Wreck Me (Nova #4)(76)
Author: Jessica Sorensen

And I don’t care.

At all.

Because I feel safe.

So safe.

And wanted.

And holy hell, my body craves more.

Our tongues fervently tangle as he presses against me, devouring my mouth with his. There’s hardly any room between our bodies, yet he grips at my thigh with his hand, bringing me closer, as if he can’t stand the breath of space between us. His fingers start to slide up my dress again, and I arch my back, leaning into his touch, not running from it, even though part of me wants to flee.

“Fuck,” he groans, biting my lip as he pulls away panting, but his hand stays put, climbing higher until his fingers graze my stomach. I tense, my breath staggering as I begin to panic.

Not there.

On my scars.

That bare my darkest secrets.

Sensing my panic, he moves his hand away, his fingers moving downward, past my hipbone to the edge of my panties.

Yes.

Oh, God, yes.

He can touch me there.

I can’t believe how much my body wants this. I’m already panting, and he hasn’t even technically done anything to me yet. He seems hesitant to go further, though, so I try to reassure him how much I want it—want him. Right now. In this moment.

“It’s okay,” I pant, my chest heaving ravenously, hot need pulsating through my veins. “Tristan, go…” I moan as he slips a finger deep inside me, and my knees give out.

He quickly slips his arm around my back to stop me from falling while he continues to feel me thoroughly with his other hand, driving my body into a frenzy. It’s been so long, my body is famished, starving for more—for things I’m not sure my mind is ready for. I should stop him, but I can’t. Don’t want to. Instead, I relax back, my head banging against the door.

I let him hold me up as I climb higher and higher, about to crash over the edge and break apart. His lips come down hard on mine, scorching hot and needy, consuming to the point that I can’t breathe.

But let him steal my breath.

Take what’s left.

Break me apart.

Steal my heart.

Because I don’t care.

About anything else.

Other than how amazing I feel.

Right now.

How amazing he’s making me feel.

In this moment.

How amazing it is that I’m here.

With him.

I continue to fall blindly and willingly into his touches as he trails passionate kisses down my jawline. When he slips another finger inside me, my toes curl, and then I gasp as his mouth reaches the base of my throat, right over the scar that’s barely noticeable to most. However, Tristan must have noticed it before because his lips pay extra attention to the old wound, as if he’s kissing the memory away.

Unable to keep my knees from buckling, I slide my hands up his shirt and clutch onto his sides. His muscles constrict beneath my fingers, and the hardness only makes me come undone more. Right as I almost reach the top of the fall, he pulls his fingers out of me.

My eyes open and I gasp a protest. “What are you—?”

Without a word, he picks me up and carries me over to the counter. As I catch my breath, he spreads my legs open, and I wait eagerly for him to kiss me again. Instead, he drops to his knees and then…

Oh, my hell. What the hell is happening to me?

My head topples back against the mirror as he pulls my panties aside, and his lips brush the center of my thighs. My knees bend and my hips buck with the first swipe of his tongue. Every single inch of my body throbs. Begs. Screams for more. And he gives it to me, slow and sensual, deep and desperate. Every sweep of his tongue and gentle nip of his mouth causes the inside of me to tighten until I’m so wound up all I can do is let go.

And fall.

Fall.

Fall.

As I leave reality, going to that place I haven’t been to in a long time, I don’t feel like I’m falling into the unknown. I feel like I’m climbing somewhere, to a different place, one where I feel comfortable and safe, where I feel free. It’s amazing how unafraid I am, even after all that’s happened, even with all the scars, both visible and unseen.

By the time I return from the haze, Tristan has stood up and positioned himself between my legs. He watches me in wonder and with a bit of worry as I blink back to reality and sit up.

“Are you okay with this?” he asks, placing his hands on top of my knees and massaging my legs.

I nod, still breathless. “More than okay. Are you okay with this, though?”

He nods. “I just want to make sure that I didn’t push you or anything.” His usual cocky demeanor has cracked apart. A very vulnerable Tristan is standing in front of me now.

Wanting to reassure him that everything is fine, I loop my legs around his waist and tell him the truth. “Best birthday present ever.” When I realize how much I mean what I say, something breaks apart.

I start to cry.

Lose it.

Fall apart.

“Oh, my God, Avery… I didn’t…” He’s horrified by reaction. “I thought you wanted that.”

“I did want it. Trust me. That’s not why I’m crying.” Tears spill from my eyes as I sob, crying because, for the first time in over two years, I don’t feel so lonely. Crying because of how much I enjoy Tristan and how afraid I am to lose the safe feeling he gives me. Crying over bills. Crying over Taylor. Crying because everything seems so wrong, yet right. Crying because the last time someone touched me like this, it nearly led me to my grave. And with each tear, some of the pressure releases, and I feel freer.

“Tell me what I can do,” Tristan pleads as he watches my pain pour out of me.

“Hold me. Please, just hold me.”

Without any hesitancy, his arms wrap around me, and he hugs me against his chest.

And I clutch on to him for dear life.

Chapter 32

I feel like an imposter.

Tristan

The way Avery let me touch her is almost impossible to wrap my head around, and then she cried in front of me in a way that seemed like she truly trusted me. Even almost a week later, it still blows my mind. But I still feel uncertain if our relationship is right—if I’m right for her—when she doesn’t even know half the things I’ve done. I feel like a terrible person, like the old Tristan. I don’t want to be him anymore. I fucking hate him, something I painfully become aware of when I receive a call from my mother early in the morning.

The sun hasn’t even risen yet, so I think about not answering the call, but I need to talk to her to make sure she reported Dylan.

“Hello?” I answer as I roll over in bed and check the clock on the nightstand.