Tristan’s searing gaze is all I see as my body explodes in a release so powerful, spots dot my vision. I don’t know what the hell kind of sex magic he just performed on my body, but I can’t wait to do it again.
He pumps into me twice more before his body stiffens and his jaw clenches. Even with a condom on, I can feel his dick twitch with his release. He sags on top of me, but still holds most of his body weight up with his arms as he rests his forehead on mine. His lips find mine, and my heart swells in my chest as he kisses me with so much passion and hunger, even after his release.
With a groan, he gently pulls out of me, and I wince at how sensitive I am down there. Tristan is larger than I’m used to, and it’s been a very long time since I’ve had sex.
“You okay?” he asks, rolling onto his side and brushing a sweaty strand of hair back from my face. I mirror his pose and can’t stop the smile taking over my face or the blush on my cheeks.
“I’m more than okay. That was amazing.”
He smiles, and there’s relief in his eyes. I try not to let my insecurities show as I ask, “Was it okay for you?”
His blue eyes seem to sparkle as he leans down, his face a breath away from mine. “It was better than I ever imagined.” He kisses me again and my heart soars. I could get lost in this man’s kiss. It’s powerful and hungry. It’s a claiming kiss if there ever was one. And God do I want this man to claim me.
“I need to take care of this,” he says, gesturing to the condom. “Be right back.” He slides out of bed, and I watch his naked ass walk to my adjoining bathroom. No man’s ass should be that perfect. It’s unfair. I do squats regularly and still don’t have a bubble butt that nice.
Tristan saunters back with a smile on his face and crawls back into bed next to me. We lie facing each other, my hands tucked under my cheek and one of his sliding deliciously over my hip.
“What’s the frown for?” he asks, his own smile turning down.
Am I frowning? I didn’t even realize. I nibble my lip, trying to put into words how I’m feeling.
Tracing the tattoos on his chest, I focus my gaze on the motions of my finger instead of meeting his eyes.
“I’ve never been with anyone besides Robbie.”
“I know,” he says, his voice soft.
“I’ve felt so guilty for having feelings for you, for wanting you this way, but I don’t regret what we just did, or how mind-blowing it was. But now I feel guilty for not feeling guilty. I mean, shouldn’t I be nauseous right now, or feeling like I’m cheating on my dead husband? I shouldn’t feel this good. Right?”
I look at him finally, hoping he understands what I’m trying to say and wishing he could see the mess in my head so I wouldn’t have to try to vocalize what I’m feeling. He’s quiet for a long time, or at least it feels like a long time. His fingers never stop their graceful trail along my hip as he processes my words.
“I think it’s okay to feel how you feel.”
“How do you feel?” I ask him.
His blue gaze holds mine. “Like I just got everything I’ve ever wanted.”
My body tingles with warm fuzzies, and I wish I could bottle up this feeling for all the hard days. I want to tell him he gave me the best sex of my life, but I can’t make the words come out. It feels disloyal to Robbie’s memory because the sex was never bad with him. It was just never like that.
“I have a question for you,” he says.
“Okay.”
“Why do you think guys don’t like giving oral?”
I bury my face in my hands. “Oh my God, it’s embarrassing, especially after you were just down there.”
He tugs on my hands, and I turn my head to face him. “Yeah, and in case you don’t remember, I fucking loved it. I plan to do it again. Often. I’d live down there if you’d let me, but that might make the tour a little awkward.”
I laugh and push his chest. He moves—barely—and his muscles almost distract me from what we’re talking about.
“Did Robbie tell you that?” he asks.
“Yeah. We rarely did oral because he said guys didn’t really like it.” I watch Tristan’s face transform to shock which he quickly tries to hide, but he does a shit job of it, and my stomach falls. Becka and Tamsin were right.
“Did I look like I didn’t like it?” he asks carefully.
“No.”
He nods, and it’s one of finality, like the discussion stops here. It’s not lost on me that he doesn’t question Robbie or make a judgment about him. Of course he wouldn’t disparage him that way, but it does have me curious if they ever talked about it. I was under the impression guys talked about sex a lot. And now I’m questioning if everything Robbie told me was a lie to cover for the areas he didn’t feel comfortable in.
“Do guys talk about sex stuff?” I blurt out.
“Sometimes.”
“Did you and Robbie?” Now I’m wondering if Robbie told Tristan about things I liked, and if he did, I don’t know whether to feel violated that he shared such personal information or grateful because that would explain a little why the sex with Tristan was so explosive.
“Not a lot.”
“How come?”
He looks at me like I should understand why not, and then it hits me. Of course they didn’t. Why would he want to torture himself hearing details about the sex life of the woman he thought he’d never have?
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
He slides his pointer finger down my cheek, the roughness of his callused fingers tingling against my smooth skin. “For what?”
How can I put into words what I’m sorry for? For all the years he loved me from afar? For choosing his best friend because I thought he’d never ask me out? For being completely ignorant of his feelings for the past eleven plus years?
As it turns out, I don’t have to vocalize it because Tristan knows me too well and figures it out. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for, Jo. It was no hardship to love you. It might’ve been lonely, but I knew you were loved and cared for and happy, and that’s all I ever wanted for you.” He says it like it’s so simple when we both know it’s not.
He plays with my fingers as we lie together. When his body stiffens, I know he’s discovered what I hadn’t shared with him yet. I figured with how observant he is, he would’ve noticed sooner, but I guess not. He lifts his head, pulling my left hand closer and examining the finger missing a piece of jewelry I’ve worn since I got engaged at nineteen.
When his eyes search out mine, I have to remind myself to breathe with the intensity emanating from his gaze. “You took it off.”
He’s not asking, but I nod anyway. “It was time. I knew I wanted to be with you like this, and it didn’t feel right to make love to you while wearing his ring.”
He stares at me, and I can see a million questions in his gaze, but instead of asking any, he slides his fingers into my hair and pulls me in for a deep, searing kiss.
When he pulls back, he keeps my body close to his. “I love you, Jolie.”
He kisses me again—fiercely—giving me an excuse not to say the words back. I don’t know if it’s because he knows I can’t say them yet or because he’s afraid I don’t feel them. Whatever the reason, I’m grateful. Everything feels like it’s moving at warp speed, and while I’m feeling things for Tristan I’ve only felt once before, I’m still not ready to say the words.