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“No, luckyme,” he purrs, his thumb rubbing soft circles on my leg.
My throat dries and I stay silent, unsure what to say.
But my hand comes down quietly on top of his and stays there the rest of the drive to his place.
It’s a nondescript two-story house and I recognize it as one of the homes RCA keeps for its staff. He walks around to my side of the car and opens my door. When I get out, he takes my hand and guides me towards the ground floor apartment.
My gaze is locked on where our hands are joined, transfixed by how easily and naturally he holds me in this intimate way. I know I should pull away but instead I find myself interlocking my fingers with his. It’s his turn to look down at our clasped hands and then he meets my eyes and gives me a corner smile that melts something inside me.
The rotten, broken part of me that refuses to leave me in peace, that rejects letting anyone in or being vulnerable in any way makes me rip my hand out of his. I fold my arms across my chest and avoid looking at his face again when I know seeing his dismayed expression will only stab at my insides.
He opens the door and gestures for me to walk in ahead of him. I do so, coming to stand in an open space that’s both kitchen and living room. To my left there’s the open plan dining area and to my right, the couch and TV. At the back, I glimpse the door to a bedroom.
I look around me at the space. It has all the potential to be cozy and homey but it’s sparse. There’s no sign of life, no sign of his personality. The walls are bare, there are no trinkets or gadgets decorating the space, or even boy stuff strewn across the place. He is new to RCA but we’re far enough into the school year that this should feel more like a home.
Tristan watches me carefully from the doorway, shoulders tense.
He must misinterpret my appraisal of his place because I hear him say from behind me, “It’s no penthouse suite, but it does the job.” He shrugs his shoulders carelessly, going for affected nonchalance. “I don’t need much space anyway.”
I turn to face him. “I think it’s lovely.” The crease of his brow smooths in response and I realize part of him was expectantly awaiting my reaction. “I’m just surprised you haven’t done more to make it feel like home.”
Something passes over his features and he closes off.
“It’s not exactly a priority of mine.”
There’s a tension in the air that wasn’t there seconds before and I turn away. A small shiver rattles my bones at the cold breeze that wafts through the apartment. He marches past me to the opposite wall and I watch him up the thermostat a few degrees. Warm air blows into the room from a vent above my head and my heart squeezes at how easily he seems to always know what I need.
“Come on,” he says, tilting his head towards a closed door next to the bedroom. “Time to shower.”
“I already showered,” I sputter, crossing my arms over my stomach. The last thing I’m ready for is being that exposed around him. It feels too intimate.
Ignoring me, he reaches for the hem of his sweater and pulls it off over his head, revealing the taut expanse of his muscled chest, defined abs, and that mouthwatering V that tapers off into his trousers.
“Not with me.”
“I don’t need–”
He drops his trousers next so that he’s standing before me in nothing but his briefs. The words die in my throat seeing his thick, strong thighs on display and the defined outline of his hard length.
He cocks an eyebrow when he sees I haven’t moved.
“I’m happy to chase you again and rip these new clothes off you if you’re not in the mood to comply. I assume those shorts aren’t couture?”
I point a warning finger at him. “First of all, they’re H&M and secondly, they’re my favorite so don’t you dare.”
Tristan chuckles, taking leisurely steps to close the gap between us until he’s standing in my orbit once more. I tilt my head all the way back to keep eye contact, his own gaze hooded and playful when he meets mine. His hands come down to rest on my hips, one of them circling around to palm my sore ass.
“Come on,” he whispers, his tone cajoling. “Let me take care of you.”
His fingers tug at the hanging string of my shorts, deftly untying the knot as his eyes track mine. I feel the band loosen as we keep staring at each other and then my shorts drop past my ass and fall to my ankles.
For a second there, we’re caught in a moment in time.
Tristan waits for my decision and I hover on the line until, finally, I shake my foot loose and step out of the fabric. The other foot quickly follows. His lips stretch into a smirk that manages to be both pleased and heated and I find that I’d be willing to do a lot of things to have him smile at me like that for a while longer.
Keeping his eyes on mine still, he crouches slightly but only to grab the back of my thighs and hoist me into his arms. My tired muscles groan as he closes my legs around his waist, but he walks us quickly into the bathroom where he sets me down on the vanity.
Wordlessly, he reaches into the shower and turns on the water, testing the temperature with his finger and then turning the knob even more towards the red. He’s back standing between my legs in a moment, his palms rubbing up and down my thighs to keep me warm.
