Lovely Trigger (Tristan & Danika #3)(47)
Author: R.K. Lilley

“That’s not a good recovery tattoo, Tristan.  It sounds more like an albatross around your neck to me.  Aren’t you supposed to celebrate your successes, not wallow in your mistakes?”

His lips were on my jaw, his breath hot.  “I’m not wallowing in the mistakes, Danika.  I acknowledge them, give them their proper due, but those mistakes aren’t my obsession.  You know what is.”

His lips were open, moving down my neck, then up again, until he was breathing at my mouth, his minty breath mingling with my own.  “Do you remember this room?” he breathed.

I closed my eyes and trembled.

It was too much.  I was done for.  Defeated.

I hadn’t had any of my defenses left coming in here, and he’d pulled no punches at all.

He gripped my hair in both hands, anchoring me while he tilted his head, and brushed his lips across mine.  Softly, too softly, his mouth teasing back down to my neck, rubbing that irresistible scruff of his into that most sensitive area.

I moaned, loudly, and he covered my mouth with a short bark of a laugh.  “I don’t suppose we can take our time right now, huh?”

I just shook my head, my trembling hands going to his chest, tracing over his glorious ink.

He moved in a flash, grabbing me, turning, and perching me on the table, until our places were reversed.  He started inching my loose skirt up my hips, and once it was up around my waist, he parted my legs wide and stepped in, two fingers pushing into the side of my panties, feeling at my sex.

He cursed and praised me as he found me wet and ready for him.

It was a rush job after that.  There wasn’t even time to take my bra or panties off.  He just opened the front of his jeans, pulled his jutting erection out, and guided it with his hand against my pu**y.

His other hand pushed my small panties to the side.  We both watched, rapt, as he thrust forward hard and his c**k disappeared inside of me.

I braced my hands behind me, still watching as he slid out, then in again, a few test drives before it turned into a full-on hell bent f**k.

I didn’t last long, my head dropping back as I started clenching on his plundering cock.

He grabbed my ass in both hands, lifted my h*ps off the table, and started drilling into me, keeping it up until he was emptying himself.

I stroked his hair, his shoulders, his face as we leaned against each other and panted, taking forever to recover from that madness.

“We weren’t quiet,” he murmured against my cheek.  “I was trying to be quiet, because this clearly isn’t private enough, but I failed.”

I giggled.  “Yes, you did.  What’s your problem?”

He pulled back to give me a playful glare.  “I’m not sure if you realize this, but you were much louder.  There is no way Frankie isn’t going to know exactly what just happened.  I hope you were ready for her to know.”

I flushed.  I didn’t think I was ready, but it was too late now.  My complete lack of self-control where Tristan was concerned had just shoved all discretion out the window.

“She’s going to ask me,” he said quietly, back to kissing my jaw.  “What would you like me to tell her?  The truth, or some other version to buy you time to come to terms?”

I wanted to take exception to what his words implied, but that was sort of difficult as I was still squirming on his cock, and little shivers of aftershock were still running through my body from an incredible orgasm.  “I guess, just tell her that you and I have become close again, friends again, and the rest is none of her damn business.”

“Tell that to her favorite tattoo table.”

In the end, I’m not sure what he told her, because I ducked out right after the tattoo was finished, and left it for him to handle.

Frankie shot me a few inquisitive glances, but I ignored them, and that was that, for the moment, at least.

I was still trying to figure out how I felt about the whole thing; I certainly didn’t need anyone else to weigh in.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

DANIKA

I avoided him for a few days after that, but he was persistent, and even I knew that it wouldn’t last long.

It was the evening before a day I knew we both had off when I broke.

I found myself stalking him on Facebook.  It was embarrassing, but I didn’t stop doing it, in fact spent hours going through his photos, wondering about every damn chick that he’d taken a picture with in the last two years, even knowing that most of them were likely just fans.

Finally, I found myself messaging him.  I told myself it was just boredom.  The quiet time I’d once enjoyed alone in my house had suddenly turned into tedium for me, and it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out why.

Danika Markova: Want to hang out tomorrow?

He didn’t respond, and that messed with me.  It wasn’t what I’d come to expect from him.  Was he getting bored with this whole messed up thing?  I hated to think it, but that was where my mind immediately went.

When I realized I was acting desperate, I walked away from my computer.

I’d brought two portfolios home from work.  I went through them, taking notes, feeling aimless, despite the fact I was doing a task that almost always drew me in.

When even work couldn’t distract me, I went to the market.  I shopped for an hour for nothing, going up and down the aisle.  I spent two hundred dollars on food, then wondered the entire way home what I would do with it all.  I just didn’t eat this much.  Some of it was canned, which would keep, but a lot of it was produce and meat.

I was still berating myself as I pulled up to my house.  My heart started pounding when I saw a familiar black Challenger parked at the curb.

I was smiling as I got out of my car and met him in the driveway.  “Hey, what’s up?”

He didn’t answer at first, instead helped me unload my groceries.

I thought his silence was strange.  “Did you get my message earlier?  About tomorrow?”

He looked distinctly uncomfortable.  “Yeah.  I’ve got plans.”

I blinked.  This was different.  I wasn’t accustomed to hearing no, not from him.  I shrugged.  “Okay.  That’s fine.  No worries.”

“I’d cancel, but it’s a sponsored charity run.  Nothing big, just a 5k, but all the press attached is going to take forever.  And there’s an after party.  We do stuff like this all the time.”  I really tried not to dwell on who the we was in that sentence.  “It’s usually an all-day thing.  I could come by after.”