Page 82 of Bloody Vows
A look of shock crosses Tristan’s face, and it only takes a beat for me to realize why—I’ve never spoken to him during sex before, except possibly to tell him how much I hate him, or how much I don’t want to be there. His eyes widen for a brief moment, and then his hand is in my hair, pulling my mouth to his as he sinks into me with one long, hard thrust.
He fills me completely. It feels so fuckinggood, the thick length of his cock buried inside of me, touching places I’d never imagined with every stroke. Every nerve, every sensitive part of me is caressed, his hips moving against mine as he rolls them against me, grinding against my clit each time he thrusts into me deeply again.
“So good,” he groans. “So fucking hard to… last?—”
A sort of victorious pleasure shoots through me at that, and I tip my head back, a malicious grin on my face as I tighten my muscles around him. A ragged moan tears from his lips, his entire body shuddering as he feels me grip him, and I see one of his hands grab at the side of the couch.
“You’re going to make me?—”
“Oh, you can’t hold out?” I smile up at him, and Tristan catches my gaze, a look of surprise crossing his face before he smirks back down at me.
“You would turn this into a competition,” he growls, his hips rocking against me as he thrusts again. “I can take whatever you give me,célie. I’ll come when I’m good and fucking ready.”
“Oh?” I bite my lip, squeezing around him again, and Tristan shudders.
“Fuck—”
I can feel how tightly his muscles are wound, how hard he’s holding to his control. My own arousal builds with every flex of my muscles around him, every time I make him stutter mid-thrust, every sound that I tear from his lips. His throat is tight,his jaw clenched, his eyes suddenly closed as I can feel him fighting to win.
He’s not going to, I decide.
I lean up, dragging my mouth over his collarbone, up his throat. Every time he thrusts into me, I squeeze around him, and I can feel his rhythm turning unsteady, his breathing hard and fast. “This time,” I whisper, leaning up so that my lips brush his ear, “you’re going to come whenIsay.”
I press my lips against the spot just below his jaw, tongue tracing his salty skin as I suck hard at his throat, and I flex around him once more as he sinks into me, letting out a moan as I arch against him.
“Christ!”Tristan swears aloud, a moan tearing from his lips as I feel his entire body shuddering, hips bucking as I feel his cock throb inside of me, harder than it’s ever been. I feel him lose control of his orgasm, feel the first hot spurt as he starts to come, and my own pleasure crashes over me for a second time, the victory spurring on another orgasm.
Tristan curses again, the string of Gaelic ending on my name, and I can feel him still throbbing inside of me, filling me with his cum as he thrusts shallowly through his climax, trembling with the force of it. I arch my back, moaning as my own crashes through me, and when I fall back against the couch cushions, I see Tristan staring at me as if he’s never seen me before.
“What—” he breathes hard, “the fuck was that?”
I look up at him innocently, very aware of how drunk I am now. “I thought you wanted me to stop overthinking.”
“That was—” He can’t seem to catch his breath, and I feel another wave of victorious pleasure roll through me. “Christ, Simone.”
I bite my lip as he rolls to one side of me, pulling me back against him as he lays his head on the couch cushions next to mine. I surprised him. I made him come harder than any womanever has before, if the look on his face was anything to go by. And for a moment, it doesn’t feel like he’s my captor and I’m his prisoner, like he’s the thief who stole everything from me.
It just feels like he’s my husband, and I’m his wife. Like a normal night, the kind I’ve never known and wouldn’t have been able to imagine if I’d tried.
The languor from two orgasms and the effects of the alcohol are pulling me down into sleep, making me so exhausted I can’t imagine moving, even to untangle myself from the remnants of my dress. Behind me, his arm over my waist, I hear Tristan lightly snore, and I muffle a giggle as I let my eyes drift closed.
For the first time since I met Tristan O’Malley, the last thing that I think as I fall asleepisn’thow much I hate him.
21
SIMONE
Iwake up not entirely sure where I am.
I have a headache unlike anything I’ve ever had before, and I’m dimly aware of a hard male body behind mine—hardeverywhere, if the thick shape pressed against the small of my back is anything to go on. He’s still snoring softly, and as I slowly come back to myself, I realize we’re in the sitting room.
Half-naked, which makes me blush from my forehead to my toes, hoping none of the staff came in here while we were sleeping. My entire body is exposed. If anyonehadwalked in, they’d have seen me sleeping in a pool of my torn dress with my husband behind me.
It would have been very clear what happened. That I lost control. That I let my husband have what he wanted—my surrender.
Can I still take it back?
I was drunk. I wasn’t in my right mind. All the things I could hurl at him come to mind as I wonder if I can move his arm off of my waist without waking him, and slip out of the room.
