Page 70 of The Girl and the Cobra

“I’m sorry.” Tristan’s voice is low, as gentle as ever as he says, “But even so, none of it is your fault. Just because you made a stupid list with your brother one day and told him where you were doesn’t mean shit. You didn’t force him to bring that gun to your school. You didn’t make him pull the trigger. He chose to.” There’s a stretch of silence before he adds, “He chose to do all of it.”

The way he says that last part makes me wonder if, perhaps, he’s not just talking about Jordan. Maybe he’s talking about himself, too. Everything he did for his sister. Maybe, if Jordan was given the time, he’d regret taking all those lives the way he did.

Or maybe he wouldn’t, and it’s all just wishful thinking.

When we reach the mansion, Tristan hops out of the car before I do, and he hurries around the front of it to help me out. He takes me by the hand and leads me inside, and I let him. It feels nice to know someone else is there for me, someone who doesn’t judge me, who truly understands me and all of my faults.

As we walk up the stairs, I say, “I never told anyone that before. That Robbie was number one.”

Tristan’s hand tightens around mine, and he looks back at me in a way that makes my heart skip a beat. “You can tell me anything. You know that. I will take every single part of you, if you’ll let me.”

The only thing I can do is nod. I’ve given him everything, and now I’ve told him everything. There isn’t a part of me I’ve kept to myself. Tristan knows me more than anyone else in the world, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Tristan brings me to my bathroom, where he flicks on the light and releases my hand only so he can turn the showerhead on to get the hot water running for me. He moves before me andsmooths down my hair. “I’ll be in your room.” He places a kiss on my forehead and steps around me, but I grab his arm and stop him from leaving the room.

“Wait,” I breathe out. “Do you… want to take a shower with me?” Asking the question makes my cheeks heat up and certain parts of my body get all tight and warm. I don’t want him to leave. I want him with me.

The look Tristan gives me after that—his dark eyes half-lidded, his lips parted ever so slightly—tells me exactly what he’s thinking about. Instead of leaving to go wait for me in my room, he shuts the bathroom door and locks it even though we’re alone in this big house.

Before I know it, he’s before me once again, taking my face in his hands as he tilts my head back and leans down to press his forehead against mine. He breathes hard, his dark eyes closed. “I thought I was going to lose you tonight.” It’s not the first time he said it, but it is the first time I detect the absolute anguish in his tone. Losing me would have devastated him.

“You didn’t,” I whisper, and he stops me from saying anything else by kissing me.

I’ll never get over how it feels to kiss this man. Just when I think I’m used to it, he presses those lips on mine and makes the world spin around me in a different way. Hard and unyielding, yet gentle at the same time. Two sides of a coin, two extremes inside him, both of which I bring out.

His hands fall from my face, and the only reason we stop kissing is so he can help me out of my clothes, one piece at a time. My coat, my shirt, my bra, then everything beneath the waist. Tristan actually falls to his knees to help me out of my shoes, my socks, and lastly my pants and panties.

Seeing him on his knees does something for me, and honestly? Seeing how expertly he moves, how easily he took Robert Hayes down… equally hot.

Next, it’s his turn to take off his clothes. I help him when I can, but he’s faster at it, and soon enough we’re stepping in the shower together, the hot water pelting us both. It’s a walk-in shower, tiled all around, so there is ample room for us both. He wraps his arms around me and pulls me in close, and I hum as I close my eyes and accept another kiss.

His hands run up and down my back, eliciting a shiver from me even though the water and his body are warming me up. His tall frame hunches over somewhat as his lips break away from mine. He nuzzles against the crook of my neck, and I inhale sharply when he sucks on a particularly sensitive spot.

All I can feel, and I can see, all I can think about is Tristan. If this is what love is like, I get why people obsess over it. It’s unlike anything else in the world. I never want it to go away, to disappear or fade into something else. This fire, this spark; it’s addicting in the best of ways. I want more. I want it all.

I run my hands up his sides. The scars beneath my fingertips are a reminder of what he did, an eternal reminder that his past is just as screwed up as mine. The name on his arm, the scars on his face he can’t hide with clothing; Tristan wears his past on his flesh while I’m able to keep it all tucked away.

We truly are broken when we are apart, but we are whole when we’re together. What started off as curiosity morphed into something I could never have foreseen. Love. Two lonely, broken souls that should never have crossed paths found each other and now there’s no way to separate us. We are one.

Tristan takes a step forward, and in doing so, he pushes me against the tile wall. The wall is still a bit cold, but the rest of me is hot enough to combat the difference. He drops to his knees before me, grabs my right inner thigh and hoists it up over his shoulder as he positions himself before my apex.

He doesn’t hesitate. His mouth crashes into my clit, and I throw my head back and moan the moment I feel his tonguesnake out and run alongside my aching nub. Tristan knows exactly how to play me, the maestro to my symphony, and he won’t stop until the big finish.

I throw my head back, my moans growing louder as he showers my most private parts with a hefty amount of attention from his tongue. Every so often he dips lower to my pussy, sticking his tongue inside of me to taste me. That tongue moves like his life depends on it.

The hot water, combined with the way Tristan feasts on me, washes away all of the taint from tonight. All of the fear, the worry, the anxiety. It’s a baptism of sorts, and I lose myself to it, to the man between my legs.

Tristan is ravenous, and my body reacts accordingly. He can’t get enough of me, and it’s not too long before my clit starts to swell under the constant assault from that voracious tongue. Pressure builds within me, and I clench my thighs against the sides of his head in anticipation of what’s coming. My back arches off the tiled wall, grinding my clit against that mouth with a fevered need.

My lungs feel as though they could explode, like no matter how much I breathe in I can’t quite fill them enough. I bite my bottom lip as I struggle to fill my lungs, stifling any further moans, and I weave a hand into Tristan’s wet hair, tugging gently.

And then I see stars.

I lose whatever composure I had left as I come with a swift, surging force. My clit spasms under the pressure of his tongue, and I cry out my pleasure as the heated bliss sweeps through me, taking hold of every part of me and refusing to let go. The orgasm is earth-shattering and mind-numbing, the kind of orgasm that easily knocks you off your feet—it’s a good thing Tristan remains my rock between my legs, otherwise my knees definitely would’ve given out.

Tristan is not someone who can settle for pushing me off the orgasmic cliff just once. No, the man has to do it multiple times in quick succession, as if he feels he must prove to me he can unravel me to my very core. He remains planted between my legs, with my right hooked over his shoulder, as he continues to devour all that I am.

Just when I think my body has had enough, Tristan proves me wrong. The first orgasm primed me, made me ready for more, so it’s even easier for him to push me off that ledge again, edging me until my body simply can’t take it anymore, until I’m a panting mess and every part of me is tingly and hot.

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