“Is this what you wanted, Princess?” he teases before he releases my breast and gives it a sharp slap.
A burst of pain breaks across my skin, and my hips buck against his. “Yes,” I admit. God, this is exactly what I wanted. Almost. I need more.
My core aches with an emptiness only this man can fill. Tristandoesit for me. Not just his body, but him. I’d had this fantasy before about some attractive guy chasing me down, and who he was never mattered. Just what he could do for me.
But Tristan is better than any fantasy my imagination could whip up.
And he’s real.
His hips press into me, and his bugle pushes against the lace of my matching panties, grazing my clit.
Yep, he’s real.
My hip moves against his, and a groan slips from behind the mask.
“Fucking tease.” His hand reaches between us, cold air slipping between our hot bodies and chilling my skin.
I hear the jingle of his belt and the pull of his zipper. Fabric rustles, and I feel the slap of his cock springing free against my inner thigh.
He’s so close, and my body is aching for him. He’s the only thing in this world that could satisfy the bone-deep craving swirling in me.
His fingers slip under the lace of my panties. He grips the lace, and he pulls.
The sound of shredding fabric fills the air. Lace bites into my skin with resistance before the material gives way. Tristan clutches my wet panties in his fist like they’re a trophy.
Until he tosses them aside, digs into his pocket, and pulls out the green satin robe tie I used to trick him.
He pulls my arms forward until my wrists are crossed in front of me.
I don’t fight him on this and keep my wrists together as he contorts the tie around my wrists, binding them together. He ties a knot, then a bow, like I’m a damn present.
He pauses for a moment, like he’s admiring his handiwork from behind the mask.
“You’re so fucking beautiful, Daph. I love you so much it hurts to look at you.”
His words steal the breath from my lungs. The raw emotion rips my soul open, leaving me bare to him in a way I never knew possible.
How could I feel so vulnerable, yet so safe with someone?
Tears prick the corners of my eyes.
With one hand, Tristan raises my arms back above my head, arching my back against the dirt.
His free hand skates down the swell of my stomach until he finds my clit. His small strokes cause swirls of hot pleasure to ripple from my core and out to the tips of my fingers and toes.
My hips buck, trying to position him against me. I can’t fight it anymore. I need him. My body’s on fire, and Tristan’s the only person in this entire universe who can save me from spontaneously combusting.
“Please,” I beg. My hips jerk against him, and his cock slips between my wet lips.
He pulls his fingers away from my clit and slides against me to coat himself in my arousal.
“I thought taking you would be more of a challenge,” he teases. “You want it so fucking bad, Daphne. Your pussy is already fucking dripping, and I haven’t even fucked you yet.”
“Then what are you waiting for?” My voice trembles as the underside of his cock nudges my clit, sending another burst of pleasure in my core like fireworks.
“Look at me, Love.”
I don’t know where the hell I was staring off at, but I force my gaze onto the mask.
