10: Lia.
“I want to.” I take his hand and press the palm to my cheek.
“Talk to me.”
Tristan hedges a moment. “You know I haven’t been with.
anyone. Since the divorce.” He rolls a thick shoulder. “A lot of
that was because of work. Because I didn’t meet anyone that
interested me. But, uh…the divorce had a lot to do with it, too.
Eric’s mother and I
weren’t a great match. We didn’t have the
same interests, but we came from money. It was more for
status than anything. When she left, though… it was because
of…” He nods down at his midsection. “The way I look. Big and
bulky. Not lean like the tennis player husbands at the country
club.”
I’ve only met Eric’s mother on a handful of occasions and I’m
pretty sure I was too overcome with jealousy that she’d been
married to Tristan to pay much attention. Right now, I’d like to
stomp on her instep and bust her stupid nose, though. That
much I know. “Well, I’m sorry, but that’s really horrible and
shallow,” I say, my own nose starting to burn out of outrage and
the need to cry for this man who provides for everyone without
complaint. “That’s more of a reflection of her character than
you.” He gives me an appreciative look, but clearly doesn’t
believe me, so I swing for the fences because there’s no way my
sugar daddy is going to feel anything less than amazing when
he’s with me. I can’t believe he doesn’t know how desirable he
you roll up your sleeves and plant both fists on the kitchen
counter, the way you manspread in your swim trunks with those
log–cabin thighs. That gray and black chest hair. Like, oh my
god.” I bite my lip and give a low squeal, tugging him toward me
by the front of his shirt. “I’ve been wanting to ride the Tristan
train since it was highly illegal.”
His chest has started to heave. “Did you now?”
Contritely, I duck my head and look up at him through my
lashes. “Uh–huh.” I rake my breasts side to side against his
chest, his rumble vibrating my stiff nipples. “And I still don’t
really know what it means to ride the Tristan train. You have to
teach me, Big Daddy.”
Tristan yanks open the red door and pulls me inside, closing us
you’ll be well paid or if you really mean it,” he says, backing me
against the door. His mouth on top of mine as he reaches down,
roughly cupping my sex through my panties. Groping me.
Massaging. “Either way, it makes my cock hard, doesn’t it?”
“I mean it. Everything,” I moan, breaking off on a gasp when
Tristan’s middle finger tugs aside the crotch of my underwear
10: Lia
and enters me, pumping in and out of the dampness.
“Going to fuck this little wet gash, baby,” he growls in my ear, biting the lobe and tugging. “Going to rail it like a dog.”
I’m so overcome by heat, by lust for this man, all I can do is nod,
brain scrambled.
“Fifty grand a week. A penthouse. A Rolls. Diamonds.” He
pushes deep with his fingers and looks me in the eye, teeth bared. “Any damn thing you want. You just keep this pussy for Big Daddy, are we clear?”
“Yes,” I whimper, pressing into his hand, arching my back. “Just
for Big Daddy.”
You’re all I want. All I’ll ever want for the rest of my life.
I want to say those things to him so badly, but he’s not ready to
think of me as his equal. His significant other. I need more time
to make him understand we could work. That we’re supposed to
be together and there’s no use fighting it. That the money is
secondary to what I feel for him. What I’ve always felt.
“That’s a good little girl,” he says, licking up the side of my neck.
“Now I’m going to take you back to the hotel so you can squirm
that tight teenage cunt all over my face.”
My knees lose control and I drop, but Tristan catches me,
10: LB.
throwing my limp body over his shoulder without missing a beat
and stomping out of the red room. Before the door can close, I
glimpse the art installation. It’s a pitch black room with, “The
truth will set you free,” written on the wall in strips of LED lights.
Blinking.
And I take it as a sign. That I should confess everything to
Tristan.
That I’ve loved him since middle school.
That my family is broke and his money will put me through
college. If I tell him that, though, he’ll never believe my feelings
are real. He’ll believe my claims that he’s sexy even less. Won’t
he?
No, I can convince him. The truth is always the best policy.
But before I can work up the nerve, Tristan is walking into the
lobby of the hotel and storming the elevator, punching in a
special code to bring us to the top floor. His mouth is on mine,
ravenous, and I can think of nothing, nothing, but the moments
ahead…
Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.