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17

Lena

T ristan was planning a date.

She knew it, because she’d caught him looking furtively at a ranking of Asian restaurants in the valley, brows drawn in concentration like he was mapping some kind of military strategy.

It was sweet.

It was also misguided .

Because Lena didn’t want a date. She wanted sex—hot, steamy sex.

If she were home, she’d take care of it herself with Sammy, her trusty pink vibrator. But Sammy had obviously not been among the things she’d asked her father to pack for her. She could only imagine that conversation. Hey, Dad, while you’re packing up my essentials, could you make sure my vibrator makes it into the bag? Thanks.

She could take care of it herself in other ways, of course. But she didn’t want to use her fingers, or a cucumber from Tristan’s kitchen. She wanted—needed—Tristan himself.

All week, ever since Tristan had gotten discharged from the hospital, she’d been wanting the same thing. It was like her body was running on a slow burn. And the way he sometimes looked at her, she knew he was suffering from the same.

But … nothing.

Not a single move.

At first, he’d been too weak. Weaker than he’d cared to admit. By the time she’d driven him home and gotten him up to his third-floor apartment— thank God the building had an elevator —he’d been exhausted. She’d put him straight to bed and told him she was taking the couch. That night, he hadn’t even argued.

He’d argued the next night, and every night after that, but Lena wasn’t about to endanger Tristan’s recovery by sleeping in the same bed with him, knowing she could roll over and elbow him in her sleep. His couch was great, anyway, overstuffed and lined in soft corduroy. Maybe not for a man pushing six-four, but it was certainly fine for her.

Tonight, however, she might be willing to give in. Tristan had been to the doctor that morning, who’d expressed surprise at the speed of Tristan’s recovery. He’d also removed the remaining external stitches from the surgery and told him he could begin some very light exercise. All the way back to his apartment, Lena had wondered if sex counted as light exercise . Maybe if they took their time and did it so very slowly …

So here she was now, teetering on the edge of frustration, knowing that Tristan was agonizing over the perfect dinner plans when all she wanted was to get naked and climb on top of him.

Lena exhaled sharply and ran a hand through her hair. Enough was enough. They were both adults. They’d been dancing around this for a long time. The chemistry between them could probably burn the whole damn mountain down. She was done waiting.

Decision made, she turned on her heel and stalked toward Tristan’s room. She knocked once. Then again, more firmly, when there was no answer. A moment later, the door swung open.

Tristan stood there in a fitted T-shirt and gray sweatpants, his hair damp from a recent shower. The bruises on his jaw, neck and chest had faded, and with them all external signs of his recent injury. But Lena knew he was still healing.

The scent of soap and something distinctly him curled around her senses, making her pulse jump.

“Lena?” His brows furrowed. “Everything okay?”

No. Definitely not.

She stepped past him without waiting for an invitation, the brush of her shoulder against his arm making him stiffen. Good . He could suffer a little, like she’d been suffering.

As every time she’d stepped into his bedroom, her gaze was drawn to the large floor-to-ceiling window. The view, looking up at Aiguille du Midi, was insane.

“Uh … you wanna sit?” he asked, pointing at his bed. His huge, king size bed, which took up most of the room.

“No,” she said, pivoting to face him. “I want to talk.”

Tristan’s gaze sharpened. “About what?”

Lena took a slow, measured breath. “About the fact that you’re planning dinner.”

His expression flickered, barely perceptible. “And that’s a problem because …?”

She took a step forward, closing the distance between them. “Because I don’t want dinner, Tristan.”

His jaw ticked. “Then what do you want, Lena?”

She tipped her chin up, locking eyes with him. “You. I want you.”

For a moment, he said nothing, just stood there, muscles tight. She waited. She’d learned patience, too. She’d waited this long. She could wait him out.

Then—finally—something snapped in his blue gaze.

His hand wrapped around her waist, the other tangling in her hair as his head came down and his lips crashed into hers.

Tristan

She was everything he’d ever wanted.

Absolutely fucking everything. Lena’s warm, full lips pressed against his. Their tongues met, felt, explored, warred against each other. His hand tightened on her slim hips. He was never fucking letting go. He was never?—

Too soon, she pulled her mouth away, taking a quick step back. Her taste lingered on his tongue, warm, intoxicating. Her hand pressed against his chest, as if to keep him away, or to keep him close.

“Wait,” she said, her voice husky, her hazel eyes darker than he’d ever seen them. “We need to establish some ground rules.”

“Rules?” His free hand tangled in her hair, fingers already working the hair tie free from her hair, letting the copper waves spill over his hand. He was barely holding on to his sanity. He wanted her —undone, unrestrained, exactly the way he’d imagined her a thousand times.

“Rules,” she repeated. “The doctor said light exercise. This … this doesn’t feel like light exercise.”

Lighter than what he really wanted to do to her. He wanted to strip her bare. He wanted to lift her in his arms, wrapping her smooth legs around his hips as he entered her slowly. She’d be so tight, so?—

“I’m serious, Tristan.” Her breathing sounded as uneven as his. That was a relief. “We both know we’re going to do this. Let’s be smart about it.”

Her pragmatic words—which were so her —made him smile. He slid his hand down her back, tracing the dip of her spine through her sweater, using the moment to center himself. “Okay, sweetheart. Tell me how you think we should do this.” His lips brushed her temple, the warmth of her skin sending waves of heat through him.

She considered for a moment, lips parting slowly, then smiled. And fuck, that smile?—

It was slow, wicked, dangerous. “I think you should take off your top and lie down,” she said. “Let me take care of you.”

Tristan’s cock jumped at the suggestion, reacting as if she’d been talking directly to it. He—and his cock—were used to taking the lead. But damn if he wasn’t willing to let her have her way—especially if it meant her hands on him, her mouth on him, her?—

The thought of her in control was so fucking sexy.

A smirk played at his lips as he reached for the hem of his shirt. “That so?”

She nodded. “Mmm-hmm. Let me take care of you.”

That was it. That was the moment his self-restraint snapped like a brittle rope.

He yanked his shirt over his head in one swift motion and tossed it to the floor. Her gaze flicked down, lingering on his chest, his stomach, and hopefully on the ridge of his cock, straining powerfully against the waist of his sweatpants.

Please let her touch my cock.

His cock, which was full-on weeping by now.

Her lips parted slightly.

He took advantage of the distraction, stepping in close, catching her chin between his fingers. “You want to take care of me?” he murmured. His thumb brushed the corner of her mouth, teasing. “Or do you just want an excuse to put your hands all over me?”

“Both.” Lena didn’t hesitate. She pushed gently on his chest. Tristan allowed himself to fall back on the bed. A controlled fall, because he wasn’t an idiot.

“Then you’d better get started,” he said, voice rough, full of challenge.

Her wicked smile widened as she pressed against him, her hands all over his shoulders, his stomach. Her finger found its way inside the waist of his sweatpants. Exploring. Moving slowly, so slowly, until, finally, her fingers wrapped against his length.

Fuck . His pulse slammed into overdrive.

His cock wept—with joy, this time.

He wanted to apologize for making a mess on her hand, but all he could think about was one word. Three letters.

Yes .

Please hold on and don’t let me go.

“You feel so big,” she whispered. Her fingers tightened against his cock, and then she started moving. Up and down. Up and down. Slowly. Tortuously.

God help him, that felt good.

He was going to come all over her hand, if he wasn’t careful. All over his sweatpants. Another part of him—the part that was not his cock—rebelled against the thought.

No .

“I want to see you naked first.”

I want to bring you pleasure .

“I can remove my clothes,” she said easily, smiling. “But that means I’ll have to stop touching you.”

He gritted his teeth, deciding honesty was the way to go. “You have to stop touching me, anyway. Otherwise, I’m going to come before we get started, sweetheart.”

“Okay, then.” She removed her hand—his cock now weeping from the sudden absence of touch. Tristan ignored it, watching as her hand made its way up her body, pulling up her T-shirt as she went. For once, he was glad his neighbors kept the heating on high. It was always too hot in his apartment. But hot was good, if it meant Lena walked around in a T-shirt. Up and up it went, revealing her slim hips, her soft, flat belly, and then, the curve of her pale breasts.

He could come, just from looking at her.

He’d never come without touching himself, but he was close now. So close … and still the T-shirt went up, revealing her sharp clavicles. She pulled it off completely, her breasts swaying as she did so. She was wearing a bra that was?—

Like something out of his dreams. Black. Sheer enough that he could see the tight peaks of her nipples peaking through. His hand came out to touch. He couldn’t not touch. Lena gave an agonized whimper.

“So sensitive,” she whispered. “It’s the middle of my cycle.”

Tristan’s tongue dried in his mouth. Her most fertile time of the month. For some reason, the thought didn’t scare him. It should, but it didn’t. He wanted inside her. He wanted it so badly, it was hard to think of anything else. Except he had to make sure she was ready first.

He pushed the thought aside and focused on her breasts. Coming up on one elbow to give himself better access, he pulled the bra down lewdly to expose her nipples. First on one side, then on the other. They were pink, tight, and growing even tighter under his attention.

Eventually, because he didn’t want to hurt her, he undid the clasp and let her breasts go free. They grew heavier under his touch—the perfect handful. She leaned forward, her breasts swinging freely toward him, and he grabbed on to her right nipple with his teeth, biting gently. Soon, she was the one begging.

He alternated between sucking on one nipple, then the other, while with his hands he pulled down her leggings and her underwear, until she was completely naked in front of him. Unlike the last time he’d seen her naked, this time he could afford to look his fill. He could afford to touch. He could afford to?—

“I thought you were just going to lie down and take it,” she gasped, freeing her nipples from his mouth, from his touch, and pulling away. She pulled at his sweatpants, pulling them down. He wanted it, he wanted to be naked, but he hated the way her hands didn’t come anywhere near his cock this time.

“Let me touch you,” he said.

“No. I think you should watch me touch myself. Watch me get myself ready for you,” she said, opening her legs wide and straddling him. The complaint died on his lips as she pulled her index finger to his mouth. He sucked it greedily, but only for a moment.

“Thank you,” she said. He watched, unable to tear his eyes away, as her finger disappeared inside her body. Right where he wanted to be.

“I’m so wet, Tristan.” He watched her finger disappear inside her body, past the first, then the second knuckle. Then out again until only the tip of the nail remained. “I’ve been thinking about this for so long.”

“You feel full, sweetheart?” he asked.

“No.” Her finger went back inside. “Not nearly enough.”

“You want these?” Tristan asked, positioning two thick fingers right outside her body.

“Yes.” Tristan licked the taste of her from her finger as his own, thicker fingers disappeared into her pussy. She was hot and slick and so fucking tight as he fucked her gently with his fingers. “Watch,” he said. “Watch as I stretch you for my cock.”

Lena’s eyes widened as she looked down. Tristan kept up the hypnotic rhythm as her flesh grew warmer under his touch, her breathing erratic. She was so close, and he wanted nothing more than to watch her come undone. His thumb found her clit, sliding around the warm little nub.

“Stop. Please.”

He stopped immediately. “Lena?”

“No. Yes. I mean, don’t stop, but don’t make me come yet. I’m really close.”

He slowed his movement but didn’t stop. “Good. I’m going to make you come so many times,” he cajoled. “This is just the first of many.”

Her pussy tightened against his fingers. “Yes,” she whispered, her voice dreamy. “Make me come, Tristan. Please.” The words were barely out of her mouth before she exploded, her pussy clenching against his fingers.

This. Yes. This.

Lena

Lena sprawled on top of Tristan.

She knew she should be feeling completely sated after that toe-curling orgasm, but the feel of Tristan’s muscles against her tight nipples served to reignite the flames within her.

His hand stroked her back, his touch gentle, unhurried, but there was no denying the hard length beneath her. He was hard as steel. For her.

“Lena …”

“Shhh. Remember. Very. Light. Exercise.” She punctuated every word with a small shift of her hips, loving the low groaning sounds she elicited from Tristan.

“Where do you keep the condoms?” she asked.

There was a moment of silence, as if he had no idea what she was talking about. As if he’d forgotten language itself. “Bedside table,” he finally ground out, pointing to the left.

Lena reached over and pulled the drawer open, bringing out a red foil package. She ripped it open with her teeth, hoping she looked aggressive and in control rather than just foolish.

She shouldn’t have worried. Tristan wasn’t staring at the condom. He was staring at her. She slid the condom on him slowly. He was so hard, and she wanted him inside her so badly, but she’d also be lying if she didn’t admit she was nervous. It’d been a while for her, and she wasn’t sure she’d ever been with a man as well endowed.

“Lena? You alright?” His fingers on her chin made her raise her head. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t?—”

“I want to,” she interrupted. She really, really wanted it.

He nodded, seemingly satisfied by whatever he’d seen in her eyes. “Then take me inside you,” he asked.

Lena lowered herself slowly. She was hot and wet, but tight from her recent orgasm, and he was big. Pleasure engulfed her as the head went in, then the first couple of inches. There was so much of him.

Mmm … so much pleasure.

She closed her eyes, feeling the way he stretched her.

“Open your eyes, Lena,” Tristan said, his voice hoarse. “I want to see you.”

She did, and their eyes met as she finished lowering herself onto his cock.

“Ride me.” It was a command, couched as a request, and Lena had no choice but to do as he asked. His hands found her hips, but he didn’t rush her, he didn’t push her, he just held her as she found her rhythm.

“I’m … so close, Lena,” he gasped. He licked his thumb and slowly—maddeningly slowly—brought it to her clit, rubbing the small, tight nub in rhythm to the movement of her hips.

Yes. More. The pleasure grew and grew, tightening everything inside her, until she no longer knew where he finished and she began.

“Come with me, sweetheart,” Tristan groaned through clenched teeth.

And then they both fell together, right off the cliff.