I’d tossed and turned most of the night, wondering what would’ve happened if I’d stayed. The images my mind provided as answer had molten lava running through my veins. Which was why I found myself padding down the hallway instead of sleeping like I was supposed to.
To be fair, it was only an hour before my alarm was set to go off.
“Might as well get an early start on the day.”
The kitchen was the destination I had in mind, but for whatever reason, my traitorous feet carried me to my bedroom.
And since I was already there, I pushed the door open and peeked inside.
My jaw hit the floor.
At some point during the night, Tristan must’ve decided that clothing was optional. Not all clothing. He was still wearing his briefs. Which honestly didn’t mean shit when they were so tight and riding so freaking low on his hips.
A deep sense of awareness prickled at my nape, the slightest sliver of guilt on its heels. Gawking at him while he was sprawled out and asleep was a bit creepy. I simply couldn’t help myself.
The man looked like sin.
And my poor sex-deprived mind had a field day. I was bombarded with an image, a very vivid image of waking him up with my mouth and hand wrapped around him. I’d work him in long slow strokes until he fisted my hair and forced me to take him deeper.
Licking my lips, I imagined the sounds he’d make. The words he’d say.
The ache, that had never really gone away, was back. And if I didn’t get out of there fast, I’d do something stupid, like act out the scene inside my head.
Careful not to wake the sleeping giant in my bed, I crossed the room into my bathroom and closed the door with a soft click.
I welcomed the warm spray of water against my sensitive skin. Tilting my head back, I dragged my fingers through my hair and blew out a long, heavy sigh. One part exhaustion, the other frustration.
So much frustration.
It was all Tristan’s fault. He’d put me in this state when he had those big hands on me and that sinful mouth on mine. Then he made everything worse with the previous night’s drunken ramblings. Maybe I should’ve stayed when he’d asked me to. Or maybe I shouldn’t have run away that first time at his place.
What was so wrong with having him take care of my needs, even if it was just for a little while?
You’re better off taking care of those needs yourself.
That tiny voice in the back of my head wasn’t wrong.
A look at the door confirmed it was still shut. A delicious shiver worked its way down my spine as I slowly smoothed my hand down my middle. I’d barely touched myself when an ear-splitting creak filtered in from the bedroom.
“Shit.”
I didn’t want Tristan or worse, Millie, walking in while I was indulging in a little self-love. Which meant that damn needy ache wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. Groaning, I shut off the water.
Wrapped in my fluffy purple towel, I brushed my teeth and rinsed out my mouth. I’d just wiped my face when another creak rang through the bathroom, this one much, much louder.
Clutching my towel, I spun around and let a string of curses fall from my lips.
“What the hell, Tristan? Forget how to knock?”
His brow slowly arched. My mouth went dry, unlike other parts of my body. The man had a mighty fine case of sex hair going on, the dark strands mussed in the best way possible with the longer parts defiantly flopping over his forehead.
He hadn’t even bothered with his shirt, simply threw on his jeans.
I’d seen him like this so many times before. Bare-chested with his inked skin proudly on display, and not once had it affected me. At least not like this.
My skin burned hot. My blood thrummed deliciously.
Keeping his gaze on me, he twisted at the waist and tapped his knuckles against the closed door. “Happy?”
