In mid-April, I give a second demonstration of my concussion device, which has significantly expanded in scope thanks to Violet’s notes. This time, in addition to Venom staff, Dante has called in a handful of people I don’t recognize. The pitch goes well. On the way out, one of the women stops me and shakes my hand.
“You’re doing incredible work here. I know this is just an early review, but I’d like to invite you to do a full pitch to my team before the end of the year. Depending on when you feel ready, of course.”
“Oh.” I try to find something smart and memorable to say, but I think this lady just broke my brain. A pitch? Of my brainchild? Violet called my idea a game-changer, but she’s my friend. And this stranger smells like money. Could she really be that interested in my life’s work?
“S-sorry, this is just a big step, and I wasn’t expecting it.”
The woman laughs. “There’s no need to be modest, Miss Marino. This is a brilliant idea.” She presses a business cardinto my shaking hand. “All I ask is that you remember my name. I’m sure I won’t be the only one hoping to work with you in the future, especially not given the way that Mr. Giovanetti hypes you up.”
“He does?”
“He does.” She leans closer. “And between you and me, he’s not the type of person to offer idle praise, either.”
That’s why I’m so taken aback. Violet’s naturally positive, and Tristan’s broadly kind, but Dante doesn’t owe me anything. Like my father, he would never stick his neck out for an idea just because it came from someone he cares about. If Dante believes in my impact sensor, it’s because the device shows real promise.
“Thank you.” I tuck the woman’s card into my purse for later. It hits me, suddenly and unfamiliarly: maybe they’re not being kind. Maybe they’re just… right. “I’ll be in touch.”
That night, back at the condo, I sit cross-legged on the floor while Tristan brushes out my damp, post-shower hair.
“This is unbelievable!” I exclaim. “I mean, six months ago I was living out of my car, cut off from my family, and now I’m meeting with investors about my medical prototype? Whose life is this?”
“Yours.” Tristan lowers the brush. “Your family may not have been able to see it, but you’re brilliant, Min. Imagine where you’d be if they supported you, instead of clipping your wings?”
I twist around to face him so that my cheek rests against his sweatpants-clad thigh. “I’m right where I want to be.”
“Yeah, well.” Tristan grazes my cheek with his knuckles, pushing a stray lock of wet hair aside. “I just wish you could have skipped the bad parts.”
“Fortunately, the good parts have been enough to make up for it.” I nuzzle closer, pressing my face into his groin and grinning to myself at his immediate reaction.
“Well, now.” His voice drops to a sultry rumble. “I’m glad my parts are up to your standards. Should we take this conversation to the bedroom?”
“Carry me?”
Tristan scoops me up and bridal-carries me up the stairs to my bedroom. We tried having sex in the living room exactly once, but after the incident, Tristan has made a solemn oath never to expose his junk in any room where Kepler could cause further injury. His balls have recovered, but his psyche is forever scarred.
Tristan tosses me on the bed, closes the door behind us, and prowls over to me. I arch my back to grind against him, reveling in the shudder that passes through Tristan’s body in response.
His forehead drops to my neck, breath warm, like he can feel the shift too. “Ma belle…” he murmurs, almost too soft to catch—raw, instinctive, as if the words escape before he can cage them.
I’m not just happy, I realize. I’m safe.
And Tristan is responsible for all of it.
Chapter Twenty
Tristan
I walk in two days early, drop my bag, and the whole condo smells like her: vanilla, warm skin, and the faint ozone of her soldering iron. She’s in the kitchen in nothing but my practice jersey and those lacy white panties, reaching for something on the top shelf. The jersey rides up, flashes the bottom curve of her ass, and every ounce of blood I have left goes straight to my cock.
“Minerva.”
She startles, spins, eyes wide, then melts when she sees it’s me. “You’re early—”
I’m on her before she finishes the sentence. Hands under her thighs, lift, spin, plant her ass on the cold marble island. She gasps at the temperature, and I swallow it with my mouth, kissing her like I’ve been drowning and she’s oxygen.
“Missed you so fucking much,” I growl against her lips, already dragging the jersey over her head. “Need to be inside you five minutes ago.”
She’s clinging, legs wrapped around my waist, nodding frantically. I rip her panties off, literally rip them, and drop to my knees. One slow lick up her center and she’s already dripping for me.
