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I grimaced, turning to look at him, my hands on his chest. “You mean get us to bed, right?”
He looked into my eyes for a second then shook his head. “You’re drunk.”
“No. You’re drunk,” I said, poking him with my finger.
“Yes, but you’re worse.”
I frowned at him. “And?”
“We can’t...do this to each other.”
A surge of irritation ran through me at his suggestion. I wanted to remind him that he was the one who had kissed me first and then pulled my dress down to my waist, but the smart retort caught in my throat as I realized I didn’t actually mind that. I wanted him to touch me, and I could tell by the look in his eyes that he did, too.
I stepped forward, shoving him against the door as I leaned in and kissed him hard on the lips. My hands fumbled with his shirt, quickly undoing my buttons and tugging it down his shoulders.
He kissed me back eagerly, his hands snaking up my sides towards my breasts. Then before I knew what was happening, he grabbed my shoulders and pulled away from me. “Jesus,” he breathed, shaking his head.
I didn’t say anything, my eyes narrowing in confusion.
“Listen to me,” he said. “I think it’s best if you head to bed.”
“You’re the one who told me we could play by our own rules!” I insisted. His hands curled instinctively into fists at his sides. Defiant to the end. He did want me—and he was fighting it.
“That was before,” Tristan said in a low, forceful voice that brooked no argument. “And this is one of my rules. Get some sleep, Adriana.”
“Fine! Whatever,” I replied, my cheeks burning with shame.
“You’ll feel better in the morning,” he said under his breath. With that, he closed the door and I could hear the lock turning in the handle and footsteps receded. Before my mind could fully register the sound of it, Tristan was gone.
Chapter Five: Tristan
Whiskey had never made me crazy, but I’d never added Adriana Orsini to the mix. The cocktail was heady and hard to ignore, so when I put Adriana to bed in my bedroom, I stumbled to the guest bedroom, vaguely aware that I was also incredibly drunk.
I rarely slept here and the bed was hard and small compared to what I was used to. But it didn’t matter. As soon as I laid down, I undid my belt and grasped my throbbing erection, stroking it slowly at first as images of fucking Adriana flashed through my mind. It didn’t take long for my pace to quicken, fueled by fantasies of her moaning beneath me, her legs wrapped tightly around my waist. I remembered the warmth of her body against mine, the taste of her lips, and imagined the sound of her breathy sighs as we moved together until we both finished.
“Adriana,” I whispered, overcome by desire.
The sound of my own voice jolted me from the fantasy. I knew she was drunk and it wasn’t fair to take advantage of that, or of my own desires. I couldn’t risk hurting her—or myself.
No. It was best if we didn’t do anything stupid while she was here. As I lay in bed, alone and still so hard it hurt, I reminded myself that taking her would change everything and that wasn’t what I wanted. The last thing I needed was to make a mistake that would ruin both of us for good; to drive her away when she was already so hesitant about whether she wanted to marry me in the first place.
When you would have taken her right there where anyone could have seen you, you stupid prick, I thought as I recalled the balcony.
I may have been polite to her tonight…may have been honorable and respectful. But that wasn’t really me, and everyone in my life knew it. No, I was a fucking bastard, and she would learn that soon enough if she got what she wanted.
She’d see that agreeing to this marriage was a mistake eventually. I had been thinking about it a lot, and there was every chance that Dusty Smith was right.
I put my dick away and sighed as I looked at the ceiling.
I didn’t want to think anymore. I was tired, drunk, and horny. So instead I let my mind drift to thoughts of Adriana sleeping just another room away, so close I could touch her. If I was lucky, maybe the next time I woke up she’d be right there with me.
The next morning, I awoke with a sense of purpose despite my throbbing headache. Determined to show Adriana my thoughtfulness, I headed to a nearby coffee shop and returned with breakfast–two cups of steaming coffee and a selection of pastries. As I balanced the tray in one hand and opened the door to the master bedroom, I tried to push aside my lingering lustful thoughts from the night before.
“Good morning,” I said as quietly as I could, setting the tray down on the bedside table as she stirred. “I brought you some coffee and breakfast. It’s greasy. It should help.”
Her eyes fluttered open. “And water?”
“Oh, yeah,” I said. “And some Ibuprofen.”
