I realize suddenly that he's still completely clothed. I grip the edge of his T-shirt and let my fingers trail over his abs as I pull it over his head, then immediately begin to fumble with the button on his jeans. He brushes my hands away and quickly pulls off the rest of his clothes. In only a few breaths he's settled back on top of me, caressing my hair and kissing me softly.
I'm so lost in his lips that I barely register his hard length nudging between my thighs. I’m too wrapped up in our closeness, our mingling breaths, our body heat. I'm intoxicated by everything about him.
"Tristan," I breathe. Nothing else, just his name.
"I know," he whispers, just as I did, and slides inside me.
I gasp, my hips bucking off the floor and my nails scratching down his back. He growls at the feeling and starts pushing harsh kisses against my neck. His thrusts are agonizingly slow and deep. I tilt my hips to meet each one, silently begging for more.
I've never understood the concept of making love. I've never seen sex as anything but a physical expression of passion and I can't understand how it could be slow and emotional. Sex is about orgasms, which are brought on by friction and touching—not slow motions and declarations of love.
But in this moment, I know I'm as close to making love as I'll ever be. I don't think about my feelings for Tristan or what we might mean to each other, but I'm intoxicated by our closeness. This position, the way he's caressing me so gently… it's making me feel a passion and connection that I've never felt before. And for a moment, I even enjoy his slow, careful pace.
"Tristan," I moan in his ear.
Something in him snaps, and his thrusts become frenzied. One of his hands slides down to cup my ass and lift my hips. The shift makes him press against my clit with each thrust. I whimper, feeling my release start to build.
His face is still buried in my neck. Part of me wants to pull him away so I can look in his eyes when we finally give in to the sensations, but it all feels like too much—too intimate, too honest. I don't know if I could handle what he'd see if he looked at me right now.
As if he can read my thoughts, he pulls away to look down at me.
My eyes widen at the raw intensity in his face. His eyes are burning—burning a hole through my heart. His hand grips the side of my neck and he looks down at me with an almost pleading expression.Pleading for what? What does he want from me?
Before I can hazard a guess, he hits the spot deep inside of me that makes me instantly shatter into a million pieces. I open my mouth to scream.
Tristan captures my lips with his and smothers my sound. He holds me in an iron grip as the pleasure rolls through me like never-ending waves. I can't tell where one stops and another begins. I vaguely register his groan and the feeling of his hips jerking as he reaches his own release. Throughout all of it he never stops kissing me.
Eventually his movements slow and then stop. He pulls away from my lips and touches his forehead to mine. But I'm too overwhelmed to really look at him so I close my eyes and nuzzle my cheek against his. He places a tentative kiss on my cheek and rolls to the floor, never letting his hands leave my body. I find myself pulled against his side as he wraps an arm around my shoulders and entwines his legs with mine.
As his hand traces the tattoo on my ribs, I nuzzle deeper into the side of his neck. My fingers slide up his chest to gently run along his collarbone.
And the moment feels so comfortable, so complete, that neither of us spoils it with words. We lie there, wrapped in each other, watching the light from the windows dance across our bodies. And before long, we've both drifted off to sleep.
* * *
It's still pitch black when I wake, shivering. Honestly, I'm surprised we were even able to fall asleep without anything covering us.
I gently slip out of Tristan's arms and pad lightly into the bathroom. I clean myself up, taking special pleasure in the pink marks on my neck and hips.
It only takes me a few minutes to find the box with my pillows and blankets in it. I grab what I need and head back to the living room where Tristan is still sleeping.
I stand in the doorway and watch him for a moment. A warm smile lights up my face as I think about what we did only a few hours ago—and how it felt.
Subconsciously I've known for a while that my feelings for him were growing, even though I fought them. But I've seen so many new sides of him this past week that I don't think I could've stopped myself from falling even if I tried. The asshole that I thought he was turned out to be a front—just a small part of him. In reality he's everything I could ever want in a partner.
I ignore the small twinge of nervousness when I think about the fact that I don’t know if he feels the same way. Actually, I don’t know anything about how he feels. He’s a closed book when it comes to emotions. I have no idea how he feels about me.
I push the thought to the back of my mind, to be dealt with at a time that’s not 3:00 in the morning. Instead, I sit down next to him and spread the blanket over both of us. I'm just about to snuggle back into his chest when I see his head jerk with a frown.
His eyes are still closed so I know he's sleeping, but he keeps twitching, squeezing his hands into fists. It seems like he's looking for something.
"No," he whispers. "No, no, no…" His voice sings with an aching sense of sadness. "Remy, no…"
My heart stops at the sound of my name. But he keeps repeating those two words, and his thrashing is increasing.
"Shhh, it's ok, I'm here," I murmur as I hold his face in my hands. "I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere."
His eyes shoot open. I watch him wake up, watch as consciousness returns to his gaze.