Trial by Thrall (Trial #2) Page 5

  I snort. “Not in my experience.”

  “You learn to focus on the good, so the bad doesn’t destroy you.”

  “That’s insanely deep.” I shake my head, not at all convinced this is true. “Having a mate, does that help you?”

  “In theory. It’s my first day,” he says with a half-smile. “But according to my mother, who was clan leader before me, my father was her only source of solace.”

  “Then why haven’t you mated with someone already? You’re a million years old!” I exclaim.

  He laughs. “My mother was seven hundred and ten when she found her mate.”

  I’m not satisfied with that answer at all. He may not be troubled by the idea of being alone for another billion years, but I am. Or maybe he is, and I’m feeling what he does. Although, I’m pretty certain I’m disturbed, too. I know what it feels like to be alone.

  I start to tell him he doesn’t have to worry, that neither of us will be alone for the week, when I fully register that thought.

  Tristan’s story touches me on a level I don’t like. It’s too personal, too intimate. I saw his expression when I talked about going out on adventures. Coupled with the knowledge of what he goes through on a daily basis, I’m starting to think I can’t handle intimacy in the form of someone else’s vulnerability. Sharing my own sad story is one thing, but truly relating to someone else …

  It makes me want to run. It’s a form of emotional commitment I can’t afford to make and don’t want to. I might commiserate with him, and want him to know what it’s like not to be alone, but I shouldn’t. It’s wrong and not something I’m remotely prepared to handle.

  Never in my wildest dreams did I ever think these trials would be so real. I’ve gone through my entire life without being part of my world. Now that I’m starting to become part of it, it’s too much.

  Detangling from him, I put some distance between us and thrust out my breasts as I reach back for the fasteners of my bra. “Strip tease time?” I ask with a smile.

  “Absolutely.” His eyes are on my chest.

  My hand drops. “Okay, you first.”

  He snorts. I can see he’s about to refuse.

  “I dare you!” I cry before he can.

  “Oh, it’s on!” he exclaims. “But you may be disappointed. I don’t have your dance skills.”

  “Less talk, more stripping!”

  “Remember this when I’m teasing you in bed,” he warns.

  A flare of heat races through me. “Coward.”

  Tristan’s laugh is deep and rolling.

  He starts with his shoes and socks and gives an overdramatic attempt at making the toe reveal sexy. His seductive strip tease is more of a comedy act, and within seconds, I’m laughing so hard, I can hardly breathe.

  By the time he’s naked, some ten minutes later, I’m crying from laughter. Not even my appreciation for his long, thick, rigid dick can save me. He’s smiling, too, genuinely engaged and happy for the first time since I met him. When I catch my breath and straighten, he’s still smiling.

  “Show me how it’s done,” he teases.

  I nod and take a minute to right my breathing. With the gentle rock of magic within me, I quickly find my inner rhythm and close my eyes, starting to dance once more. Buoyed by emotion, I do my damnedest to seduce him, from tracing my palms across every inch of exposed skin, to bending over and showing him my perky ass, to trailing my fingertips across his body as I circle him.

  The tidal wave is there, building and growing, stretched between us and collecting the lust of two people instead of one. I revel in my own arousal, aware of how fast my pulse races and the dampness of my pussy.

  I eventually toss my underwear and bra and continue to dance, wondering how long it’ll take him before he snaps.

  The answer: not long.

  Tristan’s arms circle me from behind, and he presses his erection to my ass, his lips at my neck. I relax against him, loving the sensation of his hot skin against mine and the strength of his wiry form. One of his hands skims down my body to the part of me that aches the most for him, and he slides a finger into my pussy then up to my clit, circling it lazily.

  I sigh.

  “So wet,” he murmurs in approval. “You’re so sensual, Leslie. I’m going to enjoy listening to you beg.”

  My breath catches. I’m learning more about Tristan as the night progresses, namely, that he was right earlier when he said I know nothing about him. The thrill of the unknown adds to the building anticipation of trying to decipher what exactly he means.

  Tristan picks me up off my feet and walks with quick strides across the apartment to the master bedroom. Resting me on the bed, he stretches out on his side beside me.

  “Where do I start?” he murmurs, tracing a hand down my body. He holds my gaze as he touches me. He skims the mound of my pussy, and I gasp. “There.” His smile is mischievous.

  “Sure you don’t want a kiss first?” I ask breathlessly.

  “You have no idea what you’re in for.” He laughs softly.

  “I hope you’re as good as your talk!” I retort.

  “Better. Guaranteed.”

  His confidence is exhilarating.

  Shifting above me, Tristan presses my knees apart with his and then shifts until he’s on his belly, his mouth hovering above my clit, his fingertips trailing hot paths of magic along my inner thighs.

  He nuzzles my pussy, and I jerk at the wave of sensation that shoots through me. “I forgot to tell you. I can channel our combined energy, too. Makes for one hell of an orgasm, or … I can halt an orgasm a second before it begins and tease you for hours.”

  “Piece of cake,” I reply.

  “We’ll see about that.” He’s laughing at me.

  One of his fingers slides down my clit and into my pussy, and tiny bursts of concentrated sensation make me wriggle. When I was a werewolf, my whole body was sensitive. But Tristan has the ability to intensify the feeling of whatever part of me he touches. Instead of feeling everything everywhere, I experience incredible bursts of sensation instead.

  His tongue grazes my clit once, before he blows on it gently. He tickles my g-spot simultaneously.

  It takes every part of my self control not to cry out at the tiny, soft touches, the heat of his velvety tongue, the fact he’s using his magic to make the exquisite torture even more intense.

  His other hand goes to my lower belly, and magic stills the part of me that’s grown taut in anticipation of climaxing.

  The second Tristan’s hot mouth sucks on my clit, I arch beneath the combination of feeling and magic that’s whipping through me faster and faster. It’s then I understand what he means about stopping an orgasm. He can put me into orgasm stage with a touch and then trapped me in that moment before climaxing, when my body is rigid before it snaps, when the pleasure is unbearable, and I can hardly breathe.

  Magic is raging inside me, and this time, I can almost feel him inside me, a flare of desire, a tidal wave of restrained emotion that’s not mine. As a werewolf, I often felt possessed, but it was by my own inner wolf.

  This is Tristan, or some part of him, mingling with the part of me that makes me who I am, an invasion beyond that of emotion or form. I’ve never cared to debate whether or not I have a soul, but I suddenly wish I’d asked more questions instead of letting him dare me to accept this new level of supernaturally driven intimacy.

  Another stroke of his tongue, and the muscles of my body coil so tightly, I can’t move.

  “Tristan!” I gave a strangled whisper.

  He lifts his head and chuckles. “I’m just warming up. Wait a couple hours before begging me, if you can.”

  I can’t. Within the space of half an hour, I’m out of my mind pleading.

  He spends twice that on my pussy, nuzzling, licking, nipping, and exploring every last centimeter of my clit, pussy and the swollen lips between them, all the while holding me in the excruciating awareness and desperation of that moment before coming. With
Ben, it was always a frenzy of need and wild fucking.

  With Tristan, it’s about control. And patience. And savoring.

  He’s won long before he sticks his dick in me, and he knows it.

  When he’s finished tormenting my pussy, and I’m quivering from head to toe, he trails lazy, slow kisses up my body, suckles my breasts, and then finally, settles his hips between my legs with his dick where it belongs: at the opening of my pussy.

  He moves with deliberation and even manages to pierce me with the same patience I’ve never in my life shared for anything. Inch by inch, his cock slides into me, while I wriggle restlessly beneath him. Clinging to him, struggling to speed him up, I rake my nails down his back and kiss and nip his face and neck.

  By the time he’s in all the way, I’m panting.

  He stops completely.

  I groan in complaint and start to come out of the place he’s held me, growing cognizant enough that I register the look on his features.

  He’s gazing down at me intently, the fingers of one hand wrapped in my curls, his cock buried deep inside me.

  “What’s … wrong?” I manage to ask, my breathing and heartbeat too quick for me to regulate quite yet.

  “Do you feel it?”

  I start to shake my head when the strange sliding starts. I grew accustomed, even if I was never comfortable with it, of sliding out of myself as a werewolf. Maybe I thought that would be the worst it got on the trials, or maybe I’ve forgotten how intense that experience is.

  I’m sliding again, but it’s not to make room for a wolf. Something inside me is cracking open, and the rocking of magic is creeping deeper into me, no longer content to sway. This feels like an internal hurricane smashing against the part of me I didn’t know existed before Tristan.

  I can’t imagine anything scarier than knowing someone else has a hold of my soul.

  “Tristan,” I whisper, nails digging into his shoulders.

  “I feel it, too.” The six hundred year old fae doesn’t seem to know exactly what to do either. He forces a smile and plants kisses around my face, avoiding my mouth, and whispering. “I didn’t know it would be this strong. Or that I’d have to share, too.”

  “Oh you wanted my soul and didn’t intend to share yours?” I retort and bury my face in the nape of his neck. His scent and heat calms me. Oddly enough, so does the idea this is new to him.

  “I don’t want to be torn apart in a week.”

  Like I did to Ben’s world. Aware of the pain I caused Ben, I gaze up at Tristan. “Is that what happens?” I ask.

  “I don’t know.” His worry passes quickly, and he smiles. “I feel your fear.”

  “Do you feel how much that freaks me out?”

  “You’re safe, Leslie,” he murmurs. “If you stop resisting, I will.”

  I hesitate. According to the rules Ben hinted at, and the Book of Secrets confirmed, Tristan’s job is to deceive me.

  And I’m supposed to share my soul with him?

  How fucked up is this?

  The emotion that tortured me a couple days ago is watered down, an effect of Tristan tugging me away from my despair.

  Tristan brushes my cheek with a thumb, his green gaze taking in my features with interest. I hated intimacy before, but there are moments when I like not feeling alone, when the world doesn’t seem quite so scary or huge or confusing.

  I’m not the only one who’s confused, I realize. I can sense his hesitation and know it’s because he, too, knows we shouldn’t be meant to trust one another.

  There’s a part of me whispering words I don’t feel ready to hear. I want to spare Tristan the path he’s walked alone as the leader of the fae until now. Even if I end up being in his life only for a week, I want him to know what it feels like not to be alone with a duty that doesn’t seem right.

  Is this what it means to be empathic? To care for someone else’s feelings to this extent? This is completely new to me.

  “Okay,” I say and rest my hands on his cheeks.

  “Count of three?”

  I nod.

  He counts backwards. When we both release our guards, the internal shift turns into an avalanche.

  I’m sliding into him, joined on a level I didn’t know existed. Our bodies are one, and I start to realize our souls are, too. I always thought it was the cheesiest thing ever for two people to believe they could become one.

  But with fae … it’s exactly what happens. I start to panic. I’m falling yet lying still, lost without going anywhere.

  Tristan begins thrusting slowly, and my attention snaps from the landslide inside me to him. Within no time, I’m floating away once more, clinging to him, ready to beg, experiencing every inch of his cock with exquisite pleasure that just won’t quite explode into the climax I need.

  My fear vanishes beneath Tristan’s kisses, the steady rhythm of his dick penetrating me, and the hands that leave trails of ecstatic pleasure wherever he touches me.

  He doesn’t let either of us come for hours and instead, flips me onto my belly, my side, spends another round with my pussy and his mouth, tugs me into riding him … all with agonizing patience.

  We come sometime near dawn. Once. Together. The power of being one of body and spirit, of sharing such intense emotion, is the single most explosive, fulfilling experience of my life to date. A million bungee jumps can’t compare to the adrenaline rush and a billion nights with my vibrator can’t compete with the pleasure of a single orgasm with Tristan.

  I’m shaking for an hour afterwards, folded in his arms as I struggle to regain myself as well as make sense of the spiritual mating bond. In the matter of a few hours, he’s become an extension of me, and there’s nothing in my past that prepares me for intimacy on this level.

  It fucks with my head. Even while coming down from a night of Tristan, I feel like running as far and fast as I can from him or taking scissors to the bond stretched between us.

  He knows this and says nothing, simply holds me.

  Chapter Five

  I wake up when Tristan’s phone goes off. He stretches back to grab it off the nightstand, and I shift closer. The thrum of magic is strong between us, increased by our skin to skin contact.

  “Stay here, Leslie,” he says and kisses my forehead.

  Gently removing himself from the clutch of my limbs, he leaves the bed.

  My eyes crack open. It’s morning, and his naked body is framed against the wall of windows. Long, thick thighs, tight ass, washboard abs … he’s fucking hot.

  Definitely Matthew McConaughey’s body, I think. I’m exhausted and sore in all the right places with inner thighs that tremble when I try to move. Without his body heat, I get cold quickly and am roused from the slumber I want so much to slide into.

  He’s listening to whomever is on the other line.

  “What about the other delivery?” he asks in a hushed tone.

  I perk up. I’ll let him fuck me senseless, but I’m still going to dig up any dirt I can find. I don’t think he’d be taking a call this early about a legal shipment of anything.

  I can’t read his emotions clearly yet, but something passes across the weird bond we have. I’ll call it … uneasiness maybe. Whatever it is, it’s not positive.

  “I’ll be right there.” Lowering the phone, he returns to the bed. My eyes linger on his nice, long cock, and I smile. “Morning sunshine.” His dimpled smile is distracted. “I’ve gotta go into the office. I may not be back for breakfast.”

  “Sounds like what I say after a one night stand,” I tease.

  “Oh, so you normally turn over half your soul to whomever you’re fucking for the night?” He grins.

  I roll my eyes. He knows I’m not entirely cool with whatever happened. “Go to work. I can take care of myself.”

  “I know. Call me when you’re in.” He kisses me on the forehead.

  I nod. With absolutely none of the lethargy I feel, Tristan takes a quick shower and dresses in khakis and a button-down shirt.
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  Maybe this is my break. Maybe he assumes I’ll stay here while he goes to handle whatever illegal drug shipment has gone wrong.

  I wait until he leaves before forcing myself out of bed. My abs are aching, along with my hips. I start towards the bathroom for a shower then stop and sniff my skin. Since being transformed into a werewolf, I’ve developed a fascination with the scent of sex, of my partner, all over me and breathe him in. I don’t want to lose either smell to a shower.

  Locating my clothing and badge, I dress hurriedly and place my hair in a quick ponytail before darting out of the apartment.

  I exit in time to see him getting into the elevator and race down the hall.

  “Sub-basement one,” repeats the elevator.

  When the down light is out above the elevator, I tap the button and wait. I didn’t know the sub-basements ran beneath the entire block. I’m wondering if I’m making a mistake following him, if he’s talking about a different kind of delivery than the one I’m thinking of. I can’t imagine the leader of a clan with several tens of thousands of people being interested in the delivery of a baby.

  Unless it’s his.

  Now that’s an interesting theory, one that leaves me a little anxious after our night together.

  The elevator takes me to the sub-basement and I linger inside the door before exiting, not wanting him to see me. I hear nothing in the hallway and peek out.

  Tristan is striding quickly away from the elevators, following oversized, cartoon hoof prints down a hallway leading deeper into the sub-basement.

  The sign across from the elevators has been removed. I silently follow Tristan through the halls, pausing to peek into a few different rooms. This part of the pediatrics ward appears to have been converted into storage. Boxes are stacked in some rooms, beds in others, and tons of extra medical equipment in larger bays. The nurses’ stations are vacant, and the indoor play area is covered in plastic.

  I don’t care at all why they moved or downsized or whatever happened and focus instead on trailing Tristan without making a sound. He leads me back into the part of the ward I recognize from the lion paw prints. I’m in the hallway with the nursery.