Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 134706 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134706 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
“Yes what?” he growls.
“I understand.”
He lets go and really lets me have it, and it’s beautiful and blinding, and I’m sure the concierge is going to be knocking on the door any moment because the bed is hitting the wall so hard that I’m positive we’re causing structural damage.
“Fuck,” he moans, his voice deep and guttural. “Anderson . . . fuck me,” he growls, losing control. “Fuck me harder.” His grip tightens, his pumps get harder, and God, this is next-level incredible.
I screw up my face as I try to hold it, and he slaps my behind again. I scream out, and I clench as I come in a rush. He holds himself deep, and I feel his cock jerk hard inside of me.
He lets me go, lays me down, rolls me onto my back, and then slides back into my body. His lips take mine with a tenderness I’ve never known.
We stare at each other for a prolonged moment, and I can feel his cock gently pulsating inside of me as it tries to completely empty itself.
“I missed you, Anderson,” he whispers as he brushes the hair back from my face.
I stare up at him, shocked. An unwelcome emotion overwhelms me, and I blink to stop the tears.
This isn’t how this is supposed to go.
I expected a booty call, but this feels special and intimate.
We kiss, and I feel my heart constrict in my chest. This was a bad idea.
I want to go home.
Chapter 13
I wake to the feeling of gentle kisses dusting my shoulder, and I smile sleepily.
He’s here.
There’s no mistaking waking up next to Tristan.
His cheek comes to mine from behind. “Morning.” I smile.
“Anderson,” he purrs.
I chuckle and turn toward him so he can kiss the side of my face again.
What a night.
Ecstasy doesn’t come close to where this man takes me. His touch is otherworldly.
“I’ve got to go, babe,” he murmurs. “I have a meeting in like half an hour on the other side of town.”
“Okay.” I smile. I roll over to face him, and we stare at each other for a moment. I bring my hand up and run it through his dark stubble.
“When will I see you?” he asks.
My heart drops. I know this isn’t going anywhere, and I have to rip off the Band-Aid. “You won’t. This can’t go on, Tris.”
His eyes hold mine, and a frown crosses his brow, but he stays silent.
“I wish things were different,” I say softly as I lean in and kiss his lips. “I really do.” I concentrate on my fingers in his stubble. They distract me from my heart telling me to stop talking.
“I have my kids, and I don’t do casual, and I can’t do a relationship. And even if I could, it’s not the life you want.”
He exhales deeply, knowing I’m right. His eyes drop away from mine.
“We’re so good together,” I whisper as I pull his face back to me. “In . . . in another life, we could have been great. Just not this one.”
His eyes search mine, and I feel like he has so much to say but is choosing to remain silent.
“Promise me something.”
“What?” He sighs, unimpressed.
“Promise me . . . that sometimes . . . you’ll think of me.”
Our eyes are locked. “No, I can’t do that, Anderson . . . if I can’t have you, I don’t want to think about you.”
I smile sadly and lean in and kiss him. Our faces screw up together.
This is goodbye.
We stare at each other, and he runs his fingers over my face, as if memorizing every inch. “I wish things were different,” he whispers.
“Me too.”
He frowns, and I know he wants one last time. He goes to lie over me.
“I can’t, Tris.” I shake my head, emotional overload threatening. “I just can’t.”
He clenches his jaw and gets out of bed in a rush. He dresses in silence as I lie and watch him.
“You know I’m right,” I whisper.
He does his tie, refusing to look at me.
“Are you going to say anything?” I ask.
“Nope.” He pulls his jacket over his shoulders and retrieves his expensive watch from the bathroom and pats his pockets as he makes sure he has everything. He goes to the door, and I hold my breath as I watch him.
“Tris.”
He turns back to me.
“Can . . . can you say something, please?”
“What do you want me to say, Claire?”
Tears threaten. “Anything?”
His eyes hold mine for a beat, and finally he speaks. “Goodbye.”
I swallow the lump in my throat . . . not that.
He turns and leaves. The door clicks closed, and I stare at the back of it.
He would have fought me if he wanted it.
He didn’t.
And now I know.
I stand under the hot water and let it stream over my head. I’ve had the worst week.
Busy at work, and I’ve been moping around about Tristan, and I don’t know why. I did the right thing.