Page 91 of Racking Up Penalties
“Is this okay?” Tristan murmurs against the trembling plane of my belly, his question wrapped in the warmth of his breath. There’s a vulnerability in the way he asks.
“More than okay,” I manage to say.
I want to drag his head into my core and make him start but I try to be patient.
His tongue meets my pussy and my world narrows to the point of contact. A gasp escapes me as waves of pleasure ripple through my body, each flick igniting fires within me that I didn’t know could burn. My fingers tangle in his damp hair, urging him closer, silently pleading for more of this sweet torment.
“Tris… oh God,” I breathe out, the sensation overwhelming in its intensity.
“You taste so good,” he murmurs again, and the sound vibrates against my skin, sending another hit of desire straight to my core.
Each stroke of his tongue against my skin sends me higher. His lips are persistent, and his movements deliberate, as he tastes every inch of me.
As he adds his fingers, sliding and curling inside me, the rhythm of my heart becomes erratic. My hips move involuntarily, seeking more.
“More, please,” I find myself begging, the plea torn from some primal part of me that knows no shame, only need. His fingers comply, thrusting deeper, setting a pace that has my thoughts scattering. The tight coil of pleasure in my belly winds tighter with each push, each pull, each twist.
My fingers brush the tiles behind me, grasping for purchase as the orgasm builds. I’m close, so close to shattering under the weight of these new, overwhelming sensations. Tristan senses it too; I can tell by the way his focus sharpens, each movement designed to send me over the edge into blissful oblivion.
“Tessa, let go,” he urges, his voice a tender command.
“Tris,” I gasp out, my voice breaking as I teeter on the brink. My world narrows down to the feel of his mouth, his fingers and the relentless pursuit of my climax. And when it crashes over me, it’s with a force that steals my breath.
Tristan’s strong arms enfold me, lifting me with an ease that belies the intensity of our encounter. His blue eyes are oceans of desire as he rises to his feet, pressing my back against the cool, slick tiles of the shower wall. My heart races, pounding a wild rhythm against my ribs, echoing the thunderous waves of longing that crash over me.
“You are perfect,” he breathes out. The heat of his body radiates through the lingering steam, enveloping me in a cocoon of warmth and want.
His hands find my hips, guiding me as I instinctively wrap my legs around his waist. The moment he enters me, sparks of ecstasy ricocheting through every nerve ending.
My breath hitches, my fingers clutching at his broad shoulders, seeking something solid to anchor me.
With every thrust, our shared breaths grow ragged.
My hips rise to meet him, our bodies syncing with each movement.
“Fuck, you feel so good wrapped around me,” he whispers, his voice a low rumble against the dampness of my skin.
“Fuck,” I breathe out, my voice barely audible above the rush of water in the background. The steam clings to us.
His pace quickens and his deep blue eyes lock onto mine, their intensity mirroring the powerful strokes that drive me closer to the edge.
I arch my back, clinging to him as the sensations mount, my nails finding purchase on his muscled back. The sharp intake of breath that escapes Tristan tells me he’s close to the edge too.
“You’re mine Tess,” he groans, and I can’t help but marvel at how my normally reserved Tristan, who exudes quiet confidence on any given day, can express such raw desire and vulnerability with me.
The sensation builds, my body tensing, trembling with the effort to keep up with our movements.
Everything is heightened—the slick slide of skin against skin, the pulsing heat that radiates from every point where our bodies meet.
And then we reach the peak together. My body arches into his, a mirror of his shuddering release. A wave crashes over us, pleasure so intense it borders on pain.
Tristan’s arms enfold me, holding me close. I can feel the rapid thump of his heart against mine.
We’re silent, save for the quiet catch of breath as we come back down to earth. His grip is both possessive and protective, and I find myself clinging to him, unwilling to break the connection that’s still alive between us.
“Are you okay?” His question is whispered against my hair.
“More than okay,” I admit, the words spilling out in a shaky exhale.
