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He’s crying, I realize now. A tear melding with the water from the shower, and this time, I’m the one who takes it, who catches it with my lips.
“I’ve got you, Tristan,” I whisper. “I have enough love in my heart for both of us.”
He smiles, then his pupils widen just before he kisses me again.
This time, the kiss is more urgent. This time, his hands slide down under my ass, parting my legs as he kneads the flesh there.
“Do you want me, Cora?”
“Yes,” I breathe, without hesitating. “Give me everything. All of you. Just for tonight.”
“I want you on the bed,” he says, and I know the words are not a question so much as a need.
We finish washing, and once he wraps me in a towel, he picks me up, his eyes on mine. “Last chance to say no.”
“Not a chance,” I whisper.
“Good. Because I want to taste you, Cora.”
A spasm of need rips down my core, like this is exactly what my body needed to hear.
We fall onto the bed in a tangle of limbs and terrycloth and damp skin. But instead of rolling me onto my back, he flips onto his, and curls his finger at me.
“Come here.”
I straddle him, my knees on either side of his hips. I’m still clutching my towel around my body, feeling timid, suddenly.
“Higher.”
“Higher?”
Tristan nods. If I’m unsure what he means, him sliding down the bed, his hands pushing my thighs up so I have to step my knees over his shoulder leaves no doubt.
My heart flutters, and I feel new dampness spring from between my legs. “I’ve never done this before,” I whisper.
He freezes. “You’ve never done what?”
“Not sex,” I reassure him. “I mean… this. Like this.”
Tristan’s face relaxes. Then he scowls. “Has anyone ever… kissed you here?” He parts the towel at my waist. His pupils widen even farther as he takes in my core, presented before him. His lips part, and it might be the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.
But still, nerves rattle in my chest. “Yes but… no one who ever seemed to actually want to do it.” I’m embarrassed by this confession. “I thought maybe there was something wrong with me. That I didn’t…” I flush hot. “Taste good,” I whisper.
“There’s nothing fucking wrong with you,” Tristan says, his expression going from scowling to anger. “Fuck those guys for making you think that.”
Then, without warning, he grasps my ass and strokes his tongue up my length, from my opening to my clit.
I gasp, my body straightening so I lift up off of him. There’s nothing for me to hold onto, but Tristan grasps my hips, keeping me steady.
“You taste like fucking ice cream on a sunny day,” he says, his tongue gliding across his lips. “And I want more.”
My body acts before my mind catches up. I press my hands to the wall and stretch my legs farther open so I’m lowered back onto his waiting mouth. He takes me greedily, his whole mouth claiming me and sending shockwaves of pleasure rippling through my lower half.
So this is what it’s supposed to feel like. If Tristan’s eating ice cream, he’s unabashed in his love for it. He devours me like he can’t get enough.
The way those other men acted like this was a duty; something to get over with—it’s no wonder I had to pretend they got me there. I’d had to wait until they left me alone on the bed to bring myself to a quick, functional, almost unregistered orgasm.
This is a different universe from that. Tristan’s tongue swirls around my clit and dips into my center, back and forth in a rhythm that has me rocking my hips. “Tristan, I didn’t know…”
