She giggled, partly because she was having so much fun, but partly because the alcohol was starting to affect her beyond her own control. She took hold of Devon’s hand and turned herself around again. Wiggling her bottom against Devon’s thighs, she glanced over at Tristan.
He had the blond he’d been talking to earlier, but he was barely paying her any attention. His eyes were focused on Samantha, eating her up with every move. She grinned again, then turned around and hooked her leg up to the top of Devon’s hip. He caught it with his hand, lifting her up to drag her foot along the floor. She had no idea how she’d gotten so lucky, but her two dance partners could have easily been finalists on Dancing with the Stars.
Soon the music changed again, she was spun out into the crowd, and her hand was yanked back behind her. She was pulled into a dark alcove over by the stairwell.
Tristan’s head was close to her neck, his voice low and textured. “If we don’t leave soon, there’s going to be a fight,” he promised.
She tilted her head back, allowing him better access to her throat. “Oh yeah?” she whispered. “With who?”
He laughed, because although he was partly serious, this was a game and they both knew it. “Whoever touches you next.” He pulled back a little, just enough to look at her eyes. She palmed the side of his face, her legs already shaking. Because it wasn’t a look of playfulness and lust that stared back at her. It was one of passion, of a need so great it ripped her heart right out of her chest—it was one of admiration, and she wanted to be looked at like that for all eternity.
She pulled in a deep breath, not wanting this dance to end. “Take me to your room,” she whispered.
“As you wish.”
Tristan left the party ahead of her, placing a keycard in her palm before walking away. After gathering her bag and belongings from the cocktail table, she nodded to Mark, letting him know they’d won, and began making her way to the elevator. She thought about making up an excuse for Renee, but her best friend was wrapped in her fiancé’s arms, and Samantha knew she wouldn’t be missed. She slipped out of the party without anyone noticing and pressed the button for the tenth floor.
Tristan’s room was at the end of the hall, and she opened the door without even knocking. An ache was already coursing low in her belly, and her pulse quickened as she looked into the pitch-black room.
“Tristan?” she whispered, taking two steps into the dark room before his arms wrapped around her belly.
“Grrrrr…” He growled low in her ear, lifting her off her feet and making her feel lighter than air.
Her body instinctively tensed, but she melted against him, because she didn’t have a choice… When it came to Tristan, she was like water—fluid, movable, completely translucent.
He whipped her around, grabbed hold of her ass and lifted her higher. He forced her legs apart and positioned them on either side of his waist. “You’ve had a little bit to drink,” he said, walking with her over to the bed.
She grinned, taking his face between her hands so she could look at him better. “I’ve had a lot to drink. What are you going to do about it?”
He only stared at her as though there was something he wanted to say, but then he placed her to her feet and turned her to face the wall. “How do we get this off you?”
She giggled, pulling the straps down her shoulders in one motion. She turned to face him, the romper only hanging at her hips, the pasties in the shape of roses the only things covering her breasts.
His eyes raked over them, taking in every inch, every curve, and he dipped down, until he lifted her in his arms and cradled her against his chest. She could feel his heart pounding, see him visibly struggling to breathe. He laid her down on the middle of the mattress, and followed right behind her until he was nestled between her thighs.
“I missed you,” he said, his voice hoarse and barely audible. Only his lips and eyes transferred the message. But it was clear. She was his. No one else’s. And he was going to make sure she never wanted her legs wrapped around another man again.
The next morning she awoke with an ache between her thighs and her head nestled by Tristan’s throat. He was still sleeping, and she gazed up at him, remembering every delicious detail of their lovemaking. The room was cast in the golden glow of morning, and although he had morning stubble on his face, he still looked incredibly vulnerable. Almost like a little boy.
Her heart pinched, and she rolled to the side of the bed. For some reason whenever she looked at him she thought about bigger things, deeper things. Like forevers, like children, and mixed DNA. But last night had been magical. More than arms and limbs and passion. It was about needing one another, trusting and cherishing. She’d never experienced anything like it before in her life.