Because we must look so ugly.
There’s no showmanship here. No flair or pretense. Tristian digs his fingers into my hips, baring his teeth as he hammers against my tense thighs, and it’s completely primal.
It’s just like he said before.
Insanity.
He never once looks into the mirror behind me.
“Don’t you dare,” he’s grinding out, cheeks flushed with the way he’s driving into me. “If you’re thinking of leaving, don’t you fucking dare.”
And I’m chanting, “I won’t, I won’t,” because maybe that’s what I should do. I should leave them behind and take all this rot with me. I should make sure they’re all safe. The Lords, my mother, the twins, Ms. Crane. These pieces of the world that assume the awkward shape of a family… I should protect them. All of them deserve so much better than my bullshit.
But in the end, I’m selfish enough to take Killian’s advice.
“If you want something, then you fucking take it.”
Maybe that means I’m a bad person.
Or maybe it means I’ve finally found something worth fighting for.
That’s what I’m thinking of when my body shudders out its orgasm. Hands, arms, legs, ankles—everything clutching him closer to me as I quake, teeth clenched around a choked wail. He makes a raw, animalistic sound in response, crushed so close that I think for a moment he might just crawl right up on this counter and fuck me through it.
In the end, it’s a hard drive of his hips that marks its end. He grunts into the air we’re sharing between our mouths, slamming me back as his body stiffens. There’s a moment of crushed stillness, and then I feel him inside, pulsating, hot and slick as he slowly fills me.
His exhale takes all his tension with it, leaving him limp and sated against me.
He’s still breathing hard into my neck, even minutes after. I run my fingers through his hair idly, enjoying the closeness. His breath is damp and warm, and his cock has gone soft inside me. Anyone could walk past and see. I’m messy and a touch sore, and I don’t want him to move.
When he does, I feel the loss like a physical ache.
His forehead glistens with sweat as he eases back, lifting my dress high enough to watch his spent cock slip free. It’s embarrassing, the way I writhe, chasing it, wanting it back, but he’s stroking my cheek and saying, “Shhh.”
All of the warmth and softness I’d been missing earlier is here now, present in the way he kisses the corner of my mouth, my cheek, my temple. It’s as if he pumped all that fire out of his veins and left it inside my body to warm me from within. When I close my eyes, he presses a kiss to each eyelid, feather light and so sweet. It helps me to see those cold, masked moments from before for what they are: a privilege to see. If I were anyone else, he would have smoothed over it, put on a smile, and faked his charm. But he wants me to see—to know that he’s not always going to be the gentle, handsome man who pampers and coddles me. Sometimes he’s the harsh, cold jerk who has to let the veil drop.
He wants to know it won’t drive me away.
“You’re perfect,” he says, reaching between us to feel where he’s leaking out of me. He brushes his lips over my jaw, whispering, “God, you’re so fucking perfect,” and uses two fingers to push his cum back inside. “And you’re mine.”
I bite down on a moan at the drag of his fingers, in and out, achingly slow. “But your parents,” I argue, immediately latching onto the kiss he plants onto my lips.
“I don’t care,” he says, heavy-lidded eyes boring into mine. “They can’t stop me. No one can, except you.” And you won’t. He doesn’t say it, but I see it in the curve of his smirk as he lazily fingers me.
“Your sisters.” His smile falls, hand stilling between my thighs. I don’t protest when he pulls away. “I can’t let them get hurt over this. They’re just sweet, innocent kids.”
“Story, look at me.” His face is stone again as he pulls several tissues from the box on the counter and wipes my thighs. He tosses them and hastily runs his hands beneath the water. “Do you really think I’d ever let anything happen to them?”
“Let?” I ask, feeling tired. “Of course not.”
When I look down to lower my dress, he jerks my chin up, mouth pressed into an unhappy line. “You think this guy is better than me? Than us?”
Immediately, I answer, “No.”
“Then have faith.” The riddle in his eyes unfolds, allowing me a peek at the resolve underneath.