Then, slowly, memories of last night nudged at the edge of his frozen brain. Of Tristan holding him like he was something precious. The way Tristan had asked before touching him, before kissing him.
Part of him, a small part deep inside that still remembered how to be angry, knew that asking didn’t mean shit—not when he couldn’t say no. But the rest of him remembered their conversation in the clearing. And he knew, Tristan was different.
He capped the bottle, put it back in the cabinet, and washed his hands, which felt like they were someone else’s.
Then he brushed his teeth, took a deep breath to steady the tremble in his legs, and walked into the bedroom.
Chapter Twenty-three
TRISTAN
When Colby came back, he was still clothed, which was probably just as well for Tristan’s blood pressure. But he wasn’t getting into bed. He was just kind of hovering, looking uncertain.
Tristan folded back the comforter in invitation, and Colby stiffly climbed in beside him. He lay there like an old tomb effigy, silent and stiff, arms crossed as if he wasn’t sure where to put them.
They were in the same bed but felt an ocean away from one another.
“This is ridiculous,” Tristan said at last. “We did this last night and the world didn’t end.”
Colby turned over and faced Tristan, his eyes searching Tristan’s face for something. Tristan had no idea what, but he wanted nothing more than for that uncertainty in Colby’s eyes to be banished forever.
He reached out and gently trailed his fingers down Colby’s cheek, and he couldn’t prevent a smile spreading on his face. Because Colby was wonderful. They lay there watching one another, and slowly the tension between them faded.
“I don’t mind if you want to be closer,” Colby said. “You look like you’re about to fall out.”
Tristan inched in from the edge of the bed where he’d been balanced rather precariously, and everything was suddenly easy. The space between them dissolved until their shoulders pressed together and their arms brushed.
For a while, they didn’t say anything. The room was still, filled only with the sound of their soft breathing.
And then Colby rolled a little more onto his side, enough that their knees bumped together. “Can I…?”
Tristan didn’t ask what he meant. Just nodded.
Colby leaned in slowly. Like he was giving Tristan time to stop him, if he wanted.
Their lips met, and it wasn’t like earlier, in the tack room. This was slower. Softer. But underneath that—want. Steady and sure.
Colby’s hand found Tristan’s waist under the covers, his fingers spreading slowly over his t-shirt. Tristan shifted closer, kissed him deeper. His heart was pounding so hard he was surprised the mattress wasn’t shaking.
One of Colby’s thighs slid between his, and suddenly everything tilted—Tristan’s hips stuttered forward before he could stop himself, and their bodies slotted together, heat meeting heat through layers of clothes.
Tristan broke the kiss on a gasp, forehead pressing to Colby’s. “Sorry, I—”
“Don’t be,” Colby said roughly. His voice was a little shaky now. “Thatwas… good.”
They kissed again, deeper this time, and Tristan let his hand slide down Colby’s back, pulling him in. Colby moved with him, the rhythm slow but unmistakable.
It wasn’t careful anymore. It was hungry, and building fast.
Clothes got in the way. Tristan’s hands were under the hem of Colby’s borrowed t-shirt before he even knew he’d moved them. He hesitated.
“Can I?”
Colby nodded. “Yeah. Just—slow.”
Tristan peeled the shirt up carefully, reverently. He drank in the sight of Colby’s chest—solid muscle and more beautiful than anyone had a right to be.
“You’re…” He stopped himself before he could say something stupid. But Colby looked at him, and smiled faintly.
