I feel a little drugged by our mutual sensuality, because he feels more than good: Tristan feels right. And not only like this. In every possible way. I hug him closer, my heels pressing on the backs of his thighs, his mouth an inch from mine. “I’m going to come.”
“Yes.” His thrusts seem to slow, but grow harder at the same time, keeping me on that precipice for seconds that feel like an eternity of pleasure.
“Tristan.” It’s half moan, half whimper, because when did this man learn to love my body so well? I’m coming, and it’s sweet and intense, like the golden glow of the sun is sweepingthrough my whole body in a rush of glitter that settles on each nerve path I have.
He presses his nose to my cheek, his breathing ragged as his hips thrust one last time. He spills into me, rippling and pulsing in my core.
For a long moment we’re still, coming down from our high. And then he kisses me, and it’s as if he wanted to pour his soul into my body too.
And I let him.
But…I’m going to cry. Tears well up, clogging my throat. I push at his shoulders, not wanting him to see how he’s affected me. “This is messy,” I murmur while I still have an iota of control over myself, before my voice can break.
“Sorry, angel,” he whispers and pulls out. He reaches for some tissues on the nightstand and hands them to me. I sit up too, with my back to him, to deal with the mess.
And it is amess. My heart is a sloppy heap of unfulfilled longing and love that has hit a brick wall. He strokes down my back, and I push hard against my emotions. I can’t screw this up by showing him how I feel. I made the rules, and I will stick to them, because Tristan has made it clear where he stands.
“Lexi.”
“I’m good.” I crunch the tissues in my hand. “I’m going to take a shower.” At least there my tears can disappear without anybody knowing they existed.
I fumble with the mosquito net and head to the bathroom without looking back. It’s cooled off considerably with the rain, and under the outdoor shower, drops still drip from the overhanging trees, so cold on my heated body that goosebumps spread over my skin and pebble my nipples. I open the faucet wide, step under the warm waterfall, and close my eyes.
Finally, I let go. In his arms earlier, I broke down because of everything that got us here. Now I’m breaking down becauseI don’t want to let go of what we have—of what we’ve become. Iturn my face into the steam and let my silent tears run their course. I startle when the glass-beaded shower curtain rattles. Tristan’s hands circle my waist, and he presses his chest to my back. “You know desalination takes time, don’t you?” he asks as he runs his lips along the column of my neck.
I chuckle and blink fast. At least he gave me a few minutes alone, but now—“You always shower at the dive center.”
“Hmm… Now I see what I missed out on.” He pumps some liquid soap from the dispenser and gently turns me around. It’s dark, but his eyes search mine as he lathers me up. I have no choice but to close my eyes. Giving in to the moment with him is one thing, but I refuse to let him see inside of me. I know he’s taking care of me because I ran off, and Tristan is nothing if not considerate, but he says nothing.
Sometimes the only thing that works, the only thing I need, is words. Not many, just a few choice ones.
Talking may not be in the cards, but I should have known he had plans when he stepped into the shower. Tristan is, after all, not one to stop after one round. No, he is about as insatiable as I am—another thing that only grinds against my determination to get him back at arm’s length.
When he drops to his knees, I let him raise my foot to his shoulder and let go, because once he’s made me come this way, he’ll fuck me hard, and we’ll have gone full circle. And hopefully then I’ll be emotionally back in my box.
By the time we’re done, the water has turned tepid. He turns off the faucets and hands me a towel.
“You’re hungry?” he asks as we dry off. “I skipped dinner.”
“Same here.” Maybe I also need a drink—a tall, stiff one to drown my feelings in.
“We could go raid the kitchen.”
This makes me laugh; he smiles back, and the tense atmosphere between us cracks and disintegrates. “You won’t dare touch a thing in Chef’s immaculate fridge or pantry.”
“He won’t know because we won’t leave a trace.”
“I see. Lead the way, oh reckless one.”
Ten minutes later, we hit the path. It’s dark and quiet as it seems everybody has gone to bed already. Guests have fully stocked bars in their rooms and rarely hang around after dinner, so none of this is unusual. The lights are switched off everywhere. As we come around the corner to the staff canteen, though, soft voices come from the open seating area, which seems to have one light on in a far corner.
“We’re not alone with our midnight munchies,” Tristan whispers as he takes my hand.
As the seating area comes into view, my heart skips a beat. Roger and Deshni are sitting at one of the tables, holding hands. Deshni is quietly sobbing.
Tristan squeezes my hand, but it’s too late to back off. “Hey, guys.”
They both look up, stunned for a second. Roger clears his throat. Deshni drops her gaze and sniffs desperately, trying to hide those tears.
