Page 71 of Racking Up Penalties
I shift, my breaths coming in short gasps as I slide up Tristan’s body, catching the look of raw desire on his face. His hair is tousled from where my fingers clung to him, and his deep blue eyes burn into me with an intensity that sends a shiver down my spine.
“Let me,” I whisper, and there’s no mistaking my meaning. The air between us crackles with anticipation as I position myself between his legs. My hands tremble slightly, but there’s no hesitation as I take him in my hand, marveling at the feel of him—hard and ready.
“Tessa,” he groans, and his voice is thick with need.
I wrap my lips around the head of his cock and take him as deep as I can before pulling back and starting again.
Every stroke of my tongue, every suckle has him writhing beneath me, his fingers digging into the sheets. I lose myself in the rhythm, the taste of him, the sound of his ragged breathing. It’s powerful, this ability to bring him to the brink, and it ignites something fierce and bold within me.
“Stop, stop,” Tristan pants suddenly, pulling me away gently. “I want to be inside you when I come.”
We’re a tangle of limbs as we move together, my heart racing like a drumbeat in my chest. He positions himself below me, and I straddle him, poised above, absorbing the look of pure adoration etched on his face. This isn’t just about pleasure; it’s about connection, it’s about us.
I love knowing that I am his first. If I have anything to say about it, I will be his only.
Slowly, I lower myself onto him, taking one inch at a time. A couple of times I have to lift up and go back down so I can take him further. He’s bigger than anyone I’ve ever been with. He’s been hiding this treasure from me for too long.
When I finally make it all the way to his base, I am gasping at the sensation of being filled completely. My hips find a rhythm, and I ride him, lost in the sensation, in the love that swells within my chest.
“You are so sexy. I am never letting you go, Tristan,” His name is a prayer, a vow, as I lean forward to capture his lips with mine. Our kiss is messy, desperate, a mingling of breath and desire. His hands roam over my back, my hips, guiding me, urging me on. There’s nothing but the sound of our union, the slick heat that builds and coils, demanding release.
“Look at me,” he whispers against my lips, and I do, finding those blue oceans that drown all my fears, all my uncertainties.
The crescendo builds, unstoppable, and I cling to him as the world tilts. He grinds up into me and I go over the edge. His groan is obscene as he orgasms deep inside me.
As we slowly come down, our breaths evening out, I lay my head against his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart.
“That was amazing,” I murmur, my voice muffled against his skin.
“I’m glad I waited to experience that with you. It was everything I could have wanted,” he confesses, his arms encircling me in a warm embrace.
I press a kiss on his chest. “Me too. Thank you for loving me for so long.”
“There wasn’t even a choice.”
I rearrange so my head rests in the crook of his shoulder.
“Do you feel better?” His voice is soft, a tender rumble that vibrates through me.
I nod against him. It’s true. The knotted tension that had been coiled tight inside me has unraveled, leaving behind a calming sense of clarity. In the aftermath of our lovemaking, the anxiety about meeting Liam’s mom, about picking the right outfit, about everything, it all seems inconsequential now.
“Much,” I finally whisper, lifting my gaze to meet his eyes. They’re still filled with that same affectionate intensity that always seems to see right through me.
He brushes a strand of hair from my forehead, his touch feather-light, but it sends shivers down my spine. “You always overthink things, Tess. You know that?”
I let out a huff of laughter, the sound muffled by his skin. “Guilty as charged.” It’s a trait that often serves me well, especially when it comes to my studies in fashion, where meticulous attention to detail is key. But in matters of the heart? Not so much.
“Hey.” His fingers tilt my chin up, compelling me to look at him again. “Whatever happens this weekend, just be you. That’s the woman everyone falls for.”
His words, mimicking Emma’s, are a soothing salve, and I drink them in, letting them fortify me. How did I get so lucky to have someone like Tristan in my life? He’s more than just a lover; he’s a friend, a confidant, someone who knows just what to say to chase away my doubts.
“Thank you,” I say again.
“For what?” His question is a gentle echo of earlier, an amused lilt playing on his lips.
“For always being there for me.”
“Always,” he promises, and there’s a weight to the word, a vow that goes beyond the here and now.
