Page 85 of Cookout Carnage
Tristan raised an eyebrow.
‘And he wore vests.’
‘Oh, Hot Sauce.’ Tristan huffed out a short laugh. ‘Do I need to change my name to Lucas?’
She shook her head rapidly. ‘No, never. You’re perfect.’
The moment hung between them.
‘What did you write in my locker?’ she murmured.
‘I crossed out LH and wrote Tris,’ he replied.
Sherilyn couldn’t hold back any longer. The smouldering desire that had simmered for over a year boiled over and she tugged his vest to bring his lips to hers. The contact was a shocking burst of light that flared through her, torching any restraint. Tristan didn’t hesitate to respond. His lips were hot and firm, his kiss raw and urgent. He slipped his tongue into her mouth, tracing trails of fire inside. She moaned and he growled in response, running his fingers into her hair, tugging her closer. The polite British gent had left the building. Tristan kissed her like they were already lovers. As if she was already his and he was hers. As if he knew he was allowed to grab her ass and hold her tight as she ground herself against him. He lifted her off the floor, pulling her leg to wrap around his waist. She clung to him, circling and rocking against the hardness in his pants, desperate for more. Each breath was frantic, a rushed, gasping, dragging in of air as pleasure flooded through her. Nothing had prepared her for this. In all her wildest and frequent fantasies about the courteous and well-dressed Tristan Fawcett-Underwood, none of them included being pressed up against her school locker and kissed with such fierce intensity. He tugged up her T-shirt, untucking it from her cut-offs, and ran his hand up her fevered skin. He pushed her bra strap from her shoulder and cupped her breast, his thumb finding her hardened nipple. She broke the kiss with a cry, her head crashing into the metal behind her, the sounds echoing down the hall. He growled again, lifting her higher, yanking her T-shirt up and leaning down to draw the aching nipple into the wet heat of his mouth.
‘Yes, yes, yes, yes.’ Every word she gasped was an affirmation and a cry for more. She grabbed his hair, holding him tighter as the rough rub of his tongue sent flames licking through her, feeding the inferno that raged inside.
On the edge of her hearing, a sound sliced through her pleasure. The noise popped the bubble of lust and sent her crashing back to earth.
Her phone was ringing.
She stiffened and Tristan raised his head. His glasses were askew, his cheeks flushed.
‘Do you need to get that?’ he asked, as out of breath as she was.
What was the time? Was Fender already home?Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. She nodded and he stepped back. She grabbed her purse from the floor and pulled out her phone just as the call ended. She had a barrage of missed texts.
Mama: Sherri-Lynne honey, u coming home soon? XO
Mama: Your Pa is back with Fender. Where are u?
Missed call: Mama
Mama: You okay honey? U not lying in a ditch someplace?
Mama: I’m worried, baby girl. I’m sending Axle out to look for u XO
Mama: I never want to see your face on the side of a milk carton, Sherri-Lynne.
Mama: Your Pa’s all antsy with the long drive and all. You need to get back here now.
Mama: Where are u????
Amy: Axle’s been at the diner looking for you. Lucille told me you’re at the school, so I sent him to the other end of town.
Missed call: Mama
Oh fuck.Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck. She looked up at Tris, frozen in panic.
‘Is everything okay? What’s happened?’
‘I’m late.’ Her hands flew to her face. Her cheeks were hot, her lips swollen. She ran her fingers through the mess of her hair, then dealt with her rumpled clothes. She was in utter disarray. Internally she was scattered. Externally she felt like what they’d done was imprinted on her for all to see. Apart from the colour in his cheeks, Tristan still looked perfect.
‘Okay, let me get you home,’ he said.
‘No!’
‘It’s okay, Sherilyn, I won’t stay. I know I’m meeting your parents tomorrow but I’m sure they won’t mind me seeing you to the door?’
