But in a world full of pain, he’s my only respite.
My fingers reach up to tangle in his hair.
“Kiss me,” I breathe.
He does. Without question. With no hesitation. He drops, melding his lips to mine, his soft touch turning to a firm hold, keeping me together while my pieces break apart.
My mouth opens wider as his tongue sinks inside, and arousal curls its way around my body. It’s heavier than usual, tinged with sorrow, but somehow despite that—maybe even because of it—everything feels like more.
He groans when I suck on his bottom lip, his hips driving into the space between my legs until his thick cock is pressing against my center. My back arches, fingers tearing at his strands as I mold myself to his body, needing to get closer. To feel deeper.
Maybe if I drown myself in him, I won’t suffocate from the pain.
His palm cups my breast, his fingers teasing the nipple through the thin fabric of my gown. He breaks his lips away from mine, moving to skim the corner of my jaw, and then farther down, latching on to my neck. His teeth nip the skin until it stings, making goose bumps sprout along every inch of my body.
I moan, wetness dripping from my core and sticking to the inside of my legs, wishing he would touch me where I need him.
He hesitates, pulling back and gazing into my eyes, and for a slight moment, I worry that he’ll change his mind.
But with Tristan, I should know better.
Another tear trickles down the length of my face, and I reach to wipe it away, but he grips my hand tight, and then moves to grab the other, placing them above my head and tangling our fingers. He leans in, his lips moving from the base of my jaw to the corner of my mouth, his tongue swiping against my skin as he kisses the evidence of my pain away.
“Sara,” he murmurs.
Our lips meet again, and my desire ratchets higher, heat making my insides throb. I press my hips into his, wrapping my legs around his waist to pull him in deeper. He groans, the sound vibrating through my mouth and sinking into my bones, and I shudder from the feeling. It’s intoxicating; seeing someone like him get lost in passion and knowing I’m the cause.
His fingers tighten around mine, and he presses our hands deeper into the pillows as he pulls back to gaze into my eyes. “You’re mine.”
It isn’t a question.
I nod anyway, lifting so I can speak it into his lips. “Yours.”
Maybe I should feel embarrassed—weak—as if I need a man to claim me. But when he lets go of my hand and brings his down to the neckline of my gown, pulling until it tears, all I feel is power.
And I’m desperate for him to fill me with it until I scream.
Just like he promised.
CHAPTER 39
Tristan
One word and I’m feral.
My hands grip and grope and grab, needing to feel with my fingertips that her perfect skin is unmarred. I’m enraged somebody thought to take matters into their own hands, after I explicitly stated not to touch her. When Edward told me, a blinding fury overwhelmed me, but it was also mixed with a new emotion.
Fear.
There’s only been one thing I’ve longed for in this world, and it’s at my fingertips, the crown so close I can almost reach out and place it on my head.
But now there’s her.
And everything else pales in comparison. There is nothing I wouldn’t do to keep her by my side. She is everything. And if she’s hurting, I will torture the people who caused it until they beg me to let them die.
I cup one of her breasts in the palm of my hand, feeling her soft skin mold beneath my grip. Her nipples are hard, pebbling beneath the thin material of her torn nightgown, and my mouth waters, demanding that I lean down and have a taste for myself. So I do.
“Tristan,” she moans, her fingers tugging at the strands of my hair until the root stings.
My teeth sink into her skin and she yelps, her hips lifting until she’s pressed against my groin, making my cock jerk from the friction. I release her nipple with a pop and move off of her, smirking.
“Where are you going?” she complains. “Come back.”
I ignore her pleas and walk to the nightstand, grabbing a thick candle off its base and heading back toward the bed. She’s watching me, her forehead scrunched, and her cheeks flushed red, as she sprawls out against cream silk sheets, her black hair splayed wildly around her.
My footsteps falter as I take her in, nude and aroused, her body high and sensitive from the roller coaster of emotions she’s no doubt already gone through today. A lesser woman would have broken. Yet here she is, acknowledging her pain and letting it mold her instead.