His finger coasts against my inner walls, filling me. But not enough. I still feel so empty. “Tris…Tristan.” I gasp as his finger skitters across the sensitive spot above my entrance. “More. Please. I need more.”
“More? You greedy girl.” He slips a second finger in me. As a reward? To prepare me for his cock? I don’t know what he’s planning. I don’t want the feeling to end. His tongueteases me in slow strokes, flicking across my clit as my hips roll in time with his finger.
My orgasm crests, ready to break over me.
“Tristan,” I warn as the crescendo builds.
“Look at me, Daphne.”
I fight to open my eyes against the sensations building and look down.
And brown, lifeless orbs stare up at me. Those fucking contacts. They’re not Tristan’s eyes. The man between my legs looks nothing like the man I’ve tried to picture in my bed night after night.
“No,” I shake my head, letting it loll back as some of the pleasure ebbs away, my orgasm dying down before it breaks.
Without question, he withdraws his fingers and mouth but stays on his knees. “What’s wrong?”
“I… I…” I can’t catch my breath, and my pending orgasm disappears. My limbs shake with unspent energy, and I rest my hip on the table to keep upright. “Your eyes. You don’t look likeyou.” I shake my head at him as unexpected tears well in my eyes. “It’s not you.” Finally, I catch my breath. “I only want you, Tristan. Therealyou.”
“Do you want me to stop?” His voice strains, like it’s the last thing on Earth he wants to do, but he starts to stand before I even respond.
I give him a nod. I don’t know what else to say except, “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize, Daphne.” He presses a soft kiss to my cheek, and I smell myself on him. “I’ll be here when you’re ready for me.”
“I’ll be here when you’re ready tobeyou,” I counter.
As I gather my thoughts and try to get myself back under control, Tristan lifts the straps of my halter and clipsthem back into place. His hand shifts down, and he readjusts my panties, careful not to touch my clit before he tugs my skirt back down. Sticky arousal coats the inside of my thighs.
Regret edges the surface of my brain as reality comes slipping back in like a cold draft. Why did I stop him? Why couldn’t I have just closed my eyes?
The music outside comes to a screeching halt, drawing our attention away from what we’d done. “Ladies and gentlemen, may I please have your attention?”
“We should go,” I whisper. I don’t look back as I bolt out of the empty ballroom without a backward glance.
The bright chandelier lights flood my vision, like stepping into a bright summer day after being shrouded in darkness. I make my way into the main ballroom, hovering along the edges of the room, not caring if Tristan follows.
“As many of you are aware, there’s been an attack in Georgetown this afternoon. It’s been confirmed that several members of Congress were in the attack. After discussions with the Secret Service, we determined that, as a security precaution, we will evacuate the building and end the event for the evening. Our valets will be bringing your cars around, and we ask that you please remain calm and be patient as we evacuate as quickly as we can manage.”
“Did you hear what happened?” A familiar voice echoes beside me. Ice floods my veins as Brent stands between me and the main exit.
“No.” I cross my arms and keep my eyes fixed on the throngs of people making their hurried way out of the room to try and reach the valets first.
“An empty restaurant exploded. They think AGF was behind it.”
My head whips around, and I’m staring into dazzlinggreen eyes that veil a man full of hate and loathing. “Guess who died?” Brent asks.
“I’m not in the mood for guessing games.”
“It’s all over the news. Apparently, some of the Committee members reviewing the Bradshaw Bill were there for lunch. And guess who invited them?”
“What a surprise,” I mutter to myself. “He still hasn’t learned that when a woman says she’s not in the mood, it means she doesn’t want it.”
Brent ignores my barb. “They thought the President invited them for some sort of secret lunch at an abandoned Pink Salmon. Some sicko made up a fake website and all for it. The news reports got hold of Witherspoon’s Chief of Staff, who confirmed it. Someone set them up to be killed.”
My muscles freeze at each word, realization clicking in like puzzle pieces. Tristan. He didn’t arrive for dinner or dessert. No, he showed up at nine o’clock, when everyone else would be preoccupied.
He wasn’t here for me. He wanted to see how people would react to the news.
