I take her hand. “Let’s just walk around and see if they’re around.”
“And when I find her, can I ask?”
“Of course.”
“Like, you’re okay with her being on our honeymoon?”
“I think it’s a great idea, as long as we have our own room, of course.”
She smiles. “That’s a given.”
After looking around for a couple minutes, we see Hugo walk in from outside, and she looks outside.
“You mind if I go ask Dad if he’s seen Brisa?”
On my way toward Hugo and Dante, who’s not being social at all tonight, I see Samuel and the girls, who look tired, and walk over to suggest they retire for the evening.
“You girls look beautiful but tired. I bet it was all the dancing.”
Martina pouts out her bottom lip. “We wanna stay. But so many people talk to you and Tris.”
“These people are all her family. How about Samuel takes you back to the house and, tomorrow, we’ll carve out some time for just us and Tris.”
“Will her people let her?” Elena asks.
“Of course.”
“We have to return to school the day after the wedding. Since the wedding was a day early, does that mean we have to go back a day early?”
“No, of course not.” I hug and kiss each of them then wish them the sweetest dreams and leave without fuss.
Glaring at Hugo, I wish they knew it was actually all right to make a fuss.
~~~
After kicking Hugo the hell out, I look around for Tris and see Ranger, who apparently is no longer hiding from Brisa. Interesting.
I walk over him and ask, “Have you seen my wife?”
“She’s in the restroom. Been in there for the fifteen minutes it took you to kick your asshole brother out.”
“Thank you.”
When I walk in, she’s nowhere to be found. I look under the stalls and see nothing. The last door, however, is shut.
I knock on the door, and she says nothing.
“Tris.”
She clears her throat. “I just need a minute.”
“I’d like a minute myself. How about we take it together?”
“How can you love me?”
“How can I not?” I ask, looking beneath the door again and see she hasn’t moved.
“I made a mess for you.”
I walk into the stall beside her and climb on the toilet seat to peer over at her. “The mess was made way before you.”
She looks up and scowls. I scowl back, and she suppresses a smile.
“You should have said I don’t, instead of I do.”
“You should unlock the door and come out so we can sneak out of here before anyone notices I just kicked my brothers out.”
She stands up and shakes her head. “You didn’t.”
“I did.”
She steps up onto the toilet and looks me in the eyes. “Brisa doesn’t want to go with us. Well, with me.”
“That’s okay. I’m more than sure we will have more fun watching us fall in love than laughing at two people who just don’t get how amazing it is when you find the one person in the world you’re supposed to be with.”
She points to herself, and I nod.
I point to myself, and she nods then leans forward, gripping the divider wall between my hands.
I kiss her nose. “Let’s go?”
Low
Tris
He draws me a bath in the suite’s jacuzzi, undresses me, helps me in, without trying to cop a feel, brings me my pills, and doesn’t yell at me for not taking them, even though I can tell he knows. He just lets me soak while undressing himself slowly, unhurried, and then gets in the shower.
I know it’s wrong to compare two men, but it’s hard not to when everything about them is different. The fact that they’re …
God, it makes me sick to think about it. So, I decide to try my hardest not to.
Deducting that they are nothing alike.
Matteo is without ego, and he could totally be that guy and pull it off. He talks to me, listens, and knows what I need. He doesn’t talk down to me. When we had sex, it was—I look up from the bubbles to him in the shower—love and not fucking. Whereas, with Marc, it was like a porno, one that ended in blowjobs, except that one time when I finally broke my “not until graduation” rule.
How fucked up is that? Everything else, including the BDSM shit, was on the table, but no sex.
Foreplay might be the name of my band, but straight-up, it’s overrated, and I know that now. The connection is lacking, or maybe it’s just Matteo and my connection is so deep that sex is otherworldly.
Sex.
I want sex, I want sex with him, and I want it now.
I push myself up out of the bathtub as he hangs his head under the shower, one hand on the wall, the other running shampoo through his hair. His ass, his ass is insane, rock-hard and defined. His whole body is.
And his “manhood,” which is such an odd word, but it works when it’s his and attached to all that depth and his heart.
God, his heart …
I step into the shower and wrap my arms around him, and he groans. “Is this okay?”
“Tris”—he turns and looks down at me—“if every evening ends in a shower, with my wife in the shower with me, I’ll be the happiest man on the planet.”
I feel him harden between us and move closer. “And if this is the only thing that ever comes between us, I’d be the happiest wife on the planet.”
“Then you shall be.”
I push up on my tiptoes, intent on kissing him, and see soap moving down his forehead. “Head back.”
“Perdón?”
I reach up and wipe the soap away then let my fingers run through his hair, and he sighs while he tips his head back and I rub his scalp.
“First time you do this, heaven. This time, whatever beyond heaven.”
I bite my lip as he groans. He’s tired; his English is slipping a bit. It’s sexy.
Looking up at him, I watch his Adam’s apple bob and, without thought, I lick up his neck.
“Tris.” He grips my hips and pulls me closer.
“You are the most beautiful man I have ever seen.”
He looks down at me, eyes narrowed, water streaming down his face. “I was made to complement you.”
Leaning in, I kiss his chest, and he takes in a deep breath, making it expand. “I love you.”
“Cada día te amo más—every day I love you more.”
I kiss above his heart. “Mine.”
“Es tuya—it’s yours.”
He bows his head and cups my breast, rubbing his thumb across my nipple. “Muy sexy.”
I press into his hand. “Es tuya.”
He turns me, wraps his hand that is not cupping my tit around my hair and pulls back. “Let me clean you then make love to you.”
As he shampoos my hair, I rub his body down with body soap. When I have him in my hand, stroking him, his chest rises and falls, and he groans out, “Cada noche, mi corazón.”
I squeeze him in my hand. “And every morning.”
He starts rinsing my hair. “Bed. Ahora.”
“Conditioner, or my hair will be fucked.”