Page 80 of Wicked Beasts (Lament Princess #1)

Seventy-Nine

R ecovery feels like a journey with no clear end in sight.

I wish I could just snap my fingers and make the pain disappear, skip the slow process and heal without effort or discomfort, but it’s not that simple.

I have to be patient with myself, take things one step at a time, and be gentle as I rebuild my strength and let my body recover.

As it turns out, getting possessed and stabbed in the neck aren’t the simplest of injuries.

Dr. Shadow hasn’t returned since I woke up. While I appreciate the time spent with Tristan as he helps with my physical therapy, there’s a quiet nagging in the back of my mind, wondering if he is avoiding me.

I can’t blame him.

That night continues to disrupt my dreams—his grip tightening around my neck, the way he held me beneath the surface, forcing me to inhale mouthfuls of saltwater that seared my throat.

Sometimes, I can still feel the raw burn, the sting of it lingering in my lungs in the liminal space between sleep and wakefulness.

It’s my own permanent mark, like a brand from the ocean.

I remember his voice, low and desperate, and I remember what I said to him.

“He’s going to kill me,” he said.

“Maybe that’s what you deserve.”

It was wrong, I know, but I had nearly drowned. He held me beneath the surface, but I understand now he didn’t know it was me.

He saw Cordelia.

And I’ve seen her too. It was like she had managed to attach herself to me, but my mind is hazy, fogged, as I try to sort through all my memories, trying to untangle what was real and what wasn’t.

But to some degree, weren’t all my dreams real?

I watched Tristan kill himself.

That was very real.

But what about the rest? Part of me wonders if it was all some sick twisted game Cordelia conjured, using my fantasies against me as she blurred them with reality.

My only relief is that she didn’t win.

If there is anyone who understands what Dr. Shadow saw, it’s me.

That look on his face continues to haunt me, one of both surprise and defeat that seems so foreign to his typical confidence and charisma.

I replay my last image of him: his silent resignation, the way his eyes only reluctantly met mine before he disappeared, the tension in his jaw when he finally acknowledged me.

Tristan encourages me to stretch, pushes me to walk in the gardens around the perimeter of the house to build up my endurance.

I don’t like exercise.

I don’t like to sweat .

The sun beats down relentlessly, and he always looks effortlessly attractive in its glow.

His tan, a perfect bronze, highlights his muscular, chiseled frame, and even the sweat glistening on his skin stirs something carnal within me.

He’s different now too, more open, more inviting.

He no longer tries to slip through the house like a specter.

It almost makes exercise worth it.

Almost.

The sun feels like it's burning my cheeks, the beginnings of a blister blooming across my freckled face.

My sweat sticks to me, making me feel like a soaked rat dipped in putrid pond water.

My hair is a mess, thrown up loosely and lazily into a ponytail, stray strands framing my face.

I look up at him and crinkle my nose, silently pleading for him to let me back inside so I can shower and have Mrs. Wong make me some soup.

Dr. Shadow lingers in the back of my mind, a persistent, gnawing presence that refuses to be ignored. I want to ask Tristan if he’s avoiding me, but I’m not sure he would even know if he was.

Do they communicate now that they’re apparently cooperating with one another? If so, how? I wonder if it’s like an internal dialogue.

Or perhaps more similar to intrusive thoughts.

Tristan tells me Dr. Shadow comes when he wants to. Maybe I just have to be patient. Sooner or later, he’s bound to show his face. I refuse to believe he would fight so hard to survive, only to spend his existence hiding away.

Hiding from me.

As if on cue, Tristan senses my drifting thoughts. He grabs me by the crook of my elbow and pulls me into him. His lips brush my temple before he parts them, dragging his tongue slowly across my salty skin.

“Ew!” A playful squeal escapes my lips as I try to wiggle out of his grasp, though I can feel a sudden heat warming between my thighs, the action igniting a certain desire I teeter on the edge of. “I’m all sweaty!” I say in protest. “Don’t do that.”

“I want to do more than that,” he says, his gaze darkening as his eyes drink me in.

“No!” I say firmly, though my smile betrays me. “Not until after I shower! I’m all gross.”

“You could never be gross to me, Miss Amara.”

There’s still a flutter in my chest when he calls me Miss Amara . It just sounds different coming from his mouth, said in his voice. My cheeks grow hot as I slip away from him. My hands run down his muscular arm before grabbing hold of his hand, and a mischievous smirk spreads across my face.

“Shower with me,” I say, tugging on his fingers. “I want to feel these inside me.”

He gives me a wicked grin and grabs me by my waist, scooping me up with ease and carrying me into the house and down the hall.

We barely make it into the bathroom before he starts tearing the clothes from my body and his.

His mouth is heaven against my skin, leaving a trail of kisses in his wake.

He nips at my racing pulse before soothing the sting with his tongue.

He slowly makes his way down my body toward the swell of my breasts as my back hits the cool tile.

Tendrils of steam from the hot water swirl around us as he guides a nipple into his mouth, gently biting me while kneading the other.

He peers eyes look up at me, watching as the pleasure surfaces on my face, my back arching.

My lips part, and a soft moan escapes me, my hands clawing at his shoulders, strong and steady.

Tristan’s hand roams further down my body until it finds my hip and squeezes possessively before letting it drift to nudge my thighs open. His fingers barely graze me, teasing the growing wetness between them, causing me to buck my hips against him, eager for the pleasure I know he will provide.

“ Please …” I whisper.

He releases my nipple from his mouth with a wet pop.

“Please what ?” he asks, his voice dropping to a low, husky tone.

He slowly kneels as he hikes one of my legs over his sculpted shoulder.

“Is this what you want?” His mouth hovers so close to my most sensitive area, I can feel his warm breath against me, sending a shiver rippling through my veins.

“Yes,” I breathe, arching my back as I try to angle myself closer.

“ Please —” A gasp punctuates my words as he buries his face between my legs, his tongue delving into me with a groan.

My knees buckle slightly at the intense burst of sudden pleasure.

My fingers tangle in his wet hair, gripping tightly as I struggle to stay upright.

A moan of pure bliss escapes my lips as my hips rock instinctively against his face.

The wet heat of his mouth is incredible, his tongue exploring my most intimate parts with a skill that leaves me breathless. My head gently thuds back against the tile, my eyes fluttering closed as I surrender.

“Don’t stop,” I beg, my voice rough with need.

Tristan brings a hand to circle my entrance, teasing me with the promise of penetration even as he continues his relentless teasing on my clit with his tongue.

My body feels like it's wound up tight as he works me masterfully with his mouth and hand. Each flick of his tongue, each caress of his fingers, sends shockwaves of pleasure coursing through my veins, pushing me closer and closer to the edge.

My hands fist in his hair, holding him firmly against me as I grind shamelessly against his face, chasing my rapidly approaching climax. My hips jerk erratically as I feel the coil of tension in my core drawing tighter and tighter.

Tristan seems to double his efforts, sealing his lips around my clit as he suckles hard, flicking the sensitive bud with the tip of his tongue. At the same time, he finally plunges two fingers deep into me, curling them to stroke inside me. My legs begin to tremble as I struggle to stay upright.

With a final sharp thrust of Tristan’s fingers and a particularly intense flick of his tongue, I shatter completely.

My orgasm crashes over me like a tidal wave as I clamp down rhythmically on his invading fingers and my liquid pleasure coats his chin and hand.

My body convulses almost violently, back arching sharply as the most intense pleasure of my life rips through me.

Panting and shaking, I try to ride out my aftershocks, my body still twitching against Tristan’s face, but he doesn’t stop.

He eats me out like it's his last meal, leaving me a shaking mess.

He maintains his relentless pace even as I come completely undone above him, drinking down my release like a man dying of thirst. His massive arm curls around my leg and keeps me pinned in place, unable to stop me from escaping as he forces another orgasm out of my body.

Only then does he soften his touches gradually, lapping softly at my overly sensitive flesh as the aftershocks subside. Only when he seems certain he’s wrung out every last drop of pleasure does he finally ease back, pressing tender kisses to my inner thighs before standing slowly.

I nearly collapse, and he is quick to catch me.

One hand gently caresses my cheek, tilting it up so I can meet his heated gaze.

His lips are swollen and slick with the aftermath of my satisfaction.

I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him into me, pressing my lips against his, tasting myself on his mouth.

I will never tire of his focus on my pleasure.