He doesn’t ask questions. He takes my face between his strong hands and places a soft, perfect kiss to my lips. It’s better than any anxiety reducing method I’ve tried over the years. Apparently, all I’ve needed is a kiss from this incredible man.
“I screwed up with her. I was accusatory then I freaked out. She must think I’m mental.”
“I can assure you that’s not the case. She honestly wished you well.” He trails his hands up and down my arms. “Petal, I need to know if these feelings of him being near you have happened before these recent experiences?”
“They happen sometimes, yes. If I smell something that reminds me of him, or if I hear a certain timbre of voice. My doctors have said that it can be normal for that to happen, but that doesn’t make it less scary.” I pull him in closer. “I’m sorry for freaking out again.”
“Don’t ever apologize to me for that, do you understand? That’s beyond ridiculous and I won’t have you thinking that your past or your mental health is something to be sorry for. Understood?”
I can’t help but smile just a little at him. He really cares for me. Seeing this strong, brooding man say such wonderful things is more than I could have ever prepared for. “Understood. Although, I might be glad if she only thinks I’m crazy. I think she might have been trying to ask if I thought I was pregnant.” I giggle a little.
“Christ, Petal. What?”
“She walked in on me dozing off on your couch, which scared the shit out of me so I nearly passed out. Then I turn fifty shades of white not more than an hour later in front of food. You might need to clear that up with her.”
“I will talk to her. That’s not the impression that I’d like her to have of this relationship.”
“I think you turned even paler than I did earlier just now. We’re careful, Tristan. I’m on birth control and you never go without a condom.” I raise up on my toes and kiss his nose.
“Why is having this conversation so casually with you so… hot?” he asks, sliding his hand around to lay at the small of my back.
“Because you’re a fiend.”
“Only for you.” He buries his face in the crook of my neck and nibbles softly.
I tilt my head sideways to give him more access, “Anna doesn’t think I’d protect you if it came down to it. She said she wants to make sure you’re safe from rumors and incorrect information spreading about us and you. I told her that I’d be the first to pounce if someone crossed you.”
“My sweet lioness leaping to my defense. How odd a feeling.”
“Are we moving too fast ,Tristan?” The question is loose and hanging in the air. His lips stop their progress over my skin as he makes sure he can see my eyes. “Is that a question for me or in your mind because you’re unsure?”
“I’m not unsure, at all, and that’s why I’m asking. It feels like one or both of us should be concerned that this is progressing so rapidly. I went from not knowing you at all to this in a matter of weeks. It’s a whirlwind, isn’t it?”
“It is, but it’s a whirlwind that I’ll gladly be tossed around in if it means I get to end the day with you by my side,” he kisses my neck again, “in my bed,” he kisses my jawline, “in my arms.” He ends with a soft kiss to my lips.
Chapter 21
Tristan
I made the resounding opinion a long time ago that there is no better time to sketch than at sunrise. There is something about the orange hue of the new day, the sleep still heavy in my eyes, and silence that comes with it all.
But my opinion has changed this morning.
There is no better time to sketch than sunrise with Nora Morgan in my bed, covered only with my sheets, and her hair splayed over the pillow like a fan.
I’m perched in my large leather wingback chair that is usually situated along the back wall near the largest window, but I’ve pulled it over to be closer to the bed, and I’ve begun to sketch her with nothing but a charcoal pencil and my blank paper.
I find lines and angles to her face I didn’t know existed. The soft slope of her forehead. The natural blush on the apples of her cheeks. The soft fringe that creates the shape of her eyes. The lashes that extend from the lids that seem to have no end. The tiny beauty mark that appears when her hair is moved behind her shoulder. The subtle furrows that appear when she’s having an unpleasant dream. I told her once that she’s the reason men began chiseling on walls. I still agree.
As I drag my thumb to blend the harshness of some of my markings, it’s like I’m tracing her actual skin and looking into her eyes. It was her laugh that made me notice her, but her eyes sealed my fate. She saw in and through me. No one else ever has.
In any other circumstance, I would have run. I wouldn’t have been able to handle that vulnerability with anyone else, but Nora is simply different. It feels like whichever higher power exists in this universe shaped her, molded her, just for me. Her lips were meant to fit mine. Her body was designed for me to worship. She’s better than the goddesses immortalized in marble and stone.
And my heart, my black heart, that I was so certain would never pump with heated, excited blood again, has been thumping furiously since the moment my body touched hers. I don’t want to waste my eyes on another woman. There is no other woman in the world for me.
I know sometimes she thinks she’s too damaged, too broken for anyone. Oh, love, no one understands that better than I do. What she doesn’t know is, and I hope one day will understand, I want to kill the man who did this to her, but also look him in the eyes first and thank him for being the fuck he is. I wouldn’t have the chance to show her what pure and unadulterated admiration and ardor looks like.
My Petal. My perfect Petal.
She shifts in her sleep, moving her body in such a way that the sheet slips down so her right breast is exposed to me. Naturally, I focus on that area, adding it to my sketch, because fuck if it isn’t just as beautiful as she is. Every single inch of her is perfect.
When my eyes leave my sketch and make their way back to her face, hers are open and locked on me and a small smile spreads on her lips.
“Hello, love,” I say softly.
“Hi,” she says with a smile and through a stretch I can only describe as catlike. “What are you doing over there? You’re supposed to be here.” Even the way she slides her hand across silk is seduction at its finest.
“I like to sketch in the early morning light, and fuck if you’re not the perfect model and muse for it.”
“I think you’re a bit biased,” she says in that sleepy voice that could make me weak in the knees.
“I absolutely am, yes, but I’m also human. I have eyes that work, quite well in fact, and I can tell you that you’re art in motion.” I close my sketchbook and lay it on the floor by the chair. “Still room for me in there?”
She doesn’t speak another word, just simply lifts the sheet for me to slide under. I slide forward on all fours in my best prey stalking movement and pull her beautiful body to rest on top of mine. “You don’t have to be awake. The extra rest would do you good.”
“Well, Professor, I’d get more of that if you’d let me actually sleep when we’re in here.”