Page 35 of Pucking Unhinged
I wrap myself in the fluffy pink towel Tristan set out for me and step into his room. He’s just coming in from the hall with a basket of my hair things in his hands. His hair is damp from the shower, gray sweatpants clinging low on his hips. His chest is bare, muscles flexing as he moves, and my eyes snag on the deep V cut of his hips disappearing beneath the waistband.
I’ve always been attracted to Tristan in some capacity, but right now I’m blushing from just looking at him.
He doesn’t usually walk around shirtless, in fact, usually he’s got a hoodie on with the hood pulled up over his head. Right now, though? He’s mine to look at, and the heat that curls in my belly tells me I’m not about to waste it. I laugh softly under my breath, teasing myself for ogling him. Suddenly I’m not onlynottired anymore, but I’m acting like Hayden, heavily breathing in a corner ready to count how many eyelashes Madi has for the thousandth time.
It’s a little mean, but it’s also true. And it makes me smile.
Tristan zips out of the room like he’s being timed and comes back within mere minutes. I notice his arms are full. Not just a couple of things, this man has an armful of clothes still on hangers, like he reached straight into a closet and pulled half of it out in one grab. He’s trying to balance it all, shoulders tense, hands shifting as he crosses the room. He’s clearly aiming for the oversized chair in the corner. It’s clumsy and awkward for him, like he doesn’t know how to hold so much at once, but he’s being intentional too. Careful not to drop anything, and I know why. I recognize one of my ballet leotards dangling off his pinky.
Tilting my head, smiling even though I’m confused, I pull him out of his own little world and ask him, “What are you doing?”
Tristan looks up at me like the answer should be obvious. He sets the pile of clothes down on the chair, hangers rattling together. “I’m moving your stuff in here. We’re not sleeping apart ever again. We can move into your room if you want…I didn’t think to ask you that.”
It makes me giddy, this sight of him in the middle of the night sneaking around like some overgrown thief, hauling my closet into his arms while I was soaking in the bath. I glance around and see how much he’s already brought in here. My teddy bear, the one he won me at the carnival, is perched on his dresser, staring at us with glassy eyes.
Tristan notices. His mouth quirks as he shuts his bedroom door, locks it and then crosses the room to stand in front of me. “He can watch, but he can’t get in the bed.”
“But you won him for me,” I point out softly, tilting my head at the bear. “And he still needs a name.”
Tristan glares over at poor Mr. Bear, then back down at me, lips pulling into a pout. “I think I’m being reasonable.”
A giggle escapes me. “Oh, is that so? This is what reasonable looks like?”
“Well, has Madi ever told you what Hayden does to her stuffed animals?”
“Hayden can’t be left alone in public places because a gentle breeze can set him off,” I cut in quickly, grinning as his mouth twitches. “So I don’t think we should ever use him as the baseline for what’s reasonable.”
Tristan’s smile curves slowly and certain, and before I can gloat about winning, his hands slip down to the knot of my towel, tugging me closer until my chest brushes his abdomen. His head dips low so that his nose drags against mine, soft and deliberate, his eyes heavy-lidded and locked on me. I feel delirious. I feel happy.
I feel loved.
I laugh, the sound spilling out before I can catch it, because I realize now that Tristan has no reason to be concerned about my safety, I quite like this obnoxiously jealous streak of his. “My things can stay in my room,” I murmur. “That doesn’t mean we can’t share your room to sleep in.”
He catches my face in his hands and kisses me, slow and insistent, like he thinks that I’m trying to distract him and he's going to distract me right back. Between breaths he says, “No. I think we’ll live in the same room. All the time. Not just to sleep.”
It makes me giggle, the seriousness in his tone even as his mouth brushes mine. But when he pulls back, his eyes stay locked on me. This man is burning for me.
“I’ve waited too long for this chance,” he says, voice rough like in the back of his mind he’s thinking that there’s any universe where I would leave him for any reason. He’s my person, we’ve been through so much, and nothing will ever change how I feel about him. His thumbs trace along my cheeks, holding me still. “Too long to be with you fully. You’re not getting rid of me, Winter. Not now. Not ever.”
My chest squeezes, and I can’t find any words, not with the way he’s looking at me.
“I forced myself to stay away from you in certain ways,” he admits, his voice low, heavy, each word seeming to drag out of him. “At first because you were forbidden. And then…” His jaw tightens, his forehead brushing mine. “Because I knew I didn’t deserve you.”
Everything goes still between us. I can feel Tristan’s breath against my lips, uneven, like he’s just confessed something he wasn’t ready to.
His hands slide back to cup my face fully, holding me steady as if I might run. “I don’t want to miss another moment with you,” he whispers, softer now, almost pleading. “I don’t want you to wake up and have to go to your room to get dressed. I don’t want to have to come to your room to braid your hair in the mornings. I want to just…be with you. All the time.”
The last part slips out like a confession. It’s hushed and raw, like he didn’t mean to let it escape where another soul could hear it. Tristan’s eyes drop for half a second, like he’s afraid of what I’ll do with this information, but his hands stay firm on my face, refusing to let me go.
The mood shifts fast, because I don’t have the words to express what I’m feeling. I kiss him, and I kiss him hard. I can’tget enough of him. I want him inside me again. Over and over. I want to map every inch of his body with my mouth, show him every piece of me he hasn’t been allowed to see for the longest time.
My fingers trail down Tristan’s chest, slow, and then over his stomach, the muscles twitching tight under my touch. It makes me smirk, makes me want to push further. I rise on my toes, kissing his shoulder before lowering my mouth to his chest. His breath hitches roughly, and one of his big hands gathers my damp hair, twisting it tight in his fist as he tilts my head back, forcing my eyes up to him while I crouch to kiss lower.
“You don’t have to do this,dushen’ka,” he grits out, voice breaking.
WINTER
Ipress my lips to the hard lines of his stomach, then drag my tongue over the cut of his hip, just to hear him gasp. “I want to,” I whisper against his skin. “And you told me I could have anything I want. I want to taste you. Is that okay?”
