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“Tristan?” I called out, my voice tight with concern.
He appeared in the doorway, his tall frame outlined against the dim hallway light. The sight of him always did something to me, made my heart kick up a notch, but this time it was different. His usually immaculate appearance was marred; there were cuts on his face and his clothes were disheveled. The vibrant blue of his eyes seemed dulled, weighed down by something unseen.
“Hey,” he said, his voice rough like gravel.
“Want to talk about it?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.
“Absolutely not,” he replied, his words clipped.
I got out of bed, approaching him carefully. He was like a storm cloud ready to burst, and I had learned how to handle him gently on nights like this. Taking his hand, I led him to sit at the edge of the bed. My fingers lightly traced the scrapes on his cheek, wishing I could heal more than just the physical marks.
“I was worried about you,” I murmured, dampening a cloth to clean his wounds.
“Promised I wouldn’t get hurt,” he muttered, almost to himself, “didn’t intend to.”
I couldn’t help the soft laugh that escaped me, even though the situation was anything but funny. “I didn’t know if you would keep your promise.”
He looked up at me then, those piercing eyes searching my face. They found something there that softened his expression, just slightly. His hand was on my stomach, his palm cupping my bump tenderly.
“Adriana,” he began, his voice a whisper now, “you’re the most important thing that’s ever happened to me. You and our babies.”
My breath caught at his words, at the raw honesty in them that was so rare for Tristan. Then, he leaned forward and pressed a tender kiss to my forehead.
His touch, his kiss, they were promises of their own—silent vows that no scrape or cut could tarnish. In that moment, despite the looming dawn and all it might bring, we were just us. Nothing else mattered.
The silence of the room wrapped around us, as heavy and tangible as the dawn’s creeping light. Tristan’s breathing, ragged from the adrenaline that had yet to leave his system, filled the space between us. With each shallow gasp, I sensed the storm of emotions he held at bay - a tempest that could shatter the fragile peace we clung to.
“Adriana,” he breathed out, a command more than a plea.
He kissed me again, this time more passionately.
His mouth moved over mine, a welcomed invasion that had me wrapping my arms around his neck. He tasted of whiskey and danger, of love and regret. I opened my mouth to his insistent tongue, willingly lost in the familiar taste of him.
My fingers tangled in his messy hair, tugging slightly that provoked a low growl from him. His hands moved down my back, pulling me closer as if he were trying to mold our bodies into one.
We broke apart for air, chests rising and falling frantically. His eyes were dark, emotion swirling within those icy depths. Without a word, he gathered me in his arms and carried me back to our bed. His lips found mine once again as we sank onto the mattress. The world outside continued its descent into morning, but for now, in the safety of Tristan’s arms, I was home.
His hands found their way to my face, his fingers and mouth trailing down my skin like a whisper of silk. I melted into him, my body responding to his touch in ways words could not express. God, how I loved this man. His strength, his vulnerability, his fierce loyalty – it all drew me towards him like a moth to a flame.
And then he was kissing me on the mouth again, but only for a second, tracing a path from my jaw to my collarbone and leaving hot trails down my skin.
I arched into him, overwhelmed by the intensity of his touch.
“Tristan,” I breathed out, lost in the sensation.
“Have you been touching yourself tonight?” he asked. “Knowing I’d come back and want you.”
I blushed at his words, the heat rushing to my cheeks as I met his gaze. There was a flicker of something in his icy blue eyes, an intensity that made my stomach flutter. “Maybe,” I murmured, the corner of my mouth tipping up into a slight smile at his teasing.
His breath hitched at that, a smirk playing on his lips. His hand slid over my bare thigh, fingers ghosting over sensitive skin, causing a shiver to pass through me.
“Bad girl,” he murmured against my neck, nipping softly before soothing the spot with his tongue. “That pussy is mine, and only mine.”
My breath hitched as I clutched at him, nails digging into his broad shoulders. He chuckled lowly against my skin, the sound vibrating through me and causing an ache deep within.
“Tristan,” I breathed out again, getting lost in his touch and pulling him closer.
He held me tighter against him, his movements becoming more urgent. His tongue continued its seductive dance along my collarbone, taking its sweet time as he took my earlobe between his teeth.
