Page 90 of Racking Up Penalties
“Are you okay?” Tristan asks during a rare lull in the music, his brows knitting together in concern.
“Yeah,” I breathe out. “Just… getting tired but I want to stay.”
We drink, we celebrate, and when I laugh, it sounds closer to real. With each passing hour, the incident recedes.
As the night wears on, I let the comfort my guys provide settle deep within me, wrapping around my bruised spirit like a balm.
Chapter 39
The snowy night air clings to my skin, a cool reminder of the celebration that’s now behind us. Music from the bar fades into silence as I follow Tristan up the steps to his house, the echo of our footsteps a testament to the solitude we’ve stepped into.
Liam and Ethan sent me off with Tristan at the end of the night saying he earned it with his victory today.
“Tess,” Tristan says, his voice low and warm, “thanks for coming out tonight. Means a lot.”
I offer him a tired but genuine smile, brushing a damp strand of hair from my forehead. “Wouldn’t have missed it, Tristan. You were amazing on the field today.”
He unlocks the door and pushes it open, ushering me inside before closing the gap between us and the world outside.
“Let’s get you warmed up, yeah?” Tristan suggests, his protective nature surfacing as he notices my shiver, though his gaze lingers just a moment too long, betraying something more.
“Sounds perfect,” I reply, aware of how my voice carries an unsteady note.
We make our way to the bathroom, peeling off our jackets, still damp from the snow. As we step inside, he flicks on the light, and steam immediately begins to fill the room, swirling around us like a misty embrace. It feels intimate, this cloud of warmth enveloping us, and I can’t help but notice the way his sandy-brown hair has begun to curl slightly at the ends from the moisture.
“Here, let me.” His words are soft but deliberate as he reaches out to assist me, his fingers brushing against mine, sending an unexpected jolt through my body. Tristan slowly strips all my clothes off, dragging his hand against my skin every chance he gets.
Tristan’s fingers, firm yet gentle, hook into the waistband of my panties. As the fabric slides down my legs, a shiver runs through me.
On uncertain legs, I step out of the discarded silk, my heart pounding like a drumbeat against my ribcage.
“Thanks,” I murmur. The condensation on the mirror blurs our reflections. It hides the flush that I feel creeping up my cheeks.
The steam curls around us, a fog of warmth that clings to my skin as Tristan’s arms encircle me. His touch is firm yet gentle, a contrast that sends my pulse racing even before his lips meet mine. I’m drawn into the kiss with an intensity that both frightens and exhilarates me, the heat of the moment melting me.
“Tessa,” he breathes against my mouth, a whisper that feels like a plea and a promise all at once. And then his lips are on mine again, more insistent this time, hungry for me.
The two of us back into the shower, never letting our lips leave each other.
As Tristan’s hands roam over my damp skin, tracing the contours of my back, I can’t help but lean into his embrace. His fingers dance along my spine, setting off sparks.
I gasp when his lips leave mine, only to start kissing down my neck. Each kiss he drops is scorching.
My heart thunders in my chest, a frenetic beat that echoes the desire swirling within me. Tristan’s mouth moves with a purpose, igniting fires along my skin that I’m not sure I want to extinguish.
He guides me back against the cool tile, water droplets cascading from our bodies. His hands chart a course southward, tentative at first before he gets more confident.
He cups my breasts with a reverence that sends a jolt through my core.
“Tessa,” he breathes out, his voice husky and laced with that same awe that shines in his deep blue eyes.
The sensation of his fingers circling my nipples, teasing them into taut peaks, coaxes a gasp from my lips. It’s a sound caught between surprise and yearning.
“I love your hands on me,” I respond, my voice no more than a sigh lost in the steam. My hands reach for him, finding purchase in the damp strands of his sandy-brown hair.
He lowers himself, his movements deliberate, worshipful. As he descends, his lips are a trail of heat along the valley of my stomach, mapping every contour with precision.
The air between us is charged, full of electricity.
