Page 62 of Shattered by Grace (The Locke Empire Duet #1)

Chapter Fifty-Two

T he scent hit her before she even unlocked the door. Rich, warm, and utterly mouthwatering.

Unlocking the door, she slowly pushed it open, stepping inside. “What the fu—” The words died on her lips.

Roses. Everywhere.

Vases overflowed with them, petals scattered like something out of a dream. The dining table was set with candles flickering against soft linen, casting shadows that danced along the walls.

But none of that held her attention.

No.

Her focus locked on him.

Tristan was draped against the couch’s armrest, long legs crossed at the ankles, the picture of effortless control. His low-slung jeans rode dangerously on his hips, exposing every carved muscle and the deep V-cut so pronounced it should’ve been illegal.

Bare-chested, the candlelight cast golden shadows over the defined ridges of his torso, every dip and plane meant to ruin her.

He swirled two glasses of red wine, grip lazy, like he had all the time in the world. His dark hair was a tousled mess, like he’d run his fingers through it one too many times, and when his gaze met hers, smoldering and lethal, her stomach flipped.

Fuck me.

Her pulse tripped over itself as she finally found her voice. “What’s all this?”

Tristan pushed off the couch, moving toward her with that slow, measured stride that made it impossible to breathe properly. “Welcome home, love.”

He handed her a glass of wine, his fingers brushing against hers, just enough to make her stomach tighten. “Here’s to us.” His voice was smooth, dark, and when he tilted his glass to hers, she barely had the sense to respond.

“Cheers.”

She took a sip, but his eyes never left hers. Watching. Consuming.

“So sweet.”

He dragged out each syllable, voice dipping lower, rougher. It was like a spark catching at the deepest part of her, igniting something hot, needy, impossible to ignore

“We have about thirty minutes before dinner is ready.” His tone was casual, but the way he stepped closer, so close she could feel the heat radiating off him, was anything but. “I’ve got everything ready for a long, relaxing shower.”

Her breath hitched. “What am I missing?”

His dark gaze flickered over her, assessing, waiting.

Victoria swallowed, her grip tightening around the glass.

“When you finally texted me back, I had this feeling… that you weren’t having the best day.”

Tristan grabbed her hand, his grip firm but unhurried, leading her through the apartment. Every step sent a fresh wave of roses into the air, the scent intoxicating.

When they stepped into the bedroom, her breath caught.

More flowers. Vases upon vases, petals scattered like something out of a dream.

But he didn’t stop.

He led her straight into the bathroom, warm, candlelit, the air hazy with steam. On the counter, a neatly stacked set of clothes waited, every detail carefully thought out.

Tristan turned to her then, gaze wicked. “ Strip.”

Victoria held his gaze, her pulse hammering as she set her glass down. The way he watched her—patient, expectant, completely in control—made her skin flush before she even moved.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she reached for the hem of her shirt. She peeled it over her head, dropping it to the side before pushing her pants past her hips. Her breathing grew unsteady, especially under his intense, dark, and unblinking gaze.

By the time she was bare, the tension between them could be cut with a knife.

He finally moved, stepping behind her. His fingers brushed her shoulders, his touch achingly gentle.

“Come here.”

He led her toward the shower, fingers tracing lazy circles on her wrist before reaching for the glass door. He pulled it open, waiting—watching.

Victoria hesitated, the question forming on her lips, but before she could speak, Tristan lifted a finger, pressing it gently to her mouth.

A slow shake of his head. A single, lingering drag of his finger across her bottom lip.

“I’m coming.”

The warm water cascaded over her, washing away the weight of the day. Steam curled around her as she sank beneath the spray, eyes fluttering shut. Tension unraveled from her shoulders, melting away with every drop.

But the second Tristan stepped in, everything shifted.

The heat of his body now mixed with the steam. Before she could process the moment, his hands were on her waist, pulling her flush against him.

And then his mouth was on hers.

A deep, slow kiss that stole the breath from her lungs.

Victoria melted.

Her fingers curled into his forearms as he kissed her like he had all the time in the world,like he wanted to replace every single thought in her head with only him.

By the time he pulled back, her body was humming, her skin burning hotter than the water surrounding them.

Tristan’s thumb brushed over her lips, his voice low, rough and deadly.

“Let me wash you.”

He reached for the shampoo, pouring it into his palms before threading his fingers into her hair.

Victoria nearly moaned.

He worked slowly, massaging her scalp with strong, careful hands, easing the tension from every inch of her. Each movement was precise, like he knew exactly where she needed the release.

Like he wanted to take care of her.

Her shoulders slumped under his touch, a deep sigh slipping past her lips.

Tristan hummed, the sound deep, satisfied.

“That’s it, love.” His voice was barely above a murmur, his thumbs circling at her temples, undoing her, stroke by stroke.

Victoria didn’t realize she was leaning into him until his breath ghosted over her ear.

“Let me take care of you.”

And God…she let him.

“Tilt your head back.” His voice was low, coaxing, and she followed without argument, letting the water stream through her hair.

Tristan’s fingers worked through the strands, ensuring every last bit of shampoo was gone before he reached for the conditioner. He smoothed it through, stealing soft, lingering kisses as he went. Each brush of his lips sent a shiver through her, a stark contrast to the warmth surrounding them.

By the time he was done, Victoria wasn’t sure what had unraveled more: the tension in her muscles or her restraint.

“Don’t move.” Tristan turned, reaching for the body wash and a loofah. The sound of the bottle clicking open sent a fresh wave of anticipation through her.

Lathering the loofah, he stepped back to her, his touch firm yet unhurried as he guided her just out of the water’s stream. His hands moved over her arms first, slow, deliberate, before gliding lower. Across her collarbones. Down the curves of her chest.

His movements lingered, circling around her breasts, teasing, his fingers scraping lightly over her sensitive nipples, sending a jolt of heat straight through her.

Victoria’s breath hitched, her body arching into his touch on instinct. Tristan’s lips curled at the sound, his voice a rough murmur against her temple. “Relax, love. Turn around. Let me get your back.”

She obeyed without thought, her mind slipping into a haze of warmth, steam, and him.

His fingers traced down her spine as he swept her wet hair aside, exposing the delicate curve of her neck. A featherlight kiss landed there, a whisper of heat against her skin. Immediate goosebumps.

Slowly, he started washing her, his touch reverent, like she was something to be unraveled, savored. His hands slid lower, over the dip of her back, then lower still.

Tristan let out a quiet hum of appreciation, his voice sinful as he whispered against her ear, “You have a fantastic ass, Victoria.”

A shudder rolled through her, heat pooling low in her stomach. His fingers danced lower, between her thighs, teasing over the most sensitive part of her, and Victoria nearly forgot how to stand.

Victoria’s breath hitched, her body melting into his touch as he traced slow circles over her skin. The loofah had long since been forgotten, slipping from his grasp as his bare hand skimmed up her stomach, across her ribs before finally cupping her breast.

A soft moan escaped her lips, her back pressing against his chest as she leaned into him. The heat of his body, the steady rise and fall of his breath against her damp skin…it was overwhelming in the best way.

Tristan’s fingers flexed, his grip tightening just enough to make her breath stutter. His other hand…oh God, his other hand dragged lower, teasing over her hip, brushing between her thighs in a featherlight touch that sent sparks of pleasure dancing up her spine.

She whimpered, her fingers gripping his forearm, as if that would stop the slow, torturous way he was unraveling her.

“Tristan.” Her voice was barely above a whisper, a plea wrapped in desperation.

His response was a low, satisfied hum, his lips grazing the shell of her ear. “What is it, love?”

His fingers teased over her again, pressing just enough to make her thighs clench, her body instinctively seeking more.

“Tell me.” His voice was a dark promise, his mouth trailing down the side of her neck, tasting the droplets of water clinging to her skin.

Victoria swallowed hard, her head falling back against his shoulder, surrendering to the way he was breaking her down, stroke by stroke

Just as her body was wound tight, teetering on the edge of release, he stopped.

A strangled sound slipped from her lips in frustration, disbelief, sheer need.

Tristan chuckled, the sound dark and full of wicked amusement. His breath ghosted over her skin as he murmured against her ear, “You’re still dirty, love. Turn around.”

Her legs felt unsteady, her body still aching for what he had so cruelly taken away, but she obeyed. Barely catching her breath, she turned, only to find his gaze burning, consuming, utterly unapologetic.

He was glorious.