Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 60604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 303(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 303(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
He had no idea how long it lasted. Everything was a blur of pain and pleasure and his moans and Zach’s heavy breathing and teeth. His eyes were wet but he couldn’t bring himself to care. There was another swat, and another, until his skin was burning and Tristan was squirming, wanting, needing—
“Zach—” he breathed out, mouth dry like sandpaper.
Zach’s firm lips moved up his neck, stubble scratching Tristan’s skin, before his teeth sank into Tristan’s earlobe and a smack landed right between his cheeks. Tristan cried out, coming hard, and then he was drowning, and he wanted nothing more than to melt into Zach, plummeting into the warm, quiet haze. He let out a small, desperate sound, needing— He sighed when Zach stretched out next to him, pulling him to his shoulder. A warm hand settled on his nape, somehow steadying him, and Tristan floated away, feeling safe, and calm, and warm. So warm.
Before he knew it, he was asleep.
Chapter 10
Tristan stared at his reflection in the mirror. At the handprints on his ass. At his neck that made him look like he was a victim of a vampire. He had told Lydia to reschedule the interview he was supposed to give that afternoon. He could hardly give interviews when he looked like this.
Biting his lip, Tristan touched the giant hickey on the side of his neck and shivered. Despite the evidence, it all seemed pretty surreal. When he had woken up in the gym yesterday, there was no trace of Zach in the house. Tristan would have thought it was just a very vivid, freaky dream if it hadn’t felt like his buttocks were on fire and he didn’t have dried come on his skin.
He wondered if Zach would even come this morning. He doubted it.
The doorbell rang.
Tristan’s stomach plummeted into an icy hell somewhere below his boots.
He pulled his sweatpants up and hurried downstairs.
When he opened the door, Zach’s eyes zeroed in on his throat. On the marks his teeth had left yesterday. Tristan suppressed the silly urge to cover them.
It felt like a small eternity passed before Zach looked him in the eye.
Tristan moistened his lips with his tongue, unsure what to say. Hell, he wasn’t even sure what had happened. Strictly speaking, what happened yesterday wasn’t sex; they didn’t even kiss. Zach had just given him a spanking and a few nasty hickeys. So yeah, strictly speaking, it wasn’t sex. But in some ways, it was worse. His memory was a bit hazy, but he was pretty sure he hadn’t imagined Zach holding him afterward. Or had it been a dream? Looking at Zach now, it was hard to believe any of that had happened.
Tristan moved aside.
Zach entered the house, the very inflexibility of his movements speaking volumes. He was wound up tighter than a bowstring ready to snap.
Tristan shut the door and leaned against it, feeling a strong sense of deja-vu.
Unexpectedly, Zach leaned against the door, too. Tristan had thought that Zach would try to put as much distance between them as possible. And yet they stood close. Their shoulders were brushing.
Tristan hooked a thumb in the waistband of his sweatpants and caught his lip between his teeth. Despite the several layers of fabric, his skin was tingling where their shoulders were touching. Jesus. This thing was ridiculous.
At last, Zach heaved a sigh, breaking the silence. “I hate to repeat the obvious, but…”
“It was a mistake,” Tristan said, looking at the opposite wall.
“Yes.”
Another long, tense silence.
“Look,” Zach said. “I don’t want to be that guy. I’m not that guy.”
“That guy?” Tristan smiled. “You mean the guy who’s getting married in a few months, who says he’s straight, and who says he doesn’t like bullshit?”
“All of those things are true.”
Tristan hummed. “You have a funny way of showing it. Why are you here?”
“What?”
Tristan turned his head to him and was a little taken aback by how close their faces were. “What are you doing here, Zach?” he asked in a low, soft voice. “If you’re so disgusted by what happened, you should have gone straight to Jared and told him you were quitting. No one can force you to stay, contract or not.” Tristan cocked his head. “So, what are you doing here?”
He studied Zach’s profile as Zach stared in front of him. He could see the barely noticeable pulsing of the muscles in Zach’s jaw.
Tristan placed a hand on Zach’s biceps. The muscles went rigid as he slowly dragged his hand down Zach’s arm to his wrist. He could feel the incredible tension in Zach’s body, and it was mirrored in his own. Tristan cringed when he realized his fingers were shaking. Shaking. For fuck’s sake.
“Don’t touch me,” Zach said, his voice strained.
“You know what I think?” Tristan murmured, his fingers wrapping around Zach’s wrist. He clenched them so the tremor wasn’t as noticeable. “I think you hate it. Hate that you want me. You hate it and you think it’s wrong—and gay—and that you can’t possibly want someone you don’t even like. You think you’re better than that, but the thing is, you aren’t. Or you wouldn’t be here with me now.”