Ravished (The Teplo Trilogy #1) (5 page)

"Please," she whispered, writhing in expectation.

"Please what? Say it." He slid his hands up her thighs, his rough palms creating friction where they scratched her smoother skin. "Tell me what you want me to do to you."

"I need-" She writhed again as his fingers glided across the curls between her legs so close to where she needed him, but not close enough. "Oh God, please."

His talented fingers brushed, dipping into her folds for the briefest of moments, and then slid away. "Tell me."

She knew he wouldn't relent until she gave him what he wanted. He would not end his torment until she begged. As if he could read her mind, his fingers dipped and slid. Dipped and slid. Desperation grew in leaps and bounds when he made that same circuit a third and then fourth time, his fingers coming within millimeters of her clit before dancing nimbly away.

"Taste me," she cried out, as heated by his demands and teasing as she was frustrated by them. She curled her fingers into the cushion beneath her, digging in. "Please, Tristan."

His lips curved upward in wicked satisfaction.

He buried his head between her legs with a throaty groan. His hands clamped roughly around her hips, dragging and lifting her toward his devouring mouth. She panted breathlessly as he lapped at her, his tongue swirling through her folds before plunging into her.

"So fucking good," he groaned against her center. "So sweet."

She was spiraling, dancing... racing toward release. It didn't build slowly or leisurely in any way. It bubbled like lava and erupted with a scream, tearing her from reality as his lips seamed around her clit, holding her captive to the brilliancy of his flickering tongue.

She didn't stop crying out for a long time.

"Beautiful," Tristan said lifetimes later, pressing a kiss to her inner thigh before sliding her legs closed. He placed his hand over the scar on her leg, squeezing with gentle fingers.

She offered him a small smile, too sated and boneless to even consider moving on her own. Her mind was numb, deliciously blank. She had never come so hard or for so long in her life. Everything tingled. Her body felt detached and fuzzy. Head to toe, she felt amazing.

"You okay?" he asked, staring into her eyes. His gaze was softer than before. Hints of that same protectiveness she saw swirling there in the restaurant bathroom peeked from his lust-dilated pupils.

Reality and questions began to trickle back into her mind at that look in his eyes.

Who was he?

Why was he here?

Why her?

Why not?

Dear God….

She forced the questions away, groaning as she attempted to right herself.

He glanced down at his watch and then back up at her. "As much as I'd love to keep you here all night, I think we should get you out of here." As if to back-up his statement, someone pounded on the makeshift door.

Lillian jumped in surprise, her face flushing.

She'd just let him-

She struggled to her feet, her heart thudding as the questions she'd silenced swam forth again, bringing with them the realization that none of those answers really mattered to her at all. She liked him. More than was safe or sane or in the least reasonable, she liked him. It made no sense. She knew nothing about him, but she did know one thing. If she gave him a chance to ask, she'd meet him again. Without a doubt.

She had to get out of there before he asked.

"Beautiful?" Tristan rose to his feet as she struggled to remain calm and focused on what she needed to do next.

"I'm fine," she mumbled, pulling herself to her feet. Her legs felt like Jell-O beneath her, liquefied by his far too talented tongue. If there was any pain in her thigh, she didn't feel it.

He reached out to steady her.

She jerked back on instinct.

When he arched a brow, she grimaced.

"Sorry, sorry. I'm just… someone wants in," she said as whomever waited on the other side of the door pounded a second time.

"So I hear," Tristan muttered, adjusting himself through his jeans.

Lillian's face flamed brighter, embarrassment and guilt coursing through her. He'd given her release, but she had not returned the favor. That fact bothered her far more than it probably should.

"I-" She cleared her throat, not sure what to say as the sensible half of herself demanded she leave and the naughty half he'd awoken demanded she return the favor,
pleaded
with her to return the favor.

Tristan settled the matter for her. He grabbed her panties from the floor and glanced at her, one eyebrow arched in question. She shook her head, mortified all over again. He slipped her panties into his pocket without comment before reaching for her hand.

Snagging her wrist, he drew her close to his body. "Don't overthink it, Lillian. Just breathe."

She took a deep breath and then another before nodding.

He held her protectively to his chest for a long minute as she focused on breathing through the riot of questions and recriminations battling for dominance in her head.

"You make me crazy, beautiful," he said, shaking his head as if in disbelief.

She wanted to tell him that he did the same to her, but she didn't. Instead, she stood quietly within the warm circle of his arms, trying to beat back embarrassment, and trying just as hard not to melt into him.

He sighed and then murmured something under his breath. It sounded like
feels
so fucking good
, but she couldn't be sure.

"Meet me here tomorrow?"

She hesitated, knowing she needed to tell him no. Knowing she shouldn't do this again, that she shouldn't
want
to do it. She wasn't that girl. She didn't do random hook-ups with strangers. She didn't let them touch her, taste her, or play her body like a violin. It frightened her that, for him, she would be that girl. That a large part of her
wanted
to be that girl.

"Don't regret it," he said when she remained silent. "Don't overthink it. Just… don't. Meet me here tomorrow. Please. I need this." His breathless confession sounded almost desperate, uncertain. The same confusion lurked in his gaze. Whatever drove her to this, whatever made her feel like this, he felt it, too.

Her resolve wavered and collapsed half an instant before she heard her agreement falling from her lips. "I will."

Tristan breathed in audible relief, hugging her tighter to him.

Lillian's taste lingered in Tristan's mouth as he left temptation behind and stole around the side of the building, blending easily with the deeper shadows there. She still stood where he'd left her, staring down at the ground with a thoughtful frown on her face before looking in his direction. He edged deeper into the shadows to avoid her notice and waited to make sure she was left alone.

His mind spun.

He had no idea who she was, but she didn't belong at
Teplo
. Maybe though… maybe….

He shook off the thought before it could form, refusing to consider it. She was a risk he couldn't afford to keep taking, a liability he didn't need. As desperate as he'd been to see her again tonight, he knew it couldn't last. He had a job to do.

No, that wasn't quite right. Working with the DEA wasn't just a job to him. At least, it hadn't been before he'd met Lillian, and he didn't want it to be just a job now either. People like those inside needed his head clear. They needed him focused on the goal, not on his own pleasure. Lives depended on it, theirs and his. Hers, too. Dragging her inside night after night was a bad idea all around.

He had a feeling she knew it too.

So… why didn't he want to stop?

As he watched from the shadows, trying to make sense of the way he wanted her, Lillian curled her hands into determined fists and stepped from the sidewalk onto the street. The bouncer at the door nodded in her direction, his mouth moving. Lillian offered him a smile in return.

Did they know one another?

Tristan's confusion turned to a sharp gasp of surprise as she shuffled across the deep, pitted lanes and hobbled up the steps to the brownstone across the street, reaching into her bra to retrieve a key.

"Son of a bitch," he swore beneath his breath, stunned.

She lived across the street from the shit going on inside the club!

Tristan shifted forward to go after her, but stopped cold when the cool calculation that had saved his life time and again flared hard between one breath and the next.

The way she looked at him as if seeing him clearly.

The fact that no one inside had bothered her even though she was alone.

That exchange with the bouncer.

Hell, her very presence in such a place, and the fact that she'd appeared at his favorite restaurant today….

Was she as unaware as he'd assumed or had she been at
Teplo
for some other purpose?

Aside from himself and Anton Vetrov's employees, she was the only other person he'd seen in the club who wasn't flying higher than a kite. And the way she'd given in to him so easily, and then slipped the very moment he stepped into the dining room at
Kristal
today, as if expecting him to catch her….

Doubt wriggled its way in, turning his blood to ice.

Tristan didn't believe in coincidence, but he wanted to. He desperately wanted to believe that Lillian had an innocent reason for being there. That seeing her at lunch today was simple happenstance. That she'd let him touch her because she felt that same unrelenting hunger still gnawing at him.

But why would someone like her be at
Teplo
in the first place?

Something wasn't right, and he wasn't stupid enough to ignore the warning bells screaming at him now.

Lillian wasn't who he'd thought she was.

The thought eviscerated and infuriated him in turns.

Chapter Four

"Let me get this straight," Tristan's boss, Jason Ames, said less than an hour later, leaning across his kitchen table to glare at Tristan. His wife – Tristan's cousin, Zoë – perched on the granite countertop, covering her mouth with her hand as she tried to contain her laughter.

Tristan felt vindicated that Jason, at least, didn't share her amusement.

"You want me to run a background check on Lillian of no last name to find out if she's involved with the Vetrov family because you practically fucked her in the middle of their club, made out with her in the bathroom of
Kristal
, and then went back to
Teplo
to do it again?
Before you found this out
?"

Tristan cringed at his friend's callous, frustrated summary, and then nodded. He'd fucked up. The more distance he put between himself and Lillian, the more appallingly clear that fact became.

"Christ, Tristan." Jason shook his head in obvious disappointment, and then reached for his phone. "What the hell happened to your rules?"

Tristan only wished he knew. Away from Lillian, he was appalled that he'd capitulated to the lust that hummed between them. To do so went against everything he knew, everything he was. It was dangerous and worse, his cock was still hard, begging for her. To do it twice with no idea of who she was or why she was there? That was suicidal and he fucking knew it.

He endured Jason's wrath in silence, knowing he deserved that and more. He would be lucky, damned lucky, if he didn't pay for his mistake dearly. If Lillian worked for Anton Vetrov, all she had to do was hand over his info and the entire case would go up in flames.

Zoë burst into laughter.

Tristan and Jason both turned their heads to glare at her.

"Sorry," she said, her light eyes twinkling as she held her hands up to fend off any retort to her giggles. "I'm sorry, but oh my God, Tristan. You're a voyeur!"

"I'm not a voyeur," he snapped.

"He's an exhibitionist," Jason said. "Voyeurs watch.
He
participated.
Twice.
"

Zoë launched into another round of laughter.

Tristan jerked to his feet, infuriated by the reminder of what he'd done… and by his body's unflagging desire to do it again. He strode from the kitchen and into the dark living room, heading straight for the stocked bar Zoë and Jason kept there. Grabbing the bottle of Stoli and a shot glass, he filled it to the brim before knocking it back and then filling it again. He knocked that one back too before he snatched up the bottle and glass and stalked toward the plush couch.

"Fuck," he muttered as he flung himself down, nearly spilling the vodka across the dark fabric of the sofa. He glared up at the ceiling as the quick shots burned in his stomach.

What the hell had he been thinking?

The DEA didn't pay him to fuck around with complete strangers in the middle of an investigation. They paid him to help bring assholes like the Vetrov family down. To save people like those already lying in the morgue.

He was slipping, losing his edge. That was intolerable, and completely his own fault.

He
knew
better.

Dammit, he knew better.

"Tristan?" Zoë called from the other side of the couch.

He turned his head in her direction.

His cousin frowned at him, her shoulders hunched. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have laughed."

"It's fine." He waved her off, feeling like a bastard. "I deserved it." That was nothing but the truth. Had anyone told him yesterday morning that he'd be here now, he would have told them they were insane. He didn't hook up with random women in the middle of an operation. He didn't get off on bringing them to orgasm in the middle of a crowded dance floor. He didn't spread them across benches in drug lounges and bury his head between their legs until they screamed. And he didn't feel betrayed when he found out they lived across the street from the hellhole at the center of an investigation. But there he was anyway, feeling exactly like that after having done exactly that.

The real hell of it?

Even with his newfound doubts about whether Lillian was as innocent as he'd first believed, he still wanted her. Desperately.

"You like her, don't you?" Zoë stepped around the couch before perching on the edge of the coffee table beside him.

"I don't even know her," he said, refusing to go down that path now. It didn't matter whether he liked Lillian or not. He couldn't see her again.

I need this.

Why had he ever said those words to her?

He poured another shot and downed it.

"What do you think happened to her leg?" Zoë asked, acknowledging with a single nod that he didn't want to talk about whether or not he liked Lillian.

He frowned up at the ceiling, thinking about the scar on Lillian's thigh. Femur breaks weren't common. Femoral shaft fractures like hers were even less so. It took a lot of pressure to break a leg where hers had been fused back together with a steel rod and metal plates.

That haunted look in her beautiful eyes flashed through his mind.

What had happened to her?

Dammit.

He tossed the shot glass onto the sofa beside him and took a swig straight from the bottle, desperate to quiet his thoughts.

"Tristan-"

"Don't, Zoë," he said, shaking his head. "Just don't."

His cousin sighed, but didn't push. The two subsided into silence, his thoughts slowing as the vodka finally began to do its job and numb the edges of his racing mind.

Jason strolled into the room a few minutes later and tossed the phone down onto Tristan's stomach.

He jerked, almost spilling the vodka all over himself and the sofa in the process.

"You have something already?"

Please, let me be wrong. Just… fucking hell, let me be wrong,
he prayed silently.

Jason grabbed the bottle from Tristan's hands before taking a swig. He eased down into an armchair diagonal to the sofa. Zoë hopped up from the table and bounced to his side. Tucking his arm around her waist to pull her down into his lap, he looked at Tristan.

Tristan's heart plummeted at the aggravated expression on his friend's face.

"Tell me," he demanded.

Jason hesitated for a moment longer and then sighed. "Her name is Lillian Maddox. Seattle P.D. has her in the system in relation to a Schedule III narcotics investigation. Her current address is red flagged."

Tristan wanted her to be the innocent, out of place woman she portrayed. He wanted to be able to lose himself in her.

I need this.

Anger stole his breath. He fought not to shatter his shot glass against the wall.

"Lillian Maddox?" Zoë piped up, scrunching her nose.

Jason nodded.

Lillian's sober presence in the club and her involvement in a narcotics investigation, added to the fact that she lived right across the street and had to know what the fuck was happening there, didn't look good. The fact that she'd let him do what they'd done…. Tristan didn't do coincidence.

"She works for the Vetrov family," he said aloud, forcing himself to admit what he didn't want to believe. She was off-limits. One of
them,
a Vetrov puppet willing to do whatever her bosses commanded of her, including seduction and murder.

Tristan reached over and snatched the bottle from Jason before taking another long pull. He was furious. Livid that his instincts had been wrong and enraged that his cock still didn't give a damn. He was pissed he'd led with his dick in the first place. Furious he'd been so enamored of her, he hadn't even bothered to ask questions.

"Looks like it," Jason said with a grim nod. "Seattle's system is offline, so Jackson wasn't able to find out the particulars about her involvement. He should have something for us as soon as they get their system up again. In the meantime, I want you to stay away from
Teplo
and this girl. Don't do anything until we know exactly how she's involved."

Tristan didn't bother to tell Jason that staying away wouldn't solve anything. They were already screwed. She'd kept him occupied long enough for the Vetrov boys to piece together who he was and clear the club out. And he'd been too fucking blind to notice.

He'd failed.

For the first time since–

Tristan jerked to his feet and thrust the bottle back to Jason. "I'll be at home," he muttered and strode from the room, the sting of failure as brutal and unwelcome as unrelenting attraction.

"You aren't driving."

"No shit. I'm walking," he muttered, not even stopping to remind Jason he wasn't a complete fucking moron. He knew better than to drink and drive.

"Tristan," Zoë called after him, "wait! I think you may be-"

He slammed the front door hard behind him, cutting her off mid-sentence.