Rhapsody (The Teplo Trilogy #2) (26 page)

"Tell me you don't want me now, Tristan," she demanded as she pulled him free of his jeans and began to stroke his length. His eyes were shut tight, his expression one of painful pleasure. Tears welled in her eyes as she worked her hand up and down his cock, overwhelmed by how much
she
wanted
him
in this moment. By how much she always wanted him. "Tell me you don't love me. If you mean it,
tell me
."

"Baby, please," he groaned as she continued to stroke him, merciless in her assault on his willpower.

"Please what?" She reveled in the feel of him in her hand. That he could be so out of control and still want her as desperately as she wanted him took her breath away. He hardened further as she stroked him, pumping along his shaft and playing with the soft skin on the underside of his cock.

"God, baby." He lost the fight with his body, his hips surging forward, thrusting himself harder into her hand. "I need you.
Fuck!
I need you."

A thrill went through her as his willpower crumbled, leaving him pleading with her for release. She suddenly understood exactly how he felt when she begged him for more, why he craved it so much. To know that she'd reduced him to this sent a rush of power through her.
She
was the reason broken pleas fell from his lips.
She
was the reason he trembled in her hands, so turned on, he thrust without thought, seeking more of her warmth. She'd done this to him with nothing more than a few words and her hands on his body.

"You want me, Tristan," she said. "Say it."

"I…"

"Say it," she demanded, pumping her hand up and down his length.

"Fucking Christ, I want you, beautiful. I need you…so much…please," he moaned, surrendering. "Don't stop. Fuck, don't ever stop."

Desire rushed through her in a wild surge at his surrender. "Come with me," she demanded, wrapping her hand around him and guiding him away from the windows toward the couch.

He followed willingly—the look of unfettered desire on his face spellbinding to her—until the backs of her knees hit the couch. She lowered herself down, not even flinching when pain shot through her leg. Right then, it didn't matter to her. This mattered to her.
He
mattered to her.

And he wanted her. Desperately.

He was
begging
for her.

"Look at me." She pumped her fist up and down his length once more, her gaze riveted to the sight of her hand wrapped around him. He was so big in her palm, so hard and perfect.

He groaned, but his eyes didn't open.

She shifted her position on the couch, licked her lips. "Look at me now."

His eyes flew open.

"
Fuck
!" he cried out when she took him into her mouth as soon as his eyes met hers. His hips surged forward, causing him to hit the back of her throat.

She relaxed the muscles, taking him in as far as she could until she gagged and had to ease back. He tasted so good to her, she moaned around him, arousal flooding between her legs. She'd never done this before, had never really wanted to do it before Tristan, but already she loved it. He was such a contradiction in her mouth. Smooth encasing hard, sweet chasing salty.

"Oh Christ," he groaned, his hips bucking involuntarily. His hands came up and found purchase in her hair, gripping firmly as she sucked him in and out of her mouth. He didn't pull or try to guide her movements in any way, surrendering complete control to her as she worked him as he'd done her so often before.

"Lillian!" he cried out as he hit the back of her throat again. His grip in her hair tightened and then relaxed immediately as she increased her speed. "God, beautiful. What are you doing to me? I can't take it. Fuck. I can't."

"You can," she pulled back to whisper before surrounding him with her mouth again. Another wild rush of power shot through her at his answering groan.
She
was doing this to him, driving him crazy.

"You have to…I need deeper," he panted as her mouth bobbed up and down on his cock.

She took him as deeply as she could and held him there for a moment before she pulled back and started all over. Her hand gripped his shaft as she worked him in and out of her mouth in quick passes, followed by slow licks and lazy swirls of her tongue across his silky hardness until he growled, his hips moving restlessly.

She sucked harder, pumped her hand faster.

"Baby,
please
," he begged shamelessly.

She increased the pressure of her mouth, of her hand, as she moved up and down his length. Quicker, deeper, taking every inch of him. He trembled in her grasp, moans of encouragement falling from his lips in a heated, unsteady flood. He told her how perfect her mouth felt on his cock, how sexy she was with her lips stretched around him. How he loved the way she moaned every time he hit the back of her throat.

She loved every single word. They spurred her on, made her work harder, take him deeper, until he pleaded with her to let go before he came. She didn't listen. She wanted his taste in her mouth. Craved it like nothing else.

"Fuck, Lillian!" He came with a sharp cry, his hand clenching in her hair.

She swallowed rapidly, tasting the musky saltiness as he shuddered and groaned her name. She expected the taste to be unpleasant, but it wasn't. He tasted like
him
, like what she'd done to him, and she loved that. She released him only after licking the last drop from him, dizzy with the sensations racing through her. There were so many of them. Power, pain….

"Lillian," he breathed as she rested her cheek on his thigh and peeked up at him. His eyes were closed, his face flushed. For the first time all day, the tension in his body vanished. A satiated smile tugged at the corners of his lips. He looked like
her
Tristan again, the one who drove her crazy every time he put his hands on her body.

She sniffled, unable to stop herself.

His eyes flew open and landed on her. Horror washed across his face. "No, baby. Oh God, no," he said as she bit her lip to keep from sobbing out loud. He reached for her, yanking her off the couch and into his arms as another sob bubbled out. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

She buried her head into his neck, shuddering as he rocked her in his arms, apologizing over and over. "Don't try to make me hate you, Tristan. I can't. I won't." She could take anything else. She could take him being angry and falling apart. She could take him yelling at her, or being an autocratic pain in the ass. But she couldn't take him trying to push her out the door.

"I can't lose you. I can't go through that anymore."

"It's over, Tristan." She lifted her face to look at him. "It's over and I'm fine. But don't tell me you don't want me unless you mean it." She sniffled, the heartache she'd refused to feel earlier hitting her. "Hearing you say that hurt like hell."

"I never should have said it. I want you. God, I do. So much I can't think straight. I can't breathe–" he broke off with a shake of his head. "I don't know what to do," he whispered, fear flashing through his eyes.

"Love me, Tristan. Just love me like you promised," she said, not sure how else to help put him back together. She wasn't sure there
was
another way to help put him back together. This is what they were together. This is what they had always been. He needed to remember that.

Right then, so did she.

Love her.

God, didn't she know how much he loved her? How much it'd killed him to tell her he didn't want her here when every part of him craved her? If he lived to be a thousand, he would never forgive himself for telling her that. She was everything to him.
Everything.

He pulled her up into his arms and carried her toward the bedroom, refusing to consider anything but her. He could come back to their Vetrov problem later, but now, she needed him to love her. As if he'd ever had any other choice. He was hers. From the first moment he'd touched her, he'd belonged to her.

"I love you," he said as he laid her out on his bed and crawled over her. He dipped his head, his mouth meeting hers in a gentle kiss.

Her arms wound around his neck, pulling him closer. "Then love me, Tristan."

He could taste himself on her as his tongue slipped between her lips, but he didn't care. He kissed her deeply and undressed her slowly, his hands moving reverently over every inch of skin he exposed. She was so perfect, from the top of her head to her dance-abused feet.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into her skin when he saw the angry bruise across her right side. He let his lips linger there as she weaved her fingers through his hair. And then he moved on, raining adoring kisses across her body. Her nipples were hard pink pebbles, begging for him. He kissed and caressed them, using his lips and tongue and teeth, until she pleaded for him to make love to her.

"I will," he promised, rolling to his feet to strip his own clothing off. "Oh, baby, I will."

She moaned and writhed atop the sheets at his vow, watching him from beneath heavy lids until he slid back into the bed with her. He covered her body with his own. His hand dipped between their bodies, finding that spot that felt like heaven to him, slipping his fingertips between wet, heated silk. He teased her mercilessly until she mewled into his mouth.

His eyes never left her face the entire time. He wanted to see her reaction—the way her cheeks flushed and her mouth opened in a little 'O' of surprise when he touched her exactly right—to memorize it. Feeling her beneath him, touching her, watching her come apart for him…
this
is what he'd needed all night. This is what kept him sane, kept him rational. She was his rudder, his anchor, and his port. The only thing that could pull him back from the edge.

"Please, Tristan," she pleaded into his neck.

His mouth moved over her shoulder, tasting her sweet skin. She was warm sugar beneath him, so soft and open. His lips trembled at his mark on her neck, a wave of awe washing through him. "Please what, beautiful?" he drew back to ask before resuming his lazy trail down to her collarbone.

"Inside," she gasped when he nipped at her collarbone. "Need you."

How could he deny her?

"Look at me," he demanded as he lined himself up with her entrance.

Her eyes fluttered open.

"I'll never stop wanting you, beautiful." He pressed himself inside of her as he spoke that vow, intense waves of pleasure wracking him as her tight heat enveloped him inch by inch. She opened her mouth to cry out, but he didn't give her a chance. His mouth claimed hers, sealing that promise with a heated, languid kiss as he began to move inside of her.

Her tongue danced with his, her hips lifting to meet his. He breathed a sigh into her mouth as the last vestiges of his fear, of his panic, shattered and fell away, unable to retain their hold on him when they were together like this. She was home—a million little things that made his life worth living. No matter how hard it got, how lost he became, this, being inside of her like this, would always be right.

"You feel so good to me," he told her, raining kisses across her face as he continued to move within her. Finding words through the waves of pleasure didn't come easy, but he couldn't stop now. He needed her to hear them. "Nothing but you could ever feel this good."

"Yes, yes," she moaned when he eased her leg up over his hip to deepen their connection.

"Just like this," he said, lost in the way her body felt wrapped around him. She was so soft, so strong, so
good
. "I'll never get enough of this, Lillian. Never get enough of you."

"Need you," she whimpered again as he pressed soft kisses to her eyelids, her temples, and into her hair.

"You have me, baby." He whispered his promise in her ear. "You'll always have me." He meant that with every fiber of his being. No matter what happened, he'd always be hers.

He loved her in silence until sweat made tracks down both their bodies and she clawed at his back. A thousand thoughts ran through his mind, a thousand desires, but none of them hurt. It was only him and her in this bed.