Page 35 of Lust
His brows furrowed with another inexplicable expression. Once more, it was gone before I could dwell on it.
“Little sis, you can’t possibly think… or are you truly so delusional? Have you seen the women I have been with? You look like an ugly duckling in comparison.”
My lips curved smugly. Tristan appeared perplexed over the lack of effect his statement had. I should be crying over being called ugly, but Tristan’s vanity was his downfall. Not mine.
“At least my supposed ugliness is only on the outside. What do you plan to do when your physical beauty wanes, and the outside matches the inside? You’ll lose everything you’ve built based on looks—the women will leave, and your precious career will end.” Leaning closer, I added, “You’ll have no one once the world realizes that you’re nothing but a pretty face.”
Tristan didn’t hesitate, grabbing my wrists and pinning me against the wall behind us. This time I didn’t flinch, nor did I have the urge to scream. The attack wasn’t deliberate. It was an unplanned reaction because he feared it to be true.
He was on me, pressed against me to imprison me in place. The furnace-like body emitted heat, like a warm hug on a cold night. He constrained me with minimal effort, his impressive size reminding me that he could snap me like a twig if he pleased.
A storm raged in my chest, but it wasn’t from fear or excitement. I should have been terrified—I was during our initial exchange—but now there was also triumph.
My self-satisfied grin brought on Tris’ look of determination. “At least I’ll have thingstolose,” he spoke in an unsteady voice. “But you’ll never know what it’s like to be admired or loved. Tell me, how long before that cop gets hurt because he was around you for too long?”
The reminder of that lingering possibility wiped the smirk off my face. I had no more interest in playing this game with Tristan.
“He doesn’t know you,” he muttered quietly. “The real you.”
“Let go,” I ordered coldly, turning my face away from Tristan. My nose landed at the base of his neck— it smelled like a mixture of musk and vanilla. It was fitting that even his smell was spicy and sweet.
Tristan did the opposite, pressing me harder against the wall with his body weight until I almost wanted to yelp from the pressure. Every part of my body was indecently covered by his; chest, face, and hips. His face was inches away from mine. He watched me intensely as if he had every right to do so.
I couldn’t breathe and closed my eyes to stop the suffocating feeling of his body pressed tightly against mine. Our hearts were beating against one another and somehow synchronized into one loud heartbeat. I could hear it distinctly in the silent room and wondered if he could, too.
“Let go!” I repeated, this time more urgently. An odd, tightening sensation was turning my legs into jelly. I was only upright because he had me pinned. Even that was torturous. It was crucial to put an end to whatever was happening.
“Please,” I pleaded, surprising him.
He didn’t let go. Instead, he dropped his face in my hair to audibly inhale.
Our irregular breathing filled the room, but neither of us spoke. With my every breath, I inhaled more of the musky-vanilla smell, feeling lightheaded from it. His shallow breaths fanned my cheek, my stomach dipping indescribably.
Vague anguish broke out all over my body, begging to be released. The back of his fingers grazed the side of my face so tenderly that I almost burst into flames. There was a desperate screeching inside my brain that whatever this new form of torture was, it needed to end.
Thoughts of Sara from that night had consumed me for days. I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her while driving back to Virginia. I couldn’t stop thinking about Sara’s soft moans throughout the next day either or upon returning to my office.
I especially couldn’t stop thinking about her when Steve called me with an update.
I occasionally had him watch over Sara whenever I was indisposed. I needed to take a step back from Sara to control my impulses. Steve was to watch her in my stead, a feat he complained about because her life had turned too boring to allocate such resources.
But suddenly, there was an update to report.
Sara broke her promise. She was seen walking hand in hand with that boy Tobias—the same man I had promised to spare for her sake.
Red.
Jealous, possessive red had flashed in front of my eyes for the entirety of my drive back to Washington DC upon hearing the news. And in that fit of jealous rage, I had made another impulsive decision, and fuck, I couldn’t take it back.
The evidence of my arousal and desire lay at Sara’s feet. She squeezed her eyes tightly to block out our indiscretions in the dark. Irritation pestered me at her tentative nature. Making a fist into her hair, I yanked at it.
“Open your fucking eyes.”
She obliged, chest rising and falling. My peripheral vision betrayed me to glance at her exposed legs in a dress that was both tight and short.
My mouth went dry at the sight of her cleavage outlined by her heavy breaths. She was beautiful with her full lips, bouncy hair, and honey skin that I could gorge on for days.
Without meaning to, I leaned in. My nose dug into the side of her neck and inhaled like it was the very nourishment I needed to stay alive. The smell of Jasmine, the one reminding me of home, engulfed me.
