Page 89 of The Temporary Bride

Then she reaches up to kiss me, her lips warm against mine as she trails her fingertips lightly over my cheeks as if mapping the contours of my face.

I wrap my arms around her like she’s a lifeline, because in this moment, that’s exactly what she is. Despite the hangover still throbbing in my temples, everything else falls away the moment her lips are on mine. She kisses me like she’s trying to pull me back from wherever I went last night, soft and insistent, and I feel the tension that’s been coiled in my chest since yesterday start to loosen.

My hands thread into her hair and I kiss her back, deeper, the taste of her doing more to clear my head than the shower or the painkillers did.

The need for her builds fast and I stop trying to keep any distance between us, pulling her closer, my mouth moving against hers with more urgency than I intended. She makes a small sound against my lips and presses closer, her fingers curling into the front of my shirt, and that’s the end of any patience I had left.

I slide my hands under her thighs and lift her, and she gasps softly and wraps her legs around me, her arms locking around my neck. I carry her toward the house still kissing her, navigating by feel, one hand braced against the doorframe as we make it inside and up the stairs without either of us breaking the kiss for longer than a second.

I take her out onto the balcony and drop into the wide chair there with her in my lap. The morning sun is warm on my skin and the ocean stretches out beyond the railing, and the balcony is sheltered enough on all sides that there’s no one to see us except the water and the pale strip of beach below.

She shifts against me almost immediately, rolling her hips in a slow, deliberate circle, and my hands fly to her waist to stop her. I can feel the heat of her even through both our clothes, and my jaw tightens.

“If you keep doing that,” I say, my voice already rough, “I’m going to come before I ever get inside you. You feel too fucking good.”

She looks at me from under her lashes, her lip caught between her teeth, and then presses her mouth back to mine, her hips making another slow, deliberate roll despite my grip on her waist. I groan against her mouth and pull her harder against me, which doesn’t help matters at all.

“I need you,” I murmur against her lips, my hands sliding up her sides, feeling the warmth of her skin through her shirt. “Fuck, I need you so much right now. You have no idea how perfect you are. How perfect for me.”

“Tristan,” she breathes against my mouth, and the way she says it makes my grip on her tighten involuntarily.

I reach for the hem of her tank top and pull it over her head, dropping it somewhere behind me. The morning sun falls across her skin, highlighting the fullness of her breasts, the curve of her waist, and the way the sun catches the auburn threaded through her dark hair. She’s so beautiful it does something to my chest that I’ve stopped trying to make sense of.

“God,” I rasp. “You’re so fucking gorgeous.”

She flushes at that, her lips parting, and before she can brush off my words or deflect them, I bring my mouth to her breast, filling my hands with both of them, working her nipple with my tongue while she arches into me. Her fingers tighten in my hair, and she makes soft sounds that turn from whimpers to mewls. I resist the urge to rush even though every part of me is pushing to move faster, switching from one side to the other, feeling her responses build beneath my hands.

I finally lift her enough to get her out of her skirt, and she steps away from the pooled fabric and stands over me, the ocean stretching out behind her and the morning sun bright on her skin. I could look at her like this all day. Then she drops to her knees in front of the chair and reaches for my zipper, working my pants and boxer briefs down to free my cock. She wraps her fingers around me and strokes once, and I exhale hard and grip the arms of the chair to keep still.

She climbs back into my lap and lowers herself until her pussy lips are resting on my shaft, hot and slick, and the feel of it makes my body go taut. She rolls her hips in a slow, testing drag, not taking me in yet, and my cock pulses hard against her with every pass.

My hands find her hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh there as precum leaks from my tip.

“Put me inside you,” I demand, holding her gaze.

She bites her lip, her delicate throat working as she swallows. Then she reaches down and wraps her fingers around me, lining me up. When her entrance starts to envelop the head of my cock, a deep groan resonates in my chest.

“Fuck, yes,” I force out. “Just like that. I want to watch you ride me, dimples.”

Chapter 31

Chloe

Tristan’s words hang in the air between us, and the way he’s looking at me makes it hard to breathe.

I hold his gaze as I keep sinking down onto him. He groans, his jaw tightening, his hands gripping my thighs as I work my way down inch by inch. He’s big enough that I always have to go slow at first, and I feel every bit of him as I take him deeper, the stretch of him making my breath come out in short, shallow bursts.

My thighs are shaking slightly by the time I’m finally fully impaled on his thick cock. I stay there for a heartbeat, letting my body adjust to the fullness of him. His head drops back against the chair and his eyelids droop, but he keeps his gaze on mine, watching me with an expression that’s full of hunger with something almost awed underneath it.

Almost like he can’t believe this is real.

God, I understand that feeling.

I never expected to give myself over to him like this, not when this all started. I thought I knew exactly what this arrangement was and what it wasn’t, and I built my expectations accordingly. But with his cock throbbing inside me and his eyes on my face and the morning sun on both of us, those early calculations feel like they belong to a completely different version of me.

“You feel so fucking good,” he groans, his voice strained. “So perfect. You have no idea.”

I start to move, rising up slowly and sinking back down. His hands move up from my thighs to my waist, then higher, his palms hot against my ribs as I find a rhythm. He reaches my breasts and his thumbs trace my nipples in slow circles that I feel all the way down to where we’re joined, and I arch into his touch, my pace picking up slightly.