Tristan & Danika Book 3 - Page 52

I grabbed it, holding it up.  “Care to explain this?”

He smirked.  “Sure.  Don’t get mad, but I stole that from you back at James and Bianca’s wedding.”

I just blinked at him.  “You went into my room at the ranch and took something?  And what on earth could you possibly use my perfume for?”

“You probably don’t want to know.”

I blushed, head to toe, and I couldn’t look at him for a solid five minutes.  It didn’t help that he was na**d and I was close to it.

He took me into his closet to try to find me a T-s.h.i.+rt.  I froze in the doorway, staring inside.

With just a towel clutched to my chest, I stared at his closet for the longest time.  It was huge, and much stranger, it was full. Long lines of suits, a wall of ties, racks upon racks of dress s.h.i.+rts.  There was only one small s.p.a.ce allotted for T-s.h.i.+rts, and the wall of shelves that held his folded jeans wasn’t much bigger than the section allotted for ties.

“Holy s.h.i.+t.  What happened here?  This is not you.”

He looked sheepish as he ran a restless hand through his hair.  “I have a dresser.”

“Huh?”  I made a face.  “Explain that to us poor people.  A dresser?”

“For the show, there’s a lady that does my shopping, puts clothes together for the act.  A stylist, I guess.  She put this closet together, as well, for all of the events a.s.sociated with the casino.  An extensive wardrobe is part of the job, I guess.  So you got that part right, this is not me.”

He snagged a T-s.h.i.+rt down from where several were folded, and I dropped my towel, going for it.

He held it out of reach with a smile.  “I just rethought the whole giving you clothes idea.”  He tossed the s.h.i.+rt over his shoulder and reached for me.  He kissed my forehead softly while he cupped the back of my head, gripping my hair; he turned my body so he was behind me, then prodded me forward.

“Grab my wrist,” he told me, and I reached my arms up and behind, gripping the hand that held my hair.  This exaggerated the arch in my back, and he stroked his other palm up my torso, gripping a breast as he led me into the bedroom.

He walked me up to a strange, dual arched leather bench.  It was about six feet long, with one arch that reached three feet high before it sloped down low then rose into another arch that was maybe a foot shorter than the other one.  It was a narrow bench, as well, and I didn’t imagine for a second that this wasn’t for a reason.

I gave it a squinty-eyed look.  “Okay, I give up.  What is that thing?”

He walked me directly to the rounded edge of the higher side.  He pushed me forward until I lay with my a.s.s was pointed straight up, and my feet dangled off the ground.

His hand still held my hair, and I still had a tight grip on his wrists.

“It’s called a Tantra Chair.  In case that doesn’t describe it well enough, let me put it this way: We are going to clock in some hours on this chair.  Days.”

I wriggled, the position alone a turn on, with my h*ps flush to the soft surface of the chair.  Of course, having Tristan na**d behind me was more than a little responsible for getting me wet and ready for another round.

I couldn’t share with him that I’d forgotten what it was even like to have a s.e.x marathon.  I’d only been with Andrew in the years between, but I doubted many men could put in so many rounds, like Tristan.  The man was superhuman.  I’d always known it, but having this, and losing it, made it even sweeter the second time around.

He kept my hair gripped tight as he played against my entrance with his tip.

“Sweetheart, here’s how it’s going to go.  You aren’t going to come until I tell you to.  No matter how unbearable, you will hold back until I give the word.  Also, don’t move your hands until I say to.”

I bit my lip, shutting my eyes tight as he sank in deep.  He started moving right away, but so slowly, so leisurely that it was torturous right off the bat.

I was already primed.  What I needed was another hard f**k.  I told him so.

He chuckled, kissing my back, his lips playing over my tattoo.  “Let’s be clear; you are far from in charge here.”

As though to ill.u.s.trate his point, he gave me a few rough, jarring rams before he went right back to that infuriating pace.

He palmed my left breast and kissed my back as he maintained that smooth as h.e.l.l and torturously unhurried rhythm.

This went on for so long that I was mewling, then cursing him loud and vehemently.

His reaction to that was to laugh against my back.  “I already got you off twice.  I must be spoiling you, if you’re this greedy for a third round.”

“I know you’re good for more than three, you s.a.d.i.s.tic b.a.s.t.a.r.d,” I told him.

I got a few rough jolts for that one, and as soon as I realized that taunting him would get me what I wanted, I began to insult him in earnest.

It backfired.  Badly.  He pulled out of me completely, letting go of my hair.  I tried to take back every insult, but it was too late.

“Relax your hands,” he told me, and when I did, he lined them up straight at my sides, twisting my arms just enough to face my palms up, then pulling my arms high and far enough behind my back to hold them taut.

I felt him kneel behind me, still holding my hands captive, and start to eat me out from behind with the most teasing little strokes of his tongue.

My feet arched up, and I hooked them until they were crossed behind his head, resting on his nape.  He began to plunge his tongue deep, using my captive hands to move my pu**y on and off his busy tongue.

I was close, and I told him so.  He pulled back, and I felt him stand.  He tugged at my arms, pulling me back onto his c.o.c.k, and started up the slow pace from before.

I bounced my h*ps and started to beg.

He took pity on me, working into the pace I wanted, needed.  “All right, sweetheart, you can let go.”

I came hard, convulsing, shaking, clenching on his c**k as I felt him grinding hard as he followed me.

I was so limp after that round that he had to carry me to bed.

I pa.s.sed out, sated and content in a way that had been lost to me for as long as Tristan had.  Even with the touches of drama, it was the best day I’d had in as long as I could remember.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

I met him offsite, at a restaurant near Tropicana and Pecos, right next to a huge gun store with the biggest shooting range in town.