Page 15 of Absinthe Dreams
Chapter Four
Chloe
By the time Iclean up the kitchen, Trystan still hasn't come back from walking Thanos. And I'm honestly not sure if he even plans to come back at all. For all I know, he's on his way back to Santa Maria, cursing my name for forcing him to admit what he's clearly desperate to hide.
I stumble to the guest room around midnight, tipsy, frustrated, and horny. I want him to come back so we can talk, but I don't even know what to say. He shook my world on its foundation at the table tonight, and I don't know what it means.
All I know is that the man I've been in love with since before I even understood what that meant for me just admitted that he gets himself off to fantasies of me. And, apparently, he has for a long time.
I have so many damn questions, starting with 'Can I watch?'
I mean, I probably shouldn't start with that one. But do I want to? Hell, yes. Are you kidding me? I was ready to drop to my knees at the dang table to make his fantasy a reality.
Maybe I should be pissed about it. I don't know. But it'd be hypocritical of me to be mad at him when I've been doing the same thing for years. He's always the one I think about when I touch myself.
It's his name I moan in the dark. It's him I see in my dreams.
I'd be lying if I said I didn't love knowing he thinks about me, too.
"Stop thinking," I growl to myself, stumbling into the side of the bed as I strip down, leaving my clothes in a pile on the floor. Since he isn't even here, I don't bother getting into pajamas before I shuffle to the bathroom to take care of business.
I look wild in the mirror hanging over the sink. My wavy hair is a riot around my face. My eyes are wide, the pupils dilated. My skin is flushed pink.
The flush only deepens when I look around the bathroom, thinking about him in here this morning, getting himself off.
I had you on your knees with my dick down your throat.
I whimper out loud at the memory of him growling those words at me. My core clenches at the image it evokes…me on my knees with his hand clutched in my hair. His eyes just as wild as mine are right now. Rivulets of sweat drip down his abdomen.
I shut off the water and scurry back to my room, feeling like my entire body is on fire. I barely have the door closed before I hear Thanos running down the hall.
Shit. Trystan's back.
I should get dressed and go talk to him, tell him that I don't hate him. I slap the light switch instead, plunging the guest room into darkness. Aside from the moonlight filtering in through the window and the LED display on the bedside clock, the room is pitch-black, the furniture nothing but formless blobs.
I feel along the wall, inching toward the bed. By some miracle, I find it without breaking my neck and then fall into it. The sheets don't do a single thing to cool my overheated skin.
I close my eyes, willing myself to sleep anyway.
And then I hear him coming down the hall. His heavy steps pause outside my door. Something about him listening like I did earlier today shakes loose another memory.
You were choking on me while you rode your perfect fucking fingers.
I choke on a whimper, my hand already sliding down my body. My legs part, my eyes locked on the door. I don't know if I'm willing him to hear me and come in…or if I'm daring him to hear me and stay out. All I know is that I don't try to stifle my cries when my thumb rolls over my clit.
"Trystan," I moan into the dark. I'm so wet, my clit swollen and achy. I need release so damn badly. I arch my hips, my thighs parting further.
One finger circles my opening before I slowly push it inside.
"Oh, God, Trystan," I groan, my hips bucking against my hand.
There's something deliciously naughty about knowing he's right on the other side of the door, listening to me.
Is he gripping both sides of the door frame, his knuckles white as he tries to keep himself from barging in on me?
Does he have his cock in his hand right now?
Is he jerking off to the sound of my cries?
