Page 21 of Adversary to the Villain

It was haphazardly stuck together by a drunk person wearing a blindfold.

Only a few hours of effort from Trystan Maverine had her legs wrapped around his waist, her skirt ridden up, baring her thighs to the sun peeking through the tree branches. She was moaning into his mouth like she’d perish the moment they separated, gripping the back of his head, pulling at strands of his hair. A rough, growling sound came from his chest as he lowered them gently down until her back met the soft grass.

His large hands roamed up to grip her cheeks, angling her head as he kissed her deeper. Then he pulled away, whispering through harsh, choppy breaths, “I can stop.” He breathed against her lips, his thumb brushing reverently over her cheek. “If you’re not sure, we won’t do this,” he murmured, raining small kisses over her eyes, her nose, the corner of her mouth.

They absolutely should stop. There was no thinking clearly when he did this, no easy way to remember the pain or the hurt or the fear for the future. None of it mattered when his mouth was on hers.

A drop of water hit her cheek, and when she dared open her eyes, she spied gray clouds above and a light sprinkle of water dampening Trystan’s hair. His dark gaze was searching, settling on her mouth. Evie resolved to tell him to stop.

“I want to do this. Please.” The words tripped their way out of her mouth. She swallowed. “That is, if you want to do—”

She didn’t have the opportunity to finish before he was kissing her again with profound relief.

Every move became urgent as he tugged at the corset strings on the back of her dress until she felt them ripped off, exposing her shoulder. She found pure bliss when his lips met the side of her neck, his tongue darting out to taste her.

She moaned when he shoved the rest of her corset down and off, ripping at the fabric of the dress underneath, her breasts feeling the caress of the open air. They were isolated, alone in the forest, miles from where any unsuspecting townsperson would dare wander with a villain on the loose, but still. This felt daring. It felt dangerous.

It made her feel powerful, desperate, alive.

Shoving at his shoulders, she flipped him on his back, tugging his shirt over his head and then rubbing her fingers over the cords of his biceps, the tensed muscles bunched at the top of his back. Slowly, her hand continued to wander downward, touching him in a place that forced a hiss from his lips. The risk of it all made her bold.

Leaning down, she laid tiny kisses against his chest, peeking up to gauge his reaction. He’d frozen, staring at her like she couldn’t possibly be real. She continued, until he suddenly pulled her up and placed a rough kiss against her mouth before rolling back on top of her, removing the rest of her skirts and his trousers.

For a moment, she stopped, the urgency of what they were doing slowly turning to softness. What was left now was explorative and tender. Savoring each other, knowing this had to be the last time.

That bitter lie gave her the courage to run a hand down his corded biceps, over his chest, touching all the places she had already explored in her more lewd daydreams of the man. When she brushed against the golden inked tattoo circling his biceps, he shivered beneath her touch, watching her carefully.

“I want you,” she whispered.

The statement ignited him like the firing of a cannon. Pulling her in with a fierce kiss, he stilled to follow the red blush that made its way down her body with his eyes, which now were mere pools of black when they came up to hers.

“I—” he started, looking at her like he had from the first. Like he couldn’t believe she existed.

He tilted his head, and she ran a hand over his cheek, feeling so much she might burst. “What?”

“I’ve never wanted anything,” Trystan rasped, kissing her in a slow show of affection, “more than I want you.”

It was the simple truth in the statement. No flowery words. Just his feelings, there for her view. And she couldn’t hold back any longer.

Her legs pulled him in until his hips were flush with hers, her chest heaving against his, the friction creating waves of sensitivity. “I cannot bear it,” Evie breathed, gasping against his mouth.

“You will,” he said darkly, reaching his fingers between them and touching her as he joined their bodies, capturing her cry in his mouth. Her guard fully lowered, she felt the magic responding to her plea to get him closer, pulling at his back, twirling about them like a wisp of smoke.

She flinched when he saw it. “I can’t control it, the magic—”

“Don’t. I can handle whatever you give me.” He kissed her deeply, and a tear trailed down her cheek until it was stopped by his mouth. And she had no choice but to hand over every burden, allowing them to move together until he wrung such pleasure from her that when she went over the edge, she ripped the very grass from the ground.

He groaned into her shoulder, finding his own bliss, catching his breath against her skin as the drizzling rain slowly soaked them.

“How is it possible that it wasbetterthe second time?” Trystan lifted his head, staring down at her in wonder.

It was. Damn him. Would it get better every time?

No, Evie. No. “Every time” implied other times.

By the gods, she’d been so lost she hadn’t even thought of preventing pregnancy. She’d been taking the gumdrop since she turned sixteen, because Lyssa was three and Evie knew another child would take her out completely—but she’d stopped after Rick. “We should’ve used protection—”

“I’m on the leaf,” he blurted, and her worries were knocked away so she could gape.