Page 83 of Twisted Gift

I reach for him, sliding my fingers through his hair and tugging at the ends.

He increases the pace, and I match his thrusts, my legs trapping him between them as my heart pounds against my ribcage. We’re battling it out in a race to see who will come apart first.

When I clench around him, I hold him to me as I come. Only a few thrusts later, he groans, his muscles tense as his own release charges through him.

He slides out of me and peppers kisses along my jaw, against my cheek, my brow, my forehead. I giggle beneath him, trying to squirm away, but he holds me there, grinning.

“I love you,” he says.

I kiss him. “I love you.”

He wraps his arms around me, hugging me against his side as our breathing settles to a normal pace. In the midst of all the sadness and fear of what is still to come—in this moment right here—I allow myself to smile, to be happy, because after everything we’ve been through, we deserve it.

“I thought they were going to kill you,” he whispers, his voice cracking as he stares at the ceiling.

We finally made it to the bedroom and have been lying next to each other in silence for close to half an hour, neither of us able to sleep.

My heart sinks, and I reach for his hand, sliding my fingers through his. “I’m here, Tris. I’m okay.” My tone is calm, soft, but anger bubbles inside of me. I’m glad Max destroyed The Experiment’s facility. I don’t feel guilty over the lives I took to get out of there. If that makes me a monster, so be it. They almost took everything from me. I wasn’t going to let them get away with it—I couldn’t.

He squeezes my hand, but still won’t look at me. His jaw is sharp, a muscle ticking along it, and shadowed with stubble. He hasn’t shaved since we got out, but the slightly unkempt look suits him.

I place my free hand against his cheek and turn his face toward me. My chest tightens at the glassiness in his eyes. His jaw is clenched against my palm, and all I want to do is take away his pain. “Breathe,” I murmur.

He blinks, causing a single tear to escape his eye and drop onto the pillow beside his head. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if I’d lost you.” I can’t imagine what’s going through his head right now. He did lose someone—his best friend. The two of us were never close, but I’m mourning his loss alongside my friends.

I don’t know what to say to ease the fear I can see in his eyes. I can’t. “You will,” I whisper. “Eventually. I’m human, Tristan. I’m going to grow old and die.”

“I know that.” His voice is low, sad. He sits up, leaning against the headboard, and I follow. He pulls my hands into his, holding them in his lap. “And I know this isn’t exactly how you pictured your life playing out after school.”

I laugh. “Nothing has happened how I planned since the day I met you.”

He traces slow circles over the back of my hand with his thumb. “You know if I could go back and change the way we met—”

I kiss him, cutting off his words. “I know,” I murmur. “But you can’t, and that’s okay.” My fingers splay across his cheek, and he turns his face to press his lips against my palm, closing his eyes.

“You’re all I want,” he says, opening his eyes to meet my gaze. “For the rest of whatever time we have.”

I smile past the tears filling my eyes. “We might not have forever, but we have each other.”

He nods, pulling my hand away from his face. “I want to show you something.”

“Right now?” I ask, laughing as he gets off the bed and puts on the suit he had on this afternoon at the cemetery. I put my dress back on and smile when he offers me his hand. We walk out of the penthouse together, riding the elevator downstairs in silence. I’m too afraid to ask where we’re going, and even if I did, I get the feeling Tristan wouldn’t tell me. He’ll never tire of surprising me, it seems.

He leads me into the parking garage, and when we get in his car, I can’t take it anymore. “Where are we going?”

“That took long enough,” he comments with a grin.

I roll my eyes. “Smartass.”

“Just give me ten minutes. No questions.” He glances over at me, his eyes twinkling. “Okay?”

Huffing out a breath, I nod. “Get a move on, Westbrook. Your ten minutes starts now.”

Confusion floods through me when he stops the car at the curb of a black brick commercial storefront. The front is made up of windows, but it’s too dark inside to see. There are large planters on either side of the door, filled with blooming spring flowers. My confusion lingers, but now excitement bubbles in my chest as I turn to Tristan, fighting the urge to bounce in my seat.

“I—”

“Ah, ah, I still have,” he checks his watch, “four minutes left.”

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