"Come soon." And hold me, Tristan, just hold me like you'll never let me go.
Ten
I stared up at the moulded ceiling and tried to distract myself by studying the patterns and counting the squares. I'd left the soft recessed lighting on overhead. Tristan came in quietly and I watched him remove his shoes and socks, his belt and then his slacks. His back was turned toward me and I saw him lean against the dressing table and breathe a heavy sigh. His posture told me how tired he was. His broad shoulders seemed weighted down. He ran his hand through his hair and rubbed the back of his neck, twirling his head in a slow circle to ease the tension there.
I peeled the covers back for him to slip in beside me. His head went back against the pillow and he pulled me close to him. My head rose and fell with the rhythm of his breathing. We didn't talk at all. I found strength and comfort in the warmth of his simple embrace. As I slipped into a restless sleep, I hoped he found a little of the same in me.
"Stop! No! Take me . . . Stop!" Tristan woke me with his muffled shouts and thrashing.
"Tristan, wake up. You're having a nightmare." I put my arms around him to try to calm him and was utterly shocked when he began to sob against my shoulder. I couldn't really tell if he was still 'in' the dream or fully awake. Finally, his breathing slowed and he hiccupped back to normal.
"I'm sorry, Raina."
"You don't have to apologize. It was a bad dream. Everyone has them once in a while. Can you remember what it was about?"
Tristan turned onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. "It's always the same and I always remember what it's about."
Something told me to keep quiet. For once I had the rare insight to just let someone talk.
"I told you the story of my friend and the accident at the ski lodge."
"I remember."
"Well, I didn't tell you the whole story." He sucked in a deep breath as if he was trying to gather the courage to tell his tale. "My friend was actually my fiancé. Her name was Elsa. When I made that first killing in investments, she had been there, supporting and encouraging me all the way. When I took the group to Italy for the celebration, I wouldn't have dreamed of leaving her behind." He swallowed hard and went on. "Like I told you, I was much more naïve then. I didn't think about the bad elements out there. I was on top of the world."
"How could you have known?" I asked him more to keep him talking than anything else.
"That's the thing. I was warned. I was warned and I ignored the warning."
"Who warned you?"
"My father. He called me shortly after I hit the big numbers. In his own stiff way, he told me that money attracts evil and that I should make sure I was looking over my shoulder and protecting myself and anyone who could be used to hurt me. It was like he knew something I didn't."
"You don't think he . . ."
"No. No, my father may not give a rat's ass about me, but he doesn't actively hate me." Tristan sighed into the darkness. "When we went out skiing that morning, I saw those guys behind us. Alarms should have sounded in my head. But I just went on as if there was no danger at all."
"Again, Tristan, just because the men didn't 'fit' your image of skiers at that lodge, how could you have known how it would end up?"
"It doesn't matter. What matters is that when they grabbed Elsa, they knew who we were. One of the assholes sneered at me--I'll never forget his crappy, crooked teeth--and said 'Bet you'll pay a pretty penny to get her back, won't you, Mr. King?'. So you see, I have all the reason in the world to believe that by knowing me, by being close to me, you or your parents could be in danger."
I took his hand under the covers. "I'm so sorry Tristan."
"No, I'm the one who's sorry. I've spent the last five years making sure that I didn't get close enough to anyone to put them in harm's way. I just couldn't manage to keep my distance from you."
I curled up against his side. "Don't you know by now that I don't want you to keep your distance?"
"I don't know if I could bear it if I've put you at risk."
"Life is all about risks, you and I both know that. I'm willing to to take a chance on you. The question is, will you do the same?"
I didn't get an answer. At least not in words. Tristan took me into his arms and kissed me in the most gentle, seeking way. He told me how much he cherished me with his warm, tender lips. His hands slipped under the robe and found my breasts. This time there was no pinching, just a reverent touch that made me tighten with desire for him.
Soon he was naked beside me. In spite of our fear and doubts, we needed the comfort of each others' touch. This time, our lovemaking--and in my mind I dared to call it that--was so different. There was pleasure, of course. Tristan touched me in all the right ways and in all the right places. But there was more than pleasure.
I slipped my hands down to tangle in the sandy curls at his groin. Both hands stroked the velvety skin on his hardness. Together encircling it still left a lot left to cover. My fingers didn't meet around his girth. I played at the cockhead with my thumb and rubbed the droplet of fluid I found there around the ridge. I tried to tell him with my touch how much the intimacy meant to me.
For the first time, excitement took a back seat to a deeper passion. When I took his cock inside my body I didn't need words to let me know that it was more than just a sensual exchange. Other times our bodies were at play. This time, our bodies were focused on reaching for more.
His thrusts buried his erection inside me to the hilt. His eyes were open, searing farther into me than they had ever gone before. He held my gaze, breaking it only to give me kisses with heartbreaking emotion wrapped in every brush of his mouth. There was something bittersweet about the way he took me, as if he had lost a battle. It was a battle within himself, but I gladly took the spoils.
Beneath him, spread open to his conquest, I gave myself over to his need. He whispered my name over and over, his voice husky with desire, affection and even fear. Although I received him, it seemed to me that he was more vulnerable at that moment.
His cock was just as hard and thick, his back as strong, his arms still capable. His muscles still rippled dense and firm under his smooth skin. But there was a depth, an indescribable nuance that transformed us as we pressed against each other.
I pulled my knees up against my sides, urging him to go farther, to reach forever into me. My clit ached as he pulled himself in and out of my pussy, dripping with my body's welcoming wetness. He began to groan, but his pace remained purposeful and heavy inside me. I locked my legs around his waist and my hands pulled his shoulders tight each time he reached the apex of a thrust. Our bones ground together with our bodies' desperate need to be closer, to have more.