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“And what part will I be playing?” I murmur against his mouth, running my fingers up and down his back, savoring in the ripples of his defined muscles.
“Maybe the dutiful student who’ll do anything to raise her grades.”
I laugh, succumbing to the infectious playfulness in his expression. But my laughter turns to moans when he moves from my lips, peppering kisses along my neck before slowly traveling down my body. His warm breath caresses my skin like a tender breeze, each touch of his lips sending a shiver down my spine.
“Or maybe you can be the nanny hired to take care of some brooding billionaire’s only child, who in turn ends up not being able to keep his hands off you once he sees you in a bikini.”
“Should I be worried you’re listing off popular tropes used in romance novels? Professor/student. Nanny/employee.”
“Just trying to keep things interesting, darling.”
He flashes me a sinful grin before he returns to me, brushing his mouth against mine in a sweet kiss. When our eyes meet again, his expression is more serene. Resolved. Thoughtful.
“Or how about you play the part of a beautiful princess who just so happened to attend the same charity gala as some no-name actor and they hit it off, both of them smiling for the first time in years?”
My heart swells with happiness as the memory of that night comes rushing back.
I’d given up hope of meeting someone who made me feel the things Creed had. Instead, I was content with the occasional passing fling. A date here and there, none of which ever went anywhere.
Then Tristan entered my life. He had no idea who I was. Sadly, I had no idea who he was, either. I had to Google him after that night. He did the same, and both of us shared a laugh. Still, the fact we were ignorant of who the other was is why we work so well together, even to this day. We liked each other before we knew the truth. We fell for who we were. Not what.
“I think that may be my favorite trope,” Tristan finishes.
I scrunch my nose. “I’m not sure that’s a trope. Sure, there are celebrity romances, but they usually involve some playboy actor who runs around town sticking his dick into anything with a pulse, so they bring in a glorified babysitter to make sure he stops sleeping around to improve his image, and they end up falling for each other.”
He pinches his lips together, a contemplative expression crossing his brow. “I like my version better.” He dips his head toward me, smoothing a few tendrils of hair behind my ear. “It may not have the elements of a blockbuster in the making, but it’s our story. And I love our story.” He touches his mouth to mine. “I love you, Esme.”
I sigh as I wrap my arms around his shoulders. “I love you, too.”
It took me quite a while to actually tell him that. Being the understanding man he is, he didn’t get upset when I didn’t immediately return the sentiment after he first shared his feelings with me. We both came into this relationship with baggage, most of which the world knew about.
But we also came into this relationship with secrets.
At least I did.
Despite the fact it had been years since I’d even spoken to Creed, it felt like a betrayal to say those three words to anyone other than him.
But after months of Tristan telling me how much he loved me, I relented, repeating his declaration to him.
I’m not sure what I feel for him is love. I’m not sure I’m capable of loving him the way he loves me, not when a huge part of my heart is missing. It has been for years.
But I do care deeply for Tristan. My feelings for him are strong. Stronger than they’ve been for anyone else I’ve dated since Creed.
He makes me smile. Makes me laugh. Makes me feel appreciated. Respected. Loved.
That should be enough for me.
I want it to be enough for me.
Most days, it is.
But there are still those days I can’t help but long for what once was, despite the impossibility of ever having that again. I learned the hard way that the heart doesn’t listen to reason.
Tristan deepens the exchange, rocking his hips against me in a slow, steady rotation, his need for me thick and heavy. I pull him closer, surrendering to the moment.
Until my mobile cuts through the silence with its shrill, abrasive ringtone.
“Don’t answer it,” Tristan pleads against my lips, sliding his thumb across my hipbone. “Whoever it is can wait until I’m done with you.” He flashes a wicked smile. “Although I don’t plan on being done for quite some time.”
