Page 20 of The Tryst

“That’s it,” Trey growls, his hands tightening on my hips. “Take it, Holland. You don’t want to talk but you’ll damn well take every last inch.”

My hands go to his ass, just above the waistband of his jeans, and I dig my nails into him, urging him to give me more. Each thrust becomes more intense, more consuming, until I can no longer contain it. A cry escapes my lips, a mixture of pain and pleasure as I’m torn apart by my second orgasm.

Trey’s body tenses, his expression twisted with such lust and need, I can’t look away. He fights to hold back his own climaxbut it’s a losing proposition. He grits his teeth and thrusts hard into me one last time. With a hoarse cry, he finds his release and I hate that I’m filled with tenderness.

I push it away as he collapses on top of me, his heavy gasps for air mingling with my own as we both lie there, spent.

My mind races, trying to summon the right words to hurt him. I imagine pushing his body off me, telling him to go to hell, but instead my fingers play in the hair at the back of his neck.

Trey lifts his head, looks down at me with sated eyes. “That wasn’t a onetime-only thing so don’t even think about trying to tell me it was.”

Tell him, tell him, tell him.

“It’s just sex,” I say blandly.

“It’s fucking spectacular sex, but it’s going to happen again.”

“Nothing will come of this,” I say coolly. “And I’m leaving as soon as I get things in order.”

Trey considers that, one corner of his mouth turning up. “Fine… we’ll just have a hot tryst going on until you leave. Keep it secret because you know we’re good at doing that. And when you’re ready, you can leave and never look back. You’re good at that too. But maybe you won’t leave. Maybe I’ll get you to stay.”

Anger rises in me and I try to push him off.

He doesn’t budge, instead staring at me resolutely. “You and I have something, Holland. You can pretend we don’t, but I’m going to make you see it.”

“It’s just sex,” I repeat. “Nothing more.”

“It’s more,” he says confidently. “But if you want to keep it casual, I can do that.”

“And we’ll keep it secret,” I press. Because although that was his suggestion, irritating since it’s what destroyed us before, I have to admit that I don’t want anyone to know what I’m doing with him. I’m not prepared to open up the can of worms that will come from the knowledge.

“Like I said,” Trey whispers, placing a kiss on my mouth, “a tryst.”

CHAPTER 7

Holland

Istep intoThe Zesty Lemon, a charming café in Shelbyville apparently renowned for its French country ambiance. At least that’s what Kat said when she texted me yesterday to push for lunch today. This restaurant is new, as are several other boutique shops along the main street through town, and I make a note to spend a day walking through them.

I’m enveloped by the inviting aromas of fresh baguettes, buttery croissants and the faint hint of garlic and herbs from the quiches and tarts lined up in a glass case at the checkout register. For some reason, the scent of warm food immediately puts me at ease, because yes… I’m nervous to sit down and talk to Kat. I expect tougher questions are coming than what I got from Wade last night.

The restaurant is a delightful blend of rustic charm and elegant touches. The walls are painted a soft, buttery yellow, adorned with white wainscoting. Framed prints of lavender fields, quaint villages and charming farmhouses dot the walls, each one carefully chosen to enhance the café’s theme. The tables are set in small, intimate groupings, each one draped with a checkered tablecloth in cheerful shades of blue and white. Floating shelves on the wall are laden with teapots, ceramic roosters and other knickknacks, but not in an overly cluttered way that makes it seem too busy.

In all, it’s a lovely spot and I’m guessing the food will be pretty damn good.

Kat is already seated at a small table near the window covered in lacy curtains. She waves enthusiastically as soon as she spots me. I make my way over, smiling at my friend, despite the jumble of sentimentality swirling inside.

“Hey, Holland!” Kat stands to give me a tight hug. “I’m so glad we’re doing this.”

“Me too,” I reply and realize, I genuinely mean it. Even through my trepidation over the imminent questions, I’ve missed this woman. “It’s been way too long.”

A waitress appears and pours us some waters, but Kat is insistent I not even bother to look at the menu. “Trust me… the quiche Lorraine and the strawberry walnut spinach salad are to die for.”

Smiling up at the waitress, I hand her the menu I hadn’t even cracked. “Looks like that’s what I’ll have.”

“Same for me,” Kat says brightly. When we’re alone, she launches right in. “How’s it feel to be back in Shelbyville?”

“Strange,” I admit with a chuckle. “But also kind of nice.”

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