Page 113 of Lorcan's Obsession

Went out with friends.

Let's talk tomorrow? Please?

XO

39

PINNACLE

“Fuuuck!”

I roared louder than a raging bull. After reading Tristen's message, I gripped the phone until my knuckles turned white and then smashed it against the tiles until it was scrap for the recycling bin.

What the fuck was that text? Tris couldn’t have been more distant with me if she was a cordial stranger. And ending it with a goddamn XO? She might as well have taken a knife and twisted it into my balls.

This was the worst shitstorm turnaround of a day. How could it go from absolute perfection to fucking this?

Because of those two idiots.

I'd been thrown back to the insecure quadrant—not knowing if Tris wanted more of me, of us, of our future.

My keyboard sounded like an assault rifle firing through the room as I furiously typed, ordering my assistant to deliver a new phone to my address within the hour. Inside, a voice reproached me for being assholish to my subordinates, especially on a weekend. But today’s events had left me raw like a live wire, unable to contain my instability. To soothe my conscience, I hastily promised I would give that assistant a bonus before forgetting all about them.

Until the phone arrived, I buried my nose in every single social media account Tristen owned. When those showed no updates, I began checking her friends’ accounts obsessively, in case one of them might have tagged her in a photo. Still, there were no results.

Forty-five minutes passed, and my anxiety morphed into a full-blown panic. What if Tristen was changing her mind about us? Her message had been cold. Brutal.

There was always the possibility that she was out having a nice dinner with her friends or relaxing at a spa, but I reminded myself that her best friends were as wild as mine. And they would do anything to make her forget about the happenings of the day.

And that fear was realized ten minutes later.

A Grupygram notification popped up in the corner of my screen. Then another. And another…and my stomach twisted into a trefoil knot.

See, Grupygram was a different sort of social media application. Adults only, if you will. I became an angel investor in the project a month ago because Dom spearheaded it, and I wanted every opportunity to get a foothold in Tristen's tight-knit circle. The purpose of Grupygram was to arrange consensual parties for groups larger than ten, and the events could be anywhere from swinging, to kinky, to debauched beyond one's imagination.

And this one? The party currently lighting up my screen was a riotous bacchanalia, and every single photo had at least one of Tristen’s friends tagged.

The images flooding through the app made my heart leap out of my throat. One pic showed Selena being spit-roasted. Two slides later, Mia was bouncing on some guy's dick while another sucked her tits. Once I saw Dom fretting four guys, I closed the app, my hand shaking from shock. If my girl had run off to a party that wild in response to the women this afternoon, how far would she go to forget the incident? Would she go as far as hate-fucking?

No. Nobody else was going to touch Tristen. She was mine. Her naked beauty was only mine to see, to touch, to worship. No other person would have that privilege.

I was going to drag her out of that party, even if she was just a spectator. Right away, I chartered a flight to their destination. Anxiety and fear pulsed through my veins as I hurriedly dressed in a casual fit of jeans, a tee, and a leather jacket. My thoughts wandered over a thousand "what ifs," each one more distressing than the next until the arrival of my new phone pulled me out of my head.

Tristen’s number was burned into my brain; I could have called her the instant the phone was in my hands. But I decided against it. If I had already landed in Oman before I called, Tristen would be less likely to send me back. Every minute dragged into an hour while I waited for the plane to touch down. My knee bounced, and my fingers raked through my hair several times a minute. I needed her voice in my ear, to hear her promise that she was still mine, to know everything would be all right.

I held my breath as the phone dialed. One ring, two, and my mind conjured hundreds of debauched acts that would keep Tristen away from the call. By the fourth ring, I was begging every saint in heaven to make her pick up the phone.

“Baby?” she called for me.

Fuck.

I was ecstatic the first time Tristen called me "baby," but that was nothing compared to this moment, when she answered the phone in a soft but raspy voice. Tonight, that endearment term had calmed my fears to hush.

“Lorcan?” she called out again. Lethargic.

I cleared my throat and gathered my thoughts. “Babe, I know you said you needed to be with your friends, but…”

The phone barely picked up her whispers. “Lor, talk to me. What’s going on?”

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