CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Wait.
The word flashed through Tristan’s mind like lightening as he saw Ophelia rise to her toes, but the moment her soft lips caressed against his own it faded to black, along with the rest of his resolve. A tortured moan rose through the air as he drew his arms tightly around Ophelia, and he was not at all certain who the sound belonged to. His. Hers. Theirs.
It didn’t matter now.
Tristan cupped his palm to the back of Ophelia’s head, taking control of the kiss as his other arm wrapped tighter around her waist. Her sweet taste exploded on his lips like the most honeyed of aphrodisiac’s, and all he knew was that he needed more. He swept his tongue lightly over her lips, a silent plea for her to open them, and he groaned in relief as she obeyed and let his tongue slide over hers. Her whimper vibrated through his lips, urging him further, and he lifted.
Ophelia’s arms drew tighter around his neck, amplifying his pleasure tenfold as he hoisted her up onto his hips. Their tender, deep kisses quickly grew harsh and desperate as his aching erection; long and thick, pulsed against the apex of Ophelia’s legs. Even through his trousers he could feel the warmth of her core ebbing into him, and the last of his resolve vanished at the sensation. He walked her to the door behind his desk- a door he had not yet used, and took her into the private bedroom that laid beyond.
He stopped just at the edge of the large, dark blue silk covered four poster bed, and sat her down on her feet. The moment they made purchase on the floor, Ophelia’s hands smoothed down his waistcoat and began unbuttoning it. He broke the kiss, then just long enough to tear his jacket away from his broad shoulders and tossed it off, then his hands captured her face and his lips sealed over hers again. He’d missed her taste. Craved it so much that it had forced him into the foul mood he’d taken out on her earlier.
Her whimper was broken and desperate as he kissed her, as if she had missed him just as much as he had missed her, and he could not help but gather her closer and hold her tightly. They were both wrong for this. Both insane for letting this happen. They despised each other! And yet…
“Stop thinking,” Ophelia’s need-filled voice demanded as she broke from his kiss and traced her lips over his jaw and down his throat; the act making his knees weak with ache. “Stop thinking, please. Let us have this moment. I need it, Tristan. I need you.”
Somewhere in the depths of his need-addled mind, reason tried one last attempt to rise. He pulled away just enough to cup her face again and make her look at him. Her hazy, pleasure-filled eyes met his own and he bit back a groan at such a sight. He loved that look on her, he realized.Loved it.
That last attempt at reasoning died on his tongue right then, and he pulled her back into his kiss. Ophelia moaned as she twisted her fingers into his shirt, and pulled. He let her take them both to the bed, and as their desperation drew into full bloom, there was no combative words; no mocking or tit-for-tat; just the need to take advantage what little time they had left.
He helped Ophelia tear off his shirt, and he felt another heated blast of pleasure coarse through his veins as her nails dug into his rigid abdomen as her teeth and lips scraped and pressed against his neck and pectoral muscles. He moved a trembling hand to her back, working the stays of her gown and corset free until he could drag them down her body.
She laid still just long enough to let him do so, then she sat up as he tossed her things aside; her fingers moving to the stays of his trousers. Tristan kicked his shoes and stockings off as he helped her drag the fabric down his powerful thighs, then he gripped her by the throat and pressed her back down onto the bed.
“Touch me,” she whispered, her fingertips coming around his naked back.
He needed no provocation to do so; he was planning on doing just that as soon as he finished drinking in the beauty of hernaked figure. She pressed her nails into his back, as if urging him to lay fully down on her, but his grip on her throat grew tighter, and he forced his eyes up to hers.
“You are beautiful, Ophelia,” he whispered, the confession so powerful that he could not keep it inside.
Her brows tensed as she looked away; her nails once more urging him to continue.
“Be quiet,” she whispered back.
“Look at me,” he demanded, ignoring the pricks of her nails in his back as she tried to draw him back down to her.
When she didn’t, he tightened his grip on her throat, squeezing just enough to elicit a shiver of pleasure and a pleading whimper; and finally, she drew her glowing green eyes back to him.
“You are beautiful,” he repeated, slower this time. “I want to hear you say it.”
Tristan watched some of her lust fade into raw emotion; felt the way her throat swallowed hard in the palm of her hand.
“I am beautiful,” she whispered, a mist starting to form in her eyes.
Tristan smiled softly as he traced the tip of his nose against hers, placed a soft, rewarding kiss on her lips.
“There’s my good girl,” he praised, then kissed her again.
He drew his hand away from her throat and finally settled his much larger body down over hers. The moment he did, Tristan felt emotion well in his throat as each muscle and curve of their bodies seemed to meld into one another perfectly. It was so overwhelming that he could not help the sigh of relief as he slipped an arm under her neck and the other under her waist so he could hold her closer.
Even with his erection pulsing and aching to be satisfied against Ophelia’s navel, Tristan realized he would have been perfectly content just laying like this all night. Feeling her so pressed close to him. Feeling as if…as if she werea part of him.
Her digging nails at his muscles turned into soft, long, lazy strokes up and down his back, and Tristan almost went delirious from the pleasure it inflicted.He’d never been touched like that!
As if she understand that, Ophelia drew her softly scratching nails lower down his back as they kissed, swirling over his hips and buttocks. The sensation had his hips thrusting without his permission, and the gasp of pleasure that broke from Ophelia’s lips and interrupted their kiss had him pulling away from that more languid experience of pleasure and back toward that brutal need from before.
Tristan broke away from her lips, wanting to taste more of her, and began trailing kisses down the column of her throat.
