He devours my mouth, ravishing me from the inside out. I am floating in sensations, drifting somewhere else where I would lose myself gladly.
Palming my ass, he lifts me up his torso. My core meets his hard abdomen, and I cross my arms and legs around him in my need to get even closer to him.
He carries me down a long hallway, his feet thumping on the marble floor, each step etched in determination, echoing what is about to transcend.
Inside his bedroom, he places me on a king-sized bed, the softest black silk engulfing me.
At the foot of the bed, he tilts his head. “You look good in my bed.”
“Maybe you should keep me then,” I tease, surprised by my playfulness. With him, I act more like myself. It’s liberating.
He cocks an eyebrow. “Watch out what you wish for. It could be dangerous.”
I giggle, resting on my forearms. “I’m not afraid of danger.”
I’ve lived in its shadows my entire life.
“What are you afraid of then?” he asks, continuing to hold my gaze captive, my body a willing prisoner to his bed.
I open my mouth, but no words come out as he throws the suit jacket onto the armchair by the window. Unbuttoning his shirt, he reveals a patch of skin that leaves me sucking in a breath.
“Focus, baby.”
That endearment makes my belly flutter just like my heart.
“It’s kind of hard,” I gulp, gesturing at his mouthwatering body.
He chuckles, continuing to undress, uncovering more skin that glistens in the moon’s light, unraveling me. He’s so cruel.
What was the question again?
He has an uncanny ability to scatter my thoughts away like they’re leaves barely holding onto trees in the fall. A gust of wind could uproot it from the familiar and thrust it into the unknown.
“To never know,” I say, proud I still have a grip on my brain as frail as it is.
“Know what?” he asks, discarding his shirt that falls on the floor like my inhibitions.
“What passion is, what love feels like… what it is to live…”
Once he removes his shoes and pants, I ogle his chiseled body in utter rapture—my personal work of art. From his broad shoulders and trim waist to his powerful thighs, he’s exquisite. My fingertips itch to trace every dip of his six-pack, down to that V-line that dips low in a sensual trail, causing saliva to gather in my mouth.
I catch the evidence of how much he wants me, and gulp. Tristan’s boxer briefs tent, appearing like a monster ready to pounce. He’s huge, and when he palms his cock, I realize how much. He can’t fit it in the palm of his hand.
A shiver skitters down my spine, and I remind him. “I’m a virgin.”
How will it even fit without me needing medical care afterward?
“I haven’t forgotten,” he groans as if that’s something he both loves and loathes. “I’ll make it fit.”
That one sentence obliterates any argument.
He crawls between my legs, and they spread on their own as if inviting him—no self-preservation instinct left in my bones.
Lowering his forehead onto mine, he whispers, “I’ll be gentle even if it kills me.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.” He says it like a vow, warming my chest.
