Serena

FEELING HOSTILE, I REPRESS THE URGE to seek Tristan out and throw something at him. Or punch him in his perfect jaw.

“You run,” I mock his words. “Asshat.”

Sighing, I take a pull from the beer bottle sweating in my hand. The hops soothe my beat-up pride.

After training, I returned to the suite, forgoing the rest of my classes. I’m exhausted and my side hurts. Carefully, I reposition myself in the empty bathtub.

Having a protector take me down that quickly was a first for me, or second if you count Ryker’s previous victory.

Before I could make contact, Tristan had come at me at a ridiculously high speed. In one deft motion, he grabbed me like I weighed nothing and threw me to the ground, pinning me there, and bruising my side in the process.

The sting of defeat claws inside my veins, making its way up my throat. I swallow the bile, and blame Tristan and his beautiful distracting chest.

What business did he have taking off his shirt anyway? Clearly he did it as a distraction. One that worked.

I stare at the faucet, mouth slack. I had every intention of coming home and sinking into a warm bath. Instead, here I sit. The cold, hard ceramic is doing nothing to relieve my bruised ego. Even worse, I’m still in my ridiculous training outfit. The caked-on black makeup is now fading slightly as I sulk in my own self-deprecation.

Closing my eyes, I try to allow my body to relax so it can heal itself. Instead, my relaxation is interrupted by a vision of cognac eyes looking levelly into mine, while strong warm hands hold my wrists down on the wet grass and a hard body covers mine.

Our conversation replays itself over and over. After the fifth time, it occurs to me that Tristan’s words carried a deeper meaning than simply an instructional moment.

I groan and shift. My whole body aches. Between the miles of running and the ass-kicking from Tristan, I’m beat. A shiver runs over me, remembering the rough skin of his fingers as he clutched my wrists, his face hovering inches from my own, his lips a breath from mine. I rub one of my eyes to try and pull myself out of the moment, my palm coming away smeared with black eye makeup.

“Fantastic,” I pout.

“Rough day?” Tristan asks from the doorway.

I jump, startled at his deep, calm voice.

My eyes seek him out, and his piercing stare renders me speechless. Holding my breath, I study him for a moment.

“I’m in the tub,” I state, when I come to my senses.

Little lines appear between his brows. “I can see that.”

I narrow my eyes. “Privacy would be appreciated.”

A muscle in his jaw twitches. “The door was wide open.”

An unhappy sigh escapes me. “An oversight.”

Tristan stands there, his gaze lingering on my legs, then slowly moving up before landing on my face.

A look of desire clouds over his eyes.

“There isn’t any water.”

I pin him with a hard glare.

“And you’re dressed,” he adds.

“Your penchant for stating the obvious is mind-blowing.”

“I think you’re also missing bubbles,” he goes on.

“I’m not a bubble-bath kind of girl.”

Tristan takes a few steps into the bathroom. With a predatory smirk, he crouches by the side of the tub, curling his hands around the sides.

His lips are less than an inch from mine.

“What kind of girl are you, Serena?”

Why does it feel like all our conversations have hidden meanings? He waits me out while I fuss with the label on the bottle, peeling it to reveal the glass underneath.

“The kind who doesn’t like getting her ass kicked,” I pause, placing the bottle on the tile floor, “by you.”

Without another word, Tristan yanks a fluffy hand towel off the rack next to us and turns on the warm water.

Quietly, he wets and soaps it before shutting off the faucet and leaning close to me. With a slow and steady hand, he gently begins to wipe the dark lines off my face.

“What is this shit?” he asks, his voice raspy.

“Mascara,” I whisper.

His brow wrinkles.

“Makeup,” I add, unsure why he’s asking.

He continues to wash it off. “I’m no expert, but I think it’s supposed to go on your eyelashes.”

“Another excellent observation,” I counter.

“Why is it all over your face?”

“The rain.” I respond, in a quiet murmur.

“The rain?”

“It’s not waterproof,” I explain.

“Then why are you wearing it?” Another swipe and he leans back, taking me in, before throwing the wet, stained towel on the floor. “Why, Serena?” he prompts.

I offer a shrug. “I was trying to seduce you.”

His eyes travel over my body. “Yeah?”

I stare at him. “Did it work?”

He smirks. “Nope.”

My gaze is locked onto him. “Damn.”

A dark and burning look crosses his eyes, sending a shiver of fear and anticipation down my back.

“You might want to look into a different hobby.”

I swallow. “A different hobby would be a shame.”

“Yeah?” he whispers. “Why’s that?”

“I thought I was just getting the hang of this one.”

Another frown causes me to take in his perplexed face.

His hair is falling into his eyes, begging for me to sweep it to the side. Without thinking, I lift my hand and move the pieces, my fingertips grazing his forehead.

At the contact, Tristan hisses through his teeth, causing me to pull my hand back. But before I can, Tristan’s fingers wrap around my wrist, holding me in place.

“Why are you sitting in the tub, Serena?” he asks.

“You bruised my ego. And my side,” I admit.

“It’s the first defeat, not the second, that cuts a protector to the bone,” he says in a gruff voice. “Ryker took you down once before. You’re a royal protector, a skilled warrior. Why did you let me knock you down today?”

“I didn’t let you,” my voice is unsteady.

“You did.”

“You took me by surprise,” I accuse, “and threw me to the ground. It was a fair hit. And it hurt.” I shift painfully.

His focus dips to my side.

“You should focus more on training and less on me.”

“You distracted me,” I snip.

“Distractions will get you killed, Princess.”

I gape at him and release my anger at the use of the royal term I despise. “Then stop being one, Tristan!”

“Today had nothing to do with me.” His tone is a warning.

“It had everything to do with you!” I try to pull my wrist out of his grasp, but he tightens his hold.

“Didn’t your clan ever teach you that revealing a weakness is a sure way to bring about your death?” he barks.

I stiffen. “You waltzed into my life and turned it upside down. Not the other way around.” I release an awkward laugh. “I mean, by the grace, there are days that I don’t even think I really like you very much.” I exhale a shaky breath.

“But?”

“But, then you kissed me.”

“You kissed me first,” he counters.

“Yeah. I did. Want to know the sad part? You’re the one hiding secrets and a past—I mean, we’ve lived under the same roof for a whole week and I don’t even really know you. Yet, I feel like I can’t breathe without you. You’re like an addiction, and I’m an addict in need of a fix. So when you go and take off your shirt, and look all . . . Of course I would be distracted. What being with eyes wouldn’t?”

Tristan watches my outburst calmly, with no change in his expression. He simply beckons me forward, as if I hadn’t said anything at all.

Suddenly, his free hand is at the base of my throat, feeling my pulse. I don’t flinch, because now I know he’s using his empathy gift, trying to get a handle on my erratic emotions. The hand wrapped around my wrist moves mine to his face, pressing my palm flat against his rough cheek.

Slowly, he leans forward, creating our own personal space, where it’s just us. Nothing else.

His breath falls in waves across my lips and weirdly, I can feel our heartbeats sync, becoming as one.

A warmth floats through me, making its way down to my side, healing me.

“You healed me? How did you do that?” I whisper.

“Magic,” he replies in a quiet whisper.

The tingling in my side grows. Only bonded protectors can heal one another, and yet, here he is, doing it.

Without thinking, I move forward the slightest bit, so that my lips brush his. That small amount of contact causes a fire to suddenly explode in both of us, and within seconds, our mouths are molded together in an all-consuming manner.

Tristan’s hand on my throat wraps around my neck and pulls me closer to him. My fingers slip into his hair and press him to me, hard. In one smooth move, I’m out of the tub and straddling his lap.

The coolness of his rings pressing against my back, underneath the hem of my shirt, is a welcome sensation against my heated skin. Every nerve ending in my body is on fire as his hands glide down to my ass, squeezing and holding me to him, encouraging me to rock against him.

All rational thought escapes me, as one of his hands runs over my body and hooks in the front of my tank top, pushing the material down to expose my breast.

His lips assault my mouth, then move to my neck, sucking and biting their way across my skin as I continue to rock against his denim-covered lap without shame.

The minute his mouth latches on to my nipple, I buck against him, throwing my head back with a load moan. My insides clench and unclench, and my core tightens with need, while he expertly sucks and teases.

I release my grip on his soft strands and wrap my hands around his wrists. The leather of his bracelets is rough and smooth at the same time under my palms, fueling my need.

Tristan’s warm, wet tongue slides over the flesh of my breast, which seems to have a direct line to my core. Each stroke is a sweet, painful torture that I never want to end.

“I want you,” I moan.

At the release of those three words, Tristan slows down. My insides quiver at the intensity of his gaze when his lust-clouded eyes meet mine. Pushing both hands into my hair, he pulls my forehead to his, just as I bring my fingertips to my lips. I try to swallow my disappointment that he stopped.

“I’m not what you want, Serena. Your emotions are heightened right now. Your judgment is clouded.”

“You are,” I attempt to convince him.

“The truth is, I’m no good for you.”

“You don’t know that.” I stroke his jawline.

“You deserve better.”

“Let me decide what I deserve, Tristan.”

“I can’t keep you.” His voice is raspy and strained.

“I didn’t ask you to.”

Tristan closes his eyes and runs his nose across my jaw.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” he whispers.

“I want to,” I counter.

“Tell me to stop,” he growls.

I search his eyes. “Don’t stop.”

In an instant, Tristan grabs the back of my neck and kisses me like he’s making love to me with his mouth. His hard length pulsates through his jeans, between my legs.

This is neither sweet nor loving; it’s hot and demanding.

Holy hell.

“Yes,” I whisper.

I open my mouth to him and he sucks my lower lip into his, Tristan’s tongue dancing across my mouth with a slow intensity—the kind that leaves you without air in your lungs and your thighs pressing together in search of more.

We pull away and I stare at his mouth as he speaks.

“Just remember, I’m the unhappy ending.”

Tristan

I am a selfish asshole because in this moment, I need to be inside Serena more than I need to breathe. Looking at her naked form underneath me, I wait for her to tell me no.

To tell me to stop.

To tell me that letting me inside of her is a mistake.

To tell me that I will only bring her heartache and pain.

The minute she whispered yes, that was it. I’d like to think I’m gentleman enough to stop if she had said no, but the truth is, when it comes to her, I’m not. So here we are.

Between the feel of her soft, pale skin under my fingertips, her silky hair splayed across my pillow, and her flowery spring scent wrapping around me, I’m choking.

What the fuck am I doing?

My body is desperate, in a way I’ve never been before, as a frenzied sort of madness takes over my senses.

My nostrils flare as she rolls the condom on me. When she’s done, she catches me staring at her lips and reaches out, grabbing my face and pulling me to her, so I have no choice but to stop thinking and slam my mouth against hers.

This time, my kiss is harder. Punishing. Because with each touch of her tongue, her lips, my defenses crumble.

I push the anger at my lack of control into every stroke and she meets me, kiss for kiss, moving her lips beneath mine. Not backing down.

A deep moan escapes from the back of my throat. Within seconds, everything else fades away. Powerless, I lose myself in the feel of her lips. It’s just her and me. And the hunger and fire burning between us.

Trying to get control, I pull away. She whimpers in protest. Smirking, I kiss the corner of her mouth before trailing my lips over her collarbone, while my thumb rubs circles around her clit and my fingers run through her folds.

Serena releases a soft mewl and the sound becomes my addiction, a very, very bad one. My body hums with the primal urge to claim her, as the tension builds between us.

I move my hands away and without a second thought, push inside her, hard. Fast. Unromantic. Thoughtless.

“Fuck,” I pant out.

She feels like heaven.

“Tristan,” she gasps, my name a prayer on her lips.

My forehead drops to hers and I still, because my body is throbbing with a need that is unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. The heat radiating from within her is too much.

After a few trembling moments, I faintly hear her voice.

“Are you okay?” Serena asks, looking right into my eyes.

Her breathing is heavy and the weight of her gaze goes straight through me, penetrating each layer.

It’s all too much.

Too personal.

Too emotional.

Which is why it needs to stop. All of it needs to stop.

Needing to break our connection, I pull out of her, flip her over onto her hands and knees, and shove into her from behind. She deserves better, and how I’m treating her kills me, but in the heat of this moment, it’s all I can offer.

It’s what I am.

“Yes,” she moans, arching her back and pushing into me.

Fighting for control, I run my hand up her back, sending shivers across her skin. Squeezing the back of her neck, I force her to lift her head and arch even more as I move behind her. Each pump into her is more mind-numbingly perfect than the last. The need for relief has us both frantic.

The friction between us ignites the sparks in my core.

I lean over her, squeezing her neck harder, and with my other hand, reach down to rub her clit, sending her over the edge with a hard and fast orgasm that produces a scream.

A primal growl escapes my mouth as I grab her hips and slam into her a few more times before one final thrust has me releasing a guttural roar, while I pulsate long and hard.

It wasn’t romantic.

It wasn’t hearts and flowers.

But it also wasn’t promises or lies.

Regardless, she just fucked me in more ways than one.