“Oh god,” I moan softly, hips rising on the chair. I try to stifle the sound, hyper-aware of the women in the dressing room around me. “We can’t do this here,” I hiss, even though I arch into his mouth.
He looks up at me, lips shiny from sucking on my breast. “You know that’s not true. I can and will do this anywhere.” His hands push up the hem of the dress, smooth palms dragging up my thighs. He holds my eyes as he spreads me open, but then lowers them to get a good look at my center. “Black lace,” he mutters, licking his lips.
I think about arguing as he slides them down my thighs. Really, I do. We’re in a public place. Anyone could hear us. Hell, anyone could see us. There’s nothing but a curtain shielding me from the other shoppers.
But it’s just so hard when he’s looking up at me with that obnoxiously cocky expression, leaning in to lick a hot, wet path up my pussy. I gasp, but try to shove my fist into my mouth to stifle it. Tristian can do things with his tongue that should frankly be illegal—not that it would stop him. This is made all the more obvious by his complete tenacity, hooking my legs over his shoulders as he settles in. I think I do a pretty good job of hiding my moans and too-loud breaths, but then he makes this sound—this low, deep rumble that I can feel all the way to the tips of my toes, and I just can’t help it.
I whimper, “Tristian,” and all the movement in the adjacent stall conspicuously ceases. I bite down hard on my lip to stave off another outburst, but this is Tristian between my legs. He’s not having any of that.
His fingers join in on the action, two thick digits thrusting into my pussy as his tongue makes fast work of my clit. I pant like a dog, hands swinging out to find something—anything—to anchor me. I fist one into his hair while the palm of the other slides noisily against the mirror.
I shatter apart into jagged pieces against his tongue, convulsing around his fingers as a small, tortured cry escapes my mouth. My thighs tremble around his ears, and past the curtain, footsteps falter, but I just can’t bring myself to feel any shame, so caught up in the explosion of it all.
I barely register Tristian jolting to his feet, fingers quick and nimble as they undo his belt buckle. The sound must be unmistakable—the jangle of metal on metal, the zip of his pants being undone, the low, rough sound he makes as he frees his cock.
I’m too exhausted and strained to do much more than lick out with my tongue, slicking the way for his sure fist. He reaches down to cup my chin, tugging my face up so his eyes can lock with mine. “Almost three years now,” he says, voice ragged as he strokes his cock. “I never broke my promise, Story. Not once.” Thumbing my mouth open, he thrusts forward, rubbing the head of his cock on my bottom lip. “I only ever come when I can give it to you.”
With that, his cock surges, warm cum shooting onto my tongue. I scoot forward to make sure I catch it—all of it—pleased by the spark of satisfaction in his eyes as he feeds it to me. It’s messy and raw, just the way we like it, and when some of it dribbles out the corner of my mouth, he uses the head of his cock to catch it, pushing it back inside.
The look Autumn gives us when we step out of the dressing room can only be described as outraged. I don’t intentionally make a show of rubbing the corners of my mouth, checking for any remnants of his cum, but her eyes zero in on the motion, anyway. There was a time that might have embarrassed me, made my face glow hot with the words I’ve heard thrown at me from her and her ilk.
Whore. Trash. Slut.
But the roundness of my belly and the way he’s looking at me are evidence enough that I’m more than just a fucktoy now.
“We’ll take this one,” Tristian says, lifting my hand high in the air to give me a little spin. I indulge him, laughing, because I’m remembering how fun it is to dance with him.
“You were right,” I tell her, batting my lashes obnoxiously. “It is quite slimming. Thank you for all your help.”
We leave five minutes later, hand in hand. The dress might not have been worth six-hundred-dollars, but making Autumn witness me living the life she so desperately craved?
That was worth every cent.
39
Killian
I pinch the bridge of my nose as our ‘guest’ drones about past slights. As a show of good faith, I didn’t call my right and left hands to be present for this meeting, but if I thought the lack of Rath’s dead-eyed glare and Tristian’s chilly smirk would make our old arms dealer swayed to peace, then I’m sorely fucking mistaken.