It’s been almost six years, and goddammit, Iwantthis. I want whatever this turns out to be, with the kind, charmingly intoxicating, gorgeous man who’s now fallen into step at myside, chattering away in answer to my question about how his day was as we head back toward my apartment.
After he entertains me with the details of his day, I tell Tristan about my visit with Alex and Ellie and the twins. As always, he listens with a focused attention that, just like at dinner last night, melts away the uncertainties I so often have. That I’m boring. That, once I work up to saying something, I’m talking too much.
By the time we’ve reached the stairs that lead up to my apartment, the back of my head is literally aching from the enormous smile that’s been stretched across my face the entire walk home. Jesus, this could be far too easy to get used to…
At the landing, Tris hands me back my phone as I fish in my pocket for my keys. He’s just finished cooing over the pictures of Mia and Sarah in their snowy backyard that I’d showed him, and I can’t help myself jumping ahead, wondering if next time I go to visit Alex and his family, I could bring Tristan with me. If he’d want to come.
Shit. I need to slow myself down.
He told me himself he doesn’t do relationships. I can’t push him by inviting him to come along to meet the closest thing I have to family. I can’t—
“You gonna let us in, sunshine?”
It’s the touch of his hand more than the laughing sound of his voice that pulls me back from my thoughts, making me realize I’ve just been standing there, key in hand, unmoving.
And Jesus, that touch…
Tristan’s cold fingers slip across the side of my neck, up into the hair at the back of my head, and I swear, it’s the most intense thing I’ve ever felt in my life. Maybe a good part of it is that I’ve been touched so little for so long. Even so, I’mnot entirely willing to believe that it isn’t also the fact that it’sTristanwho’s touching me.
“There you are,” he whispers, crowding close enough that his body presses flush against mine and he has to tilt his chin up to meet my eyes.
Warmth blooms across my skin and my breath hitches in my throat. How can he be so fucking beautiful?
“Everything okay?” His thumb brushes lightly against the sensitive skin at the nape of my neck, and instead of an answer, a low sound, suspiciously like a moan, rumbles from my chest.
That elicits a grin from him, a grin that sends my heart swelling along with my dick as his teeth catch at the plump fullness of his lower lip. And fucking hell, I want to taste that lip for myself, to feel it’s softness under my own teeth.
Before I can stop myself, I whisper the question I’m dying to ask, “Can I kiss you?”
20
Tristan
Oh, sunshine.
Because of course he had to go and ask me, all flushy-sunset-pink and breathless and perfect gentleman to the end.
Damn, I’m not quite sure I’m not about to melt into a puddle at his feet.
Fuck yeahis what I think I mean to say, except for some reason, it comes out instead as a breathy, almost desperate, “Please.”
Jesse’s pupils blow wide, and against my hip, I can feel a telltale twitch. Oh, he likes me being needy for him, does he?
Well sunshine,thatI can totallydo without even having to try.
And then Jesse’s hands are on my waist and his mouth captures mine, all warm and plush and every bit as sweet as I’d known it would be.
Butohhhfuuck.
What I had not expected was the self-assured confidence of those soft, rosy lips. I’d been expecting tentative and shy. Not purposeful and firm, andfuuuck—
I’m not all that into kissing. What really is the point? Half the guys I’ve been with, I haven’t even kissed. The other half?Most of them left me kinda wishing I hadn’t bothered, to be honest.
Like with apparently everything else though, Jesse’s proved me wrong.Again.
And so,correction, Iwasn’tall that into kissing. Or maybe I’m just not into being kissed by anyone who isn’t Jesse, ‘cause this?OhhhI amsointo this.
The tease of his tongue gliding over my lips snaps me out of the stupid-ass spiral of my thoughts, sending static crackling over my skin. Soft, broad hands slip up from my waist to cup the back of my neck, not holding me hard or tight, just anchoring me where I can’t spin off in distraction again.
