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into my
nipple, I cry out—because it hurts, but I'm so aroused it also
feels good. Tristan pauses, and I can feel him watching me,
waiting, reassessing the situation. He releases my breast with a
pop and blows cool air over the damp skin. Then, slowly, he moves
to my other breast and repeats the same tortuous process. His lips
are cold again—the rattle must be a cup of ice—and his mouth is
still hot. Hot water? Tea? Soup?
    I gasp as he bites me, hard.
    He moves away. “Too hard?” He isn't using
the voice he was a moment ago. He sounds courteous, gentle. But
there's an edge of anticipation to it.
    “ No.” The word leaves my
throat with resistance. I don't want to talk. Talking feels almost
perverse, like we're violating a secret, sacrosanct
ritual.
    “ Hmm. What if I did it
harder?” He demonstrates, and my body jerks as the pain spears into
my breast like a ripple through a pond. “Would you tell me to
stop?”
    Gasping, I shake my
head. No, don't stop!
    “ That's not an answer,” he
taunts, pinching my nipple lightly in his fingers. “Would you tell
me to stop?” He punctuates each word with a squeeze.
    “ No.”
    “ No. And that's because
you like it rough.” His voice is soft again, alluring, and I want
him. He kisses the side of my neck and I arch my throat, leaning
into him. I don't care if there's pain. I'll take it, because I
want him. He laughs huskily, and squeezes my jaw. “We could fuck
like this.”
    He lets his hips settle against mine again,
and he is so hard. I suck in a breath when his denim-clad erection
rocks against my clit. “Oh.”
    He rolls my nipple between
his fingers as he rocks against me, stimulating me, bringing me
closer to…something. Maybe orgasm. But it's not enough. I'm not
even close. Just close enough to see it. To want .
    “ Tristan,” I say
shakily.
    “ We could fuck like this,”
he repeats, and when he speaks his voice is almost a growl, “and I
might even let you come.”
    I bite down on my lip to keep from saying
something stupid that might kill the mood. Just listening to him
talk is enough. I can't believe that the man above me is my
Tristan. And then it occurs to me that if he's been hiding this
side from me all along, maybe he never was mine.
    Cold lips press against my breast, a
soothing, apologetic kiss. Then he moves down my waist, scooching
down my legs for better access. Something hot runs up my side, and
I'm braced for it when I feel the heat of his skin on my other
side—but this time, he uses ice. My mind flutters from sensation to
sensation as his nose brushes down the downy trail of hair that
goes from my navel to my pubic hair. He can't see that, of course,
but at the same time, I wonder if maybe I should have shaved my
happy trail. Usually I do, but last time I forgot.
    He doesn't seem put off. He laves his tongue
over my skin, biting and nipping and sucking. When he comes to the
line of dark hairs, he takes a few in his teeth and pulls. I cry
out again, and my hands are so slippery with sweat that I almost
lose my grip on his bed.
    Tristan stops at the waistband of my jeans.
“I bet you're soaking.” His chin is resting on my pubic mound, and
I dig my nails into my palms when he inhales deeply against my skin
and stays like that, breathing softly against the sensitive patch
of skin that is just below my bellybutton. “I can almost taste you.
How sweet you'd be.”
    My hips buck involuntarily as he cradles
them in his hands. I cannot breathe. I'm terrified of what will
happen next. I've never been more aroused in my life.
    “ But,” and he pulls his
face back from my jeans, leaving a rush of cool air to fill in the
vacuum, “that's for another time. Only the first taste is
free.”
    I feel dazed.
    He's…he's not going to continue? But I
want…
    What do I want?
    One of his hands finds mine, and he squeezes
it lightly, taking it from the headboard and placing it over my
breast.
    I want this.
    I want more .
    I want him.
    “ Your heart