Page 38 of Filthy Rich Santas

And now I’m all alone in his bed, completely confused.

I hear the shower turn on, and it feels like a slap in the face. I’mnotimagining what just happened between us. He wanted it just as much as I did. He almost kissed me. And he already knows that I want him too, thanks to my drunken confession to the three of them the other night.

I fight back the hurt, gritting my teeth as irritation washes through me. I’ve accepted that my crush on Tristan, Ryder, and Beckett isn’t going to be returned. I even fought through my humiliation after telling them about my reason for showing up at Radiance that night. But I’m sick and tired of rejection. Of not being good enough. I get plenty of that from my family, and had more than enough from Wade.

I thought Tristan was different.

I take a deep breath when my eyes start to sting, then suck it up and throw back the covers, prepared to head back to my own room. But I freeze in place when I hear a quiet groan from the bathroom.

My stomach flips.

It comes again, and there’s no mistaking it. Because it’s not the only sound I hear over the water.

Tristan is in there, jerking off.

I get up and go over to the bathroom door. I thought he’d shut it, itlooksshut, but once I’m standing in front of it, I can see that the latch didn’t take. There’s the smallest crack still open, letting out warm steam and the scent of body wash.

And through the crack in the door, I can hear the wet, rhythmic sounds of him stroking his cock.

My stomach swoops, my pulse starting to race as I squeeze my thighs together. I really, really should leave. Especially knowing he chose this over what could have happened in bed with me.

But then I hear another sound.

“…Lana.”

He mutters my name, so softly that there’s no way I would have heard it if I weren’t standing right by the door.

My eyes fly wide open, and before I can stop myself, I push the door open wider and step into the bathroom.

The shower stall has a clear door, with only the steam from the hot water obscuring Tristan’s body from me. The haze of steam almost makes it feel like I’m watching in a dream, which is as good an excuse as any for why I’m here ogling his naked, muscled body when he clearly told me without words that he wasn’t interested.

Except… he is.

Hehasto be.

He said my name.

His head is thrown back, his mesmerizing storm-colored eyes closed and his soft brown hair looking like dark chocolate now that it’s wet.

He’s so self-contained, quiet and deliberate in his normal, fully clothed life. It’s almost shocking to see him like this. Water dripping down lean muscles that stand out in stark relief as he jerks himself off, quickly and harshly, almost like he’s angry at himself for needing the release he’s so clearly chasing.

And his scars. My eyes widen, a soft sound escaping me. He shared some of his emotional pain with me last night, and of course some of his scarring is always visible—on his face, and sometimes peeking out from his sleeve or the collar of his shirt. But I’ve never seen the full extent of them, jagged lines and deep furrows that tumble down the left side of his body.

My eyes trail down from his handsome face to his neck, his left arm, torso, upper thigh… it’s as if a violent beast ripped into him, a sight all the more shocking because of how calm and contained Tristan always is.

I can’t even begin to imagine how much strength it took to heal from all that, and the simmering arousal I woke up with suddenly bursts into something much hotter and more urgent. Not because of how he looks or what happened to him, but because of who heis.

And then his eyes open, his movements shuddering to an abrupt stop as he sees me.

“Fuck, Lana. You shouldn’t be in here,” he rasps, his voice harsh and strained.

I cross my arms. “Liar.”

He huffs out a surprised breath, his hand still wrapped around his straining cock. “What?”

“You said my name. If that’s not an invitation to come in, then I don’t know what it is.”

“Lana…” He drags my name out in a warning tone that almost makes him sound like Beckett.

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