Page 22 of Corrupt Me

My cheeks and ears burned. Thank God, it was dark. I didn’t want him to see my embarrassment, not that Tristan hadn’t heard me cry before. He’d seen me at my worst, the lowest point in my life. But it had been Tristan, and I hadn’t cared then. Icertainly shouldn’t give a shit now what Tristan thought of me. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you,” I apologized. Had I woken anyone else in the house?

There were six rooms total in Thorn Hall, meaning three other people could have potentially heard my whimpers.Fucking wonderful.I was going to be known as the screaming freak on the third floor. I didn’t want to think about it.

The hand on my back continued to make comforting circles around my spine. “You didn’t. Wake me, that is. I was already up,” he confessed. What was it that was keeping Tristan up? Probably the redhead from earlier if I had to guess.

I averted my eyes. “Oh.” Why was this so awkward?

His finger hooked under my chin, tipping up my face. Hesitantly, I lifted my gaze, unsure what I’d find when I looked at him. Pity? Scorn? Kindness? None of those emotions were present, and a whoosh of relief left my chest. “How long has it been?” he asked, staring so deep into my eyes as if he searched for the answer himself.

Our faces were too close. I was more or less in his lap. Now would be an appropriate time to untangle myself from him. Then why wasn’t I? “I don’t know. A few weeks, maybe,” I mumbled, my lips grazing his skin. It was hard to think straight with his mouth inches from mine, not that I wanted to think at all. Just the opposite. I wanted to forget the nightmare, and Tristan’s presence provided the perfect distraction. All I had to do was press my lips to his neck. Taste him with my tongue. Take his earlobe between my teeth. Kiss him.

I so wanted to test the waters and take Tristan Malone on a sexual test drive.

Just once, a tiny impish voice taunted in my ear.Just a quick kiss, a little taste.The devil on my shoulder wouldn’t stop.

As if anything with Tristan could be simple or uncomplicated.

He was the definition of complex.

And I was the definition of fucked up.

Perhaps we were a match made in hell.

Sweeping his thumb over my cheek, he wiped away a tear. I’d been crying. Actually crying in my sleep. My eyes and cheeks were damp with them. “New place,” he said, rationalizing the sudden nightmare as his finger continued to trace the tear tracks on my face.

I inhaled sharply at the light touch on the corner of my lips. The sound of my breath had his gaze lifting from my mouth to my eyes, and the heat I saw in them stole my breath. I wasn’t sure I trusted myself to speak. I definitely shouldn’t be having these thoughts—these urges.

Not about Tristan.

It was crazy how quickly fear could morph into desire. A touch. A smell. A sound.

My fingers drifted down his bare chest as if they were compelled. I watched his blue eyes deepen, enchanted by them and what something as simple as a touch of my fingers could do.

Why did he have to be so damn attractive and...wrong. Tristan was so fucking wrong for me. He needed to keep his hands to himself before I did or said something reckless and dumb.

I could feel his warm breath dancing over the side of my cheek, close to my ear, causing the muscles in my stomach to tighten. It was easy to forget I shouldn’t be in bed with him nearly naked—that he was blackmailing me—that I hated him.

His luscious mouth moved against my neck, right at the sensitive spot that drove me crazy. My insides turned to molten lava, hot and bubbly. He waited for a beat to see my reaction before his lips went back for seconds. “Have you made your mind up?”

“Hmm? My mind? About what?” Why was he talking? I didn’t want to talk. I wanted to bask in this glorious glow that chased the last lingering shadows away.

His fingers trailed down the inside of my arm, deliberately brushing against the side of my breast. I knew he watched as my eyes flared with heat followed by a punch of desire in between my legs.

“Whether or not you want me to stay,” he said huskily, his lips cruising along my jawline.

My thoughts scrambled.Yes, I wanted him to stay, right?If it meant he kept touching me, teasing me because there were so many places on my body I wanted those lips. “Tristan.” It was all that managed to escape. His name—both a plea and a moan.

He chuckled, catching my earlobe between his teeth, much like I’d thought about doing to him. “Admit it. You want me, Shortcake. You’re dying to know what it would be like between us. How it would feel to have my mouth on your body, sucking, licking, biting...”

Jesus. He is torturing me.

He hadn’t called me Shortcake in years, not since maybe junior high, a nickname that stuck due to my love of Strawberry Shortcake, and somehow hearing him say it now in such a seductive way flamed the fire burning inside me.

I no longer wondered what it would be like to kiss a guy with a lip ring; instead, I craved to know. But...Tristan’s arrogant curl of his lip stopped me. My heart raced as I blinked at him, suddenly feeling cold. “You wish, Malone,” I said sarcastically. I tried to downplay the effect his words had on me, but my retort came out with less attitude than I would have liked.

His hand slid across my belly, fingers tracing the hem of my panties. “I can give you something to dream about. You only have to ask. Not that you haven’t had as many dreams about me as you’ve had nightmares.”

Asshole. Regardless, he was probably right. I had dreamed about him. A lot. And I was ashamed to admit I’d even thought about him while kissing Preston.

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