Bankers' Hours (40 page)

Tristan had been saving money and investing it for ten years? I cupped my forehead as a wave of dizziness hit me. I turned and looked around his outdated house with laminate countertops and wallpaper borders. Tristan had the money to turn this place into whatever I wanted. He trusted me with his finances and had called me an equal partner in this marriage.

No,
I decided for good,
we’re not selling this house. I’m going to spend some money, get new countertops, and hire someone to remodel the bathroom so I can have one of those huge tiled walk-in showers I’ve always dreamed about.
He could afford it!

I knew Tristan wanted to stay here indefinitely. The house was next to his auto shop and had been in his family for years. I couldn’t make him sell it. I only wanted a nice, clean, and organized house to live in, and this one was halfway there. As soon as Claire got off the bus, we were going to visit The Home Depot and pick out new countertops and sink fixtures. My new life was going to be perfect!

“DO I
look okay?” I asked nervously, looking over my appearance in the full-length mirror I’d had Tristan attach to the back of the bedroom door.

Not only was this party for our one-month anniversary, but it was also a housewarming for all the redecorating I’d done. I’d cleaned and painted the whole damn house. It looked great, but I was exhausted. I still needed to screw the plate covers back over the outlets in several rooms, and the countertops wouldn’t be replaced for another two weeks, but the house looked great! Claire had helped tidy things up on Saturday, but Tristan had reminded me none of it would have happened without my initiative.

“You look amazing,” Tristan answered, coming up behind me. He rubbed my arms up and down soothingly as he gazed at me in the mirror, but I was still too nervous.

“Are you sure? I know you bought me those T-shirts to help me loosen up, and I feel guilty I’ve only worn the Journey one. Maybe I should change.” I pulled away from him, but Tristan yanked me back in front of the mirror before I had taken two steps.

“Don’t,” he warned. “I like this striped shirt. You wore it on our wedding day, and it reminds me of the way you looked when I said ‘I do.’ I even bought this to go with it.”

I turned around, and Tristan handed me a box. Inside was a boutonniere with a blue ribbon that matched the stripes in my shirt. “Oh, Tristan!” I lifted it out and set the box on the bed.

“You didn’t have flowers on our wedding day, but I know you like them. I thought a white rose would look nice for today, and I’ll try to remember flowers on every anniversary.”

I flung my arms around his neck and bear-hugged him. “Thank you, thank you.”

He caressed my cheek when I’d stepped back. “Anything for my princess.” He winked.

I lifted my eyebrow. “Really? You’re going to call me ‘princess’ now?”

Tristan kissed me sweetly. “Yes, because a princess is someone to be cherished, and cared for, and protected. I planned to do all those things after watching you nearly swoon when I placed this ring on your finger.” He lifted my hand and kissed my knuckles right next to my diamond ring.

I couldn’t refute it. I’d had plenty of princess moments, and picking out this ring didn’t exactly build up my masculinity.

Tristan took the boutonniere from my fingers and pinned it to my shirt. He turned me around to face the mirror one more time. “Wear this shirt, and stop worrying about everything. The party will be fun. You’ve made enough food for an army, and Claire decorated every inch of everything we own. Whoever shows up will be blown away.”

Tristan had suggested we make it an “open house” event, since our invitations had gone out only a couple of days prior. It made sense, but that meant I needed to plan for a huge crowd just in case. I’d made cupcakes, of course, and six different appetizers. Claire had helped me wrap bacon around scallops the day before. Even her friend Danny, whom I’d come to adore the first time he visited my house, had helped prepare hors d’oeuvres in bite-sized baking molds.

“You think so?” I asked, shifting my eyes to meet his in the mirror. I love how he looked at me. His eyes always held so much affection.

Tristan nodded and then bent forward to kiss my ear and neck, his hands sliding over my hips. “And after everyone is gone,” he whispered all sultry-like, “I’ll bring you back in here, undress you, and make all the tension from the night disappear as I slide my throbbing cock deep inside your ass.” He ran his tongue up the shell of my ear and tugged my ass back into his groin. “How does that sound?”

I closed my eyes and swallowed, leaning back against his hard chest. Claire had been in the house for five days, and in that time Tristan and I had been very careful how we’d spoken to one another. The sexual innuendo had ceased because I wasn’t good at veiling it, I blushed way too easily, and I couldn’t control my reactions. Tristan had also been true to his promise of not making love when she was in the house. We’d only had sex after she’d gotten on the bus or before she’d gotten home. For him to do this now, with Claire in the living room, and a horde of hungry guests arriving any minute, should have made me angry or frustrated. It should have, but this proved just how much I’d changed in the past few weeks. Tristan was talking dirty to me, my body reacted instantly, and I was powerless to pull away.

I licked my lips and whispered, “Would you take me from behind?”

He chuckled low in the back of his throat and reached both hands around to the front of my trousers, first groping me and then undoing my belt. “Would you like that?”

His husky tone spurred me on. “Yes,” I answered breathily, my eyes remaining shut. “Would you lick my asshole first?”

Tristan undid my pants and slipped his hand inside my boxers. He took ahold of my cock and stroked it as he spoke quietly in my ear. “Only if you begged me to.” I felt the cool air hit my skin as he pushed my clothing out of the way. I was glad I had locked the bedroom door. He fondled my balls with one hand and slid my foreskin forward, covering my tip instead of sliding it back.

Tristan was playing with me.

I admitted, “I would beg, Tristan.” He suckled on my earlobe, and my knees nearly buckled. I reached back, over my shoulders, and looped my arms around his neck to be sure that wouldn’t happen. I whimpered. “I’d plead for you to lick me. I’d offer to do anything as long as you used your tongue on my asshole.” His stroking was slow and firm on the base of my cock, and I ached with need. I pushed my ass back against his crotch and wiggled it teasingly. Tristan groaned. He moved his fingers to the tip again, tugging on my foreskin and dipping his forefinger inside the folds. He circled that teasing finger around my throbbing head, and I squeezed the back of his neck as I started panting, the tingles mounting in my groin. “Mmm, Tristan,” I rasped.

He chuckled. “Would you let me use nipple clamps on you?” he asked, nibbling on my neck.

My mind swirled.
Nipple clamps?
They sounded painful. What was the purpose? I stuttered, “I-I d-don’t know. Would they h-hurt?”

“A little,” he said. “But sometimes a great pleasure can be derived from a little pain.” Tristan changed his tactics. Instead of stroking and using the natural movement of my foreskin to run his palm up and down, he gently pinched the tip of my skin and tugged on it. Tiny tugs, yet enough to stimulate the head of my cock because the foreskin hugged me all the way around my ridge, creating friction with each movement. He was using my own body to stimulate me.

I really had come to appreciate how I’d been born, no matter how many times I’d been teased for it in the past. Tristan made me feel so good about my body—foreskin and all. His thumb rubbed over my slit, teasing me one more time, and then he took my foreskin between his thumb and forefinger and pulled more aggressively.

“T-Tristan… I’m….” I tried holding my breath. I knew Claire wasn’t far away on the other side of the door. I was going to shoot any second, and I had no idea how I was going to keep from moaning. Tristan was right about that too; I liked verbalizing my pleasure.

However, Tristan also liked to
shock
me into silence. Sometimes he’d kiss me just as I came, so my moaning would be muted in his throat. Sometimes he would switch positions unexpectedly and make my breath hitch right as I shot. Or, like now, he covered my mouth with his large hand and shushed me. “Shhh, just let it happen. Come in my hand. I won’t let your spunk get on your nice pants.”

Without a word or a sound, I sucked in a long breath through my nose as I bit my lip and convulsed, stomach muscles tightening and spurts of semen emptying onto Tristan’s hand.

“Hey, Dad?” Claire called from the other side of the door, causing me to jump in his arms. “Dad? I think a truck pulled into the driveway.” She knocked, yet my brain was so completely fogged by Tristan’s unexpected handjob I couldn’t even react. He had completely ruined me with those tiny little movements.

He called back, “I’ll be right there, sweetness.” He whispered in my ear, “Don’t move.” He released my mouth and carefully turned me around. He went down on his knees and licked me thoroughly before tucking me back into my pants. I helped retuck my shirt since only one of his hands was clean and dry. Tristan stood and smirked at me. “Sorry about that. I know how you feel about sex in the house when Claire’s here, but I couldn’t help myself. I really like this shirt.”

I swallowed and sighed. I could hardly regain my breath, but I had just enough strength to retort, “No sex while Claire’s home is
your
rule.”

Tristan broke out in a full-on belly laugh. “Oh how I love you, princess.” He winked, and I giggled.

“Dad?” Claire called again. “Are you coming out, or are you doing what you said you’d never do and I shouldn’t ask you about?”

His expression changed quickly. He asked me, “Do I look okay? I don’t have cum on my face, do I?”

I snorted. “No.”

He opened the door immediately and addressed his daughter, holding his messy hand out of her view. “No, Claire. Grant was nervous about our first party, and I was calming his nerves. How do you like his flower?”

“It’s called a boutonniere, Dad. It looks really nice. Did
you
pick it out?”

“He did,” I said.

“I’m impressed. It matches Grant’s shirt perfectly. Anyway,” Claire said, pointing behind her, “Kirsty and Danny are here. And a girl named Jessica. I just wanted to know if you needed me to do anything to help, or if I can play that dance game you bought for me with my friends?”

I told her, “Go talk with your friends. I’ll grab the game from the closet and set it up. I need to talk to Tristan for one more second, okay?”

“Okay,” she answered politely, closing the bedroom door before she left us.

Tristan gave me an inquisitive look. I took ahold of Tristan’s arm and brought his gooey hand back around from behind his back. “What are you…?” he started to ask.

I swirled my index finger in the spunk and scooped up a generous glob. I gazed into his eyes as I dipped that same finger into my mouth and sucked the juices off. Tristan groaned as his eyes turned fierce. “You enjoy playing with fire, don’t you?”

I giggled wickedly. “Yes, I think I do.” I bounced over to the door and opened it, turning back to grin at him. “Can you make sure there’s a fresh hand towel in our bathroom in case anyone uses it?”

He chuckled. “You’re evil. And yes I will.”

“Thank you,” I said, smiling happily. I left him to get cleaned up and met Jessica in the living room. I greeted her with a big hug. This open house party was going to be amazing.

SOMETIME LATER,
I heard another knock on the door as I opened the oven. “Tristan, can you answer the door? I’m warming another batch of cheese puffs and spinach bites.” I placed the tray in the oven and shut it. I sniffed my fingers and detected cheddar cheese and garlic.

“Sure, I’ll get it, but why do you do that?” Tristan asked, as he headed slowly toward the door.

“Do what?”

“Smell your fingers. I’ve noticed you do it all the time, especially when you cook.”

Claire added, “And when you use the orange ginger soap in Dad’s bathroom.”

I shrugged. “I have a thing for smells, what can I say? We all have vices, right, Tristan?”

He chuckled and then reached for the doorknob. I knew he knew exactly what I meant. He hadn’t gotten the full explanation of why I liked soap scents so much, but I wasn’t sure my reasons still held. I wasn’t the same person he’d met in September.

Danny strolled into the kitchen. “Do you have any more lemons? Kirsty said you’re all out, and she wanted one for her iced tea.”

“Oh, yeah, let me cut up more.” I went to the fridge and took out two more lemons. “I didn’t think we’d go through so many lemon wedges.”

Danny leaned on the other side of the breakfast bar as watched me. “Yeah, the girls thought it was fancy to put the lemon wedges in their drinks, so you ran out pretty fast.”

“Hey, Grant,” Tristan called from the open doorway. “I think you need to answer this.”

I glanced over in midslice. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he said, giving me a wink and a tilt of his head.

I exhaled and handed the knife to Danny. “Can you finish this for me?”

“Sure.”

Danny came around to my side of the counter, and I went to see what was so pressing at the door that Tristan needed
me
to answer it. He stepped aside, and I pulled the door wide. The person standing on the other side of the threshold was… “Mel?”

He grinned and gestured to the girl at his left. “Grant, this is Cindy. Cindy, this is my best friend, Grant.”

I could not have been happier in my life about throwing a party.

Chapter 17: Psychos, Rednecks, And My Not So Traditional Happy Ending

THE PARTY
went on for a few hours. Tristan’s mom and brother stopped by and raved about how wonderful the place looked. His mother told me how happy she was that Tristan had finally found the right person to spend his life with and wanted to make sure I knew she considered me family. I could have cried.