
She arches her hips up, pleading with me to thrust into her, and her silent plea halts any further words I might’ve said, instead causing a low growl to erupt from my throat. I sink into her, hard and fast, and she gasps.
We both need a second, for her to adjust to me and for me to calm myself the hell down because the heat of her body clenched tightly around me could easily make me come in seconds. I pull back, only to thrust into her again.
She cries out, “Tristan, oh God…”
The sight of her beneath me, taking everything I give her, and the moans and whimpers she makes as her hips arch up to meet mine with each hard thrust—I can barely handle it. Hell, I can barely handle her. It’s like her body is made for mine, and the delicious sound of my name on her lips drives me closer and closer to the edge.
I kiss her roughly, and the taste of her mouth, combined with the perfectly synced rhythm of our bodies and the yearning stare in her eyes—it does something to me.
There’s more than just sexual chemistry between us. Even if I tried to tell myself it was only about physical attraction before, back in the beginning, I can’t hide from the truth now.
