Page 23 of Sinful Storms

Gone at seventeen. A tragic accident during a storm. I had no further details because my grandmother still found it too painful to talk about, even after all these years. Now I was standing in front of his grave, though, I could piece together the dates. He would have been partway through the first term of his final year at Hatherley Hall.

How had he died, and why had his name been in that book?

I sighed, tracing my fingers across his name before I rose from my crouch, picking my way across the churchyard so I could pay a visit to my parents.

“Aria. Let’s not pretend that you’re not here for the same reason as me.”

I spun around, my heart pounding. Tristan was in the doorway of the darkened kitchen, leaning on the door frame with his arms folded across his chest. His completely bare chest.

Was he allergic to T-shirts or something?

“What do you mean?” I gripped my spoon tightly, holding it up in front of me like a shield.

He pushed off the wall, prowling towards me, his blue eyes glittering in the light from the cooker hood, and I swallowed. I was barefoot, in skimpy pyjama shorts and a cami top, and it was just the two of us here. Tristan’s parents were out for the night with Knox’s parents at some charity thing, the staff were…wherever they went at night, and my godbrother was looking at me like I was his next midnight snack.

No he isn’t, Aria. He’s just?—

Reaching me, he swiped the spoon out of my hand, jamming it into the open tub of caramel ice cream on the kitchen island. He scooped up a small heap of creamy caramel and lifted it to my lips.

“Open up, little scorpion.”

I found my mouth opening before I could really even process what was happening.

“Good girl. You need sweetening up,” he murmured before taking his own heaped spoonful and shovelling it into his mouth. “Delicious.”

I swallowed my ice cream and mustered up a glare. It was more difficult than usual, here, late at night, alone in the quiet kitchen. It brought back unwanted memories. Good memories of us as innocent eight-year-old kids, sneaking downstairs for midnight snacks when everyone was asleep. “You’re the one who needs sweetening up.”

“Probably.” He grinned at me without malice, and my heart skipped a beat. “Now, are you ready to discuss why you’re here? Because we both know why, but I want to hear you admit it.”

My heart skipped another beat for a whole different reason. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Hmm.” He scooped out more ice cream, pressing the cold tip of the spoon to my lips. I opened my mouth again. Why was I letting him feed me? “We’re going to do this the hard way, are we?”

I needed to get some of the power back. Snatching the spoon from his grip, I placed it down on the island and then dipped my finger in the ice cream. Tristan’s darkened gaze tracked my finger as I brought it to my lips, swirling my tongue around it.

“Mmmm.”

His hand went down to his shorts, and a jolt of heat went through me when I realised he was adjusting himself.

“You’re playing with fire, baby.” Wrapping his hand around my wrist, he pulled my finger away from my mouth. He dipped his own finger in the ice cream. When he unexpectedly smeared the ice cream across my lips, I gasped.

“Lick,” he commanded, and I did. It was like I was in a trance. I licked every bit of ice cream from my lips, and when he brought his finger back up again, dripping with creamy caramel, and told me to suck, I did that, too.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered, adjusting himself again. I could see his chest rising and falling, and I wanted—I wanted?—

My eyes widened, and I panicked. I bit down on his finger.

“Fucking hell!” This time, it was a cry of surprise as he yanked his hand away from me. “What was that for?”

“I hate you,” I ground out.

“Yeah, I fucking hate you, too,” he growled, and I lunged for him.

He caught me, lifting me into his arms, and rapidly walked me backwards until my back hit the fridge.

There was a split second when our eyes met, and then his mouth came down on mine.

He kissed me hard, devouring me with his mouth, and I gave it right back to him, digging my nails into his shoulders as our mouths met again and again, tongues sliding together, panting into each other’s mouths, in what was the messiest, most frantic kiss of my life.

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