Also, I remember the look he’s given me after. It’s pretty much like the one he’s giving my plate now, like the yolk bleeding across porcelain is the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen.
I freeze mid-chew. “I mean, there have been others…right?”
He swallows again. “What others?”
My fork drops with a loud clink on the tray. “Are you telling me that all this,” I drag my gaze deliberately over him, every broad line of his chest, the delectable abs, the tattoos, the mouth that ruined me against the hotel door last night, the cock that had me screaming like a slut all night, “has never been… ?”
His jaw flexes. Once. Twice. He doesn’t deny it.
I jolt forward, part shock, part thrill, pushing the tray aside. “Tristan Morra,” I purr, “yesterday, was I your first?”
Finally, his eyes snap to mine. Hard. Unflinching. “Yes.”
My tongue darts over my lip like I’ve just discovered a diamond mine, and my pussy… Holy shit. I’m practically creaming. “Oh my God, why haven’t you told me?”
“Because of how you’re acting right now.”
“How am I acting, Tristan?” I slide out of my robe and throw myself in his lap. “Like a dirty whore who can’t wait to jump your bones?” My fingers get him out his pants rapidly. “You don’t want that?”
“Of course I do. I want nothing more.”
I hold his cock—God, he’s heavy and hard as fuck and mine, all mine—and adjust myself to let him in. “Good.”
He plunges inside of me, not gentle but raw and savage. His head tips back, a guttural sound ripping out of him. My cry strangles in my throat—it’s stretch and fire and home all at once. I push lower, slick and aching, and sink down on him as deep as I can take. “Tell me.” I pant between thrusts.
He holds me down on him, hand fisting my hair and the other marking around my hip and ass, and pushes into me hard and fast. He’s so strong, doing all the work, bouncing me like I weigh nothing. “Tell you what?”
“Tell me how you did it.” I scream into his shoulder, those rings he has hitting all the right spots. “Girls drool over uniforms.”
“I couldn’t. Believe me I tried, but they were…” He stops for a second. I open my mouth to protest, to beg, but his hand in my hair slides to the back of my neck and pulls me toward him until our sweaty foreheads touch. His eyes bore into mine. “They were not you. They were never gonna be you, Reagan.”
Something in me splits wide open. It’s not the words alone, it’s the way he says them, like it’s been engraved into his bones for years.
And when he moves again, I feel them everywhere, in my chest, in the tremor of my thighs, in the ache of my pussy clenching around him. God, he’s not just inside me. He’s inside every locked place I’ve spent my whole life barricading.
It terrifies me, not because there’s pure darkness oozing out of every confession he makes, not because it crosses every boundary and blurs the lines of taboo and impropriety, but because I like it. I like the weight of him, the possession, the brutal honesty of his body taking mine like it’s always meant to.
My nails dig into his shoulders, probably drawing blood. He must feel it, the sweet pressure building inside me, because he snarls and slams up into me like a rabid beast. My body ricochets with each thrust, pain and pleasure blurring until I can’t breathe. His hand wraps around my throat and tightens, holding me there, keeping me with him.
“Tristan,” I gasp, “don’t stop—please don’t stop.”
Possessed, he drives into me. Nothing matters beyond this moment, this joining, this claiming. The sound of his breath, the sweat dripping down his temple, the sheer force of him.
My orgasm claws up and rips through me so hard I sob. I clutch him tighter, nails raking his back as I convulse around him, screaming his name—
The door crashes open.
“Ma’am, are you o—” Brandon’s voice freezes mid-syllable, horror-struck.
“FUCK!” I bury my face, as much of me as I could, into Tristan’s chest, but orgasms don’t care. I’m still clenching around Tristan’s cock, my cum dripping, while Brandon stands there.
Unstopping, Tristan roars, “Get the fuck out!”
“Jesus.” The boy rushes away. “I’m sorry.I’m sorry!”
My jaw hangs low. I don’t know if I should cry or laugh.
Tristan, on the other hand, somehow has gotten angrier. He carries me without pulling out of me, lays me on my back and finishes what he’s started. “Mine,” he groans, his seed spurting inside me, “only mine.”