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His jaw tics, and his chest heaves. His hands glide up and down the backs of my thighs. “Okay?” he grinds out.
“Okay.” I nod as much as I can in this position, which is basically a modified plow in yoga, seeing as my knees are beside my freaking ears.
He slaps my ass, then bends and licks up the length of my pussy on a growl and latches onto my clit, sucking hard.
“Ah!” I shriek and grab his hair, but his fingers encircle my wrists and he plants my palms on my ass and covers them with his hands, keeping them in place.
“It’s my fucking pussy, and you’re taking it away from me.” It’s an accusation.
“I have to go.” My heart can’t handle staying.
He makes desperate sounds as he licks at me and fucks me with his tongue. His hot, angry gaze stays fixed on mine as he slides two fingers inside me, pumps several times, slaps my clit, then stuffs his fingers into my mouth.
He gets me close to an orgasm but doesn’t let me tip over the edge. I squirm and moan and beg, but I know better. I’m not getting what I want until he’s inside me.
“Please,” I rasp.
“Please, what?”
“Please fuck me. I want you in me. I need you in me.” And I do. I need the feel of him stretching me. I need to wake up tomorrow and remember what it felt like to be wanted so fiercely. To want just as desperately. “Please, Tristan. I need you.”
“Then why are you leaving me?” There’s real anguish in his expression.
But he doesn’t give me time to form a reply. Of course not. Tristan doesn’t want to talk, to figure things out, because that would mean admitting this is about more than sex.
One second I’m a pretzel on the floor, the next my legs are wrapped around his waist and my chest is pressed against his. I grip his shoulders, light-headed and disoriented all over again. And then he’s pushing inside, filling me up.
He wraps his arms tight around me, buries his face in my hair, stays deep, and rocks his hips. I come so hard the world turns black. And then I’m on my back on the futon again and he’s pumping into me, hips slapping, wet sounds accompanied by my high-pitched moans.
I search for his hand and try to move it to circle my throat, but he shakes his head. His lip is curled, almost in a snarl. His hands are splayed out on either side of me.
“Tristan, please.” My fingers brush over his.
“You gave me an hour fucking notice, Bea. A fucking hour.” He’s still pounding away.
I’m seconds away from another orgasm. “I can’t.” I can’t keep doing this without it becoming glaringly obvious that I have feelings for him. Big ones. Scary ones. I can’t let him convince me to stay when every conversation we have devolves into orgasms. I can’t watch him and Flip give each other nasty looks and refuse to talk. I can’t be the reason their friendship falls apart. I can’t let him see that he’ll break my heart if I don’t go.
I reach up and wrap my hand around his throat. My hand is comically small compared to the thickness of his neck. But I feel him swallow, feel his pulse hammering under my fingers. “Please,” I beg. “Please, please, please.”
His jaw clenches and tics. But he adjusts his position, dropping to his elbow. The fingers of his other hand drift down my cheek and then his palm rests against my throat and his thumb and finger press firmly into the hinge of my jaw. His lips hover above mine. “Is this what you wanted?”
“Yes. Thank you. Oh, God.” The orgasm slams into me with the force of a tidal wave. I cry out, back arching, body convulsing, contracting. I wrap my fingers around his wrist to keep him from taking his hand away. Not that I’m strong enough to stop him if he really wants to move it.
“Open your eyes and look at me, Bea.” His fingers flex against the side of my throat. “At least give me that.”
I pry them open and find his angry, fiery, forlorn gaze locked on my face. He’s hurting as much as me. But he can’t or won’t admit it. And I can’t force him to.
I shudder as the orgasm continues, wave after wave of intense pleasure. It keeps building, expanding. And as I’m about to hit the peak, he releases my throat, sits back on his heels, and pulls out. He fists his erection, stroking aggressively, and comes all over the inside of my thighs as I clench around nothing.
I scramble to grab his arm, but we’re both slick and sweaty. He’s still choking his cock and I’m still trying to figure out what the hell just happened. In one smooth motion, he stands up and puts distance between us. It’s not just physical, though.
