Page 11 of The Last Wish of Bristol Keats
She looked sideways at him, her gaze lowering to his crotch, where a bulge strained against the fabric.
“Yes,” she said, “I can see you’re enjoying the view.”
He tugged his shirt free from his trousers and pulled it over his head, throwing it to the floor. Her attention sharpened. He slowed when it came to his trousers, knowing she was eager too.
“Just giving you due notice,” he said, undoing the first button of his fly, “if I come in there with you, you’ll be the one begging for mercy. Unlike the other night when you controlled everything, I’ll be the one in charge this time. And this time I won’t be silent. I have a lot to say. Like how much I want to fuck you.”
Water dripped from her lashes. “Sounds interesting. I’m all ears.”
He undid the next button, his eagerness already on display. Her teeth scraped her lower lip. He popped the last button, and his trousers dropped to his ankles. He kicked them loose, and her chest rose in a deep, shivering breath. In three strides, he was in the basin with her, taking the sponge from her hand, pressing against her back. She was trapped between him and the marble wall, his mouth tucked near her cheek.
“I will always be at your mercy, Bri,” he whispered. “Forever, I’m yours. But right now, you are mine, and I plan to own every inch of you.” His hand slid down across the slickness of her belly, and his fingers raked through the thick patch of hair below, his middle finger sliding between her legs. She moaned, and her hips pressed forward against his hand. She swelled beneath his touch, and he stroked her as his lips skimmed her shoulder.
“This time there will be words. You’ll tell me that you want me to fuck you. I want you to scream it. And I want to know every other way you want me to touch you. I want you breathless and weak and begging me for more. But most of all, I want you to tell me that you love me, because I cannot breathe without you.”
She groaned his name, and he turned her to face him. “I love you,” she whispered, plaintive, leaving no doubt between them. His insides twisted with heat, and his mouth came down on hers, his tongue parting her lips. It wasn’t just his erection that throbbed, but every part of him, from skin to soul. He wanted to give himself wholly and fully to her, and protect her from anything that could ever harm her again.
Everything about her, from the sound of her voice to the smoldering in her eyes, set him on fire. She dropped down, the shower still raining down on them, and she took him into her mouth, her tongue teasing, her lips tightening around him. His breath shuddered; his head swam. As his thighs tightened, his control waned, and he dropped to the floor in front of her. He grabbed her wrists and pushed her beneath him. Water rained down on his back, shielding her, and her eyes were golden pools looking into his. “I’m not done with you,” he said.
Between heavy breaths she whispered, “You should know, Tyghan Trénallis, I will never beg you for mercy, because I never want you to stop.”
“Be careful what you wish for.”
“Bragging again?”
“Aspiring. And I usually get the things I aspire to.”
His lips skimmed her neck, her shoulder, skating down to her breasts. She tasted of summer, and plums, and sweet cream. His tongue circled her nipple, and his teeth gently grazed the tender flesh. Her moans filled him with madness, his blood burning, his heart hammering. He resisted plunging into her right that moment, wanting to draw out her pleasure. He explored the silk of her skin, her ribs, her belly, lower still, until his mouth was between her legs. Her breath came harder, a delirium in her moans, and in seconds she was pleading with him. “Tyghan, wait. I’m already—wait.” Her breaths came in short gasps, and her hips rocked forward, pushing toward him. He didn’t wait, and neither did she. He brought her slowly and mercilessly to a crescendo, her muscles tense, convulsing, her moans ragged, until it seemed she wasn’t breathing at all. He was so hard he thought he might come just by listening to her. Her crescendo finally peaked, her flesh throbbing in his mouth, and when it subsided, she blew out a long, quivering breath.
“Again?” he whispered.
She nodded.
Tyghan was true to his word and owned every inch of her with abandon, and Bristol lost herself in the thrill of his passion—and her own. They had moved from the shower to her marble dressing table, to the thick rug on the floor of her dressing area. He pressed into her from behind, his hands gripping her hips, but then he lifted her upright against him, one hand caressing her breast, the other stroking between her legs, like he wanted every part of her at once. This time they came at the same furious moment, an exquisite tangle of breaths and elation.
They finally ended up on her bed, their arms spread, their skin damp, their breathing shallow, exhausted. “Uncle,” he whispered. She smiled that he knew the phrase.
“So you’re only a demigod after all,” she teased.
“A humbled braggart who has learned his lesson.”
She laughed. After three intense rounds of lovemaking, she was getting a little sore in the nether regions and was glad he needed to rest. His enthusiasm was appreciated, but so was respite, and savoring the enormous afterglow. Not just the glow of sex, but the words. They were mostly hard to utter in the course of lovemaking, but they were as intense as the incredible spasms that left her breathless.Love, need, want, adore, love, love, love. She felt it with every touch, word, and move between them, a yearning that reached into her marrow.
“Do you believe in destiny?” she asked.
Tyghan’s hand slid across the bed and clasped hers. “I believe we make our own destiny.”
“But what were the chances of us ever meeting?”
“A million chances happen every day. The difference is what we make of them. We can let them slip past us, or we can turn a chance into something that lasts forever.”
It struck her how similar his words were to the ones her mother loved to repeat.I saw a once-in-a-lifetime chance, she would say about meeting Bristol’s father,and didn’t let it slip past me. Her stomach bobbed, thinking how ephemeral a chance was, how easily one could slip past. “I didn’t like you at first, you know?”
A soft chuckle lifted his chest. “I noticed. I thought you were going to punch me.”
“Our beginning didn’t look too promising.”
“Maybe endings are more important than beginnings.”
