He clearly knows what he's doing. Jealousy flares hot inside of me as I throw my arms around his neck and kiss him back hard enough to make him cringe slightly.
“Oh no, did I nick you?” I ask, and Tristan draws back just enough to give me this awful, awful little cocksure smile.
“That's what I'm talking about, Marnye. Show me some teeth.” Tristan removes his hand from under my skirt, and I can't decide if I want to kill him or if I'm grateful for the reprieve. Pretty sure I was just about to … “Let's go.”
He takes me by the wrist, leaving our stuff all laid out across the table. On our way across the massive expanse of the library, we run into Creed, lazily dragging himself across the room with his hands tucked into his pockets, ice-colored eyes half-lidded and bored senseless.
When he sees us, he opens them wide and his jaw drops.
“Watch our stuff, Cabot. Keep the Harpy claws off of it.”
“Are you serious?!” Creed shouts as we move past him, and I can hear him cursing under his breath as he watches us slip into the beautiful old bathroom with the vintage hexagon and subway tiles.
Tristan heels the door shut behind him and locks it while I stand there wondering if maybe I've lost my mind.
“What are we doing in here, Tristan?” I ask as he grabs me and sets me on the edge of the counter, leaning in so he can run his tongue across my lower lip.
“Satisfying your curiosity,” he whispers, and I raise an eyebrow.
“My curiosity?” I ask as he slides one hand down the curve of my waist, over my hip, and under my skirt. His second hand joins the first, and I realize I'm about to lose my underwear.
He smirks at me and then drops his hands to the garters holding my socks up, popping the clips and making me groan as he rubs his thumbs against my inner thighs. Each touch is like fire; each touch burns.
“Stop torturing me.”
“Why should I? That's my MO, right? I'm the big, bad bully.” Tristan pulls my panties down and over my socks and shoes, tucking them into his blazer pocket. He slides his palms up my thighs and cups my ass, making me groan. “I'm going to torture you mercilessly, and I'm going to love every second of it. Just know that.”
He tugs me forward, so that I'm more or less wrapped around him, and then drops his hand between us, slicking his fingers against my aching body. Our eyes lock, and I can see his confidence, his need for control, just before he slips one in, and I gasp.
“Oh shit, Marnye,” he groans, licking his lips. “You feel even better than I thought.”
“You thought about it?” I whisper, and the way he smiles at me … I can see that he's thought about it quite a bit. Our mouths meet, and this time, the kiss is much more tender than it was before, less of a violent claiming and more of a careful wanting. A tentative need. An unsatisfied desire.
Tristan works me so expertly that I can barely move, my hands trembling as I try to undo the button on his slacks. He pushes my fumbling attempt aside and undoes his fly one-handed, like a total boss, guiding my fingers in to wrap around him.
We're just staring at each other now, and it should be embarrassing, but somehow … it's not. It's everything I wanted and then some.
There's a knock at the door, and we both ignore it.
“They can piss somewhere else,” he growls, kissing me again. The heat between us amps up, and I feel myself giving in finally, losing everything I am and everything I have to Tristan Vanderbilt.
I knew it. I knew it from the very first second that he would rearrange me as a human being. How, why, I'm not sure. There's just something between us, this indefinable spark that flares so bright it burns, scalds, and scars.
“I don't have a condom,” Tristan whispers, and something clicks in me. He isn't carrying condoms around because he's not sleeping with other girls. And he isn't carrying them around because he's not scheming or trying to get with me. For maybe the first time in his life, he's not planning anything at all.
“I …” I start, breathing hard, squeezing my hand around his shaft. “I've seen your results, and I started birth control this summer, so …” There's a long stretch of silence before I look back at him, and his mouth curves into the sharpest, most wicked of smiles.
“Excellent.”
Tristan encourages me to stroke and tease him, working up this wild tension between us into a frenzy. He removes his fingers from inside of me, and disrobes me with expert precision, baring my breasts and leaving my black jacket and blazer hanging off my shoulders, the black silk of the tie falling between them.
“Stand up and turn around,” he commands, and I gape at him. He cocks one, perfect dark brow. “Well, my naughty little schoolgirl, what are you waiting for?” Tristan pulls me off the counter and spins me around, pushing me over so that my palms are on the tiled surface and our faces are reflected back at me in the mirror. “I shouldn’t be doing this …” he whispers, almost to himself. “But I can’t stop myself. I need to be inside of you, Marnye.”
He grabs my hip with his right hand, positions himself with his left, and then looks up at the mirror to meet my gaze dead-on.
Tristan thrusts inside of me, deep and hard, making my back curl with pleasure, my fingertips dig into the counter. He rocks me back and forth, my breasts swaying gently with the motion. I can see the pleasure my body brings him written all over his face.
He feels so warm inside of me, I think, loving that he’s bare and naked inside my heated core. His fingers keep my skirt pushed up and out of the way, black pleats all bunched together. The tie swings with our motions as well, my blazer hanging loosely on my back, the red and black Burberry Prep crest just barely visible in the reflection.
Tristan fucks me into the counter, and then spills himself inside of me, this hot burst that runs down my legs after. I’m so not used to it that I just stand there after he pulls out, and he chuckles.
“Marnye, you sweet-sweet thing.” He makes me sit on the toilet until most of the um, liquid is gone and wiped away, kneeling down in front of me and reaching up to palm the heavy weight of my bare breast. “I’m nowhere near done with you,” he whispers, pulling me down to the floor and climbing on top of me. His fingers find their way inside my heat, his thumb easing over my clit. He kisses and sucks at my neck, leaving hickeys that feel too good for me to worry about what they might look like later.
“I love you, Marnye Reed,” he whispers in my ear, just as my climax hits like a wave and shatters me to pieces, body, heart, and soul.
Tristan opens the bathroom door and steps out, letting it close behind him while he scouts around to make sure the coast is clear. Of course, it isn't even remotely clear.
Lizzie Walton is waiting.
As soon as I hear her voice, I pause, leaning my ear against the door.
“You've been in there for quite a while, Tristan,” she says, her voice thick with hurt and frustration.
“So what? Do you monitor how long I go to the bathroom for? Is there a time limit on the act?”
“Don't do that. Don't get angry with me because you don't know how else to act. We know each other too well to play those sorts of games.” Lizzie pauses. “Marnye, you can come out now.”
Crap. Crap, crap, crap.
I'm sweaty, and shaky, and honestly I'm ready to go back to my room and scream into a pillow. There are so many emotions running through me; I need time to process them all.
The last thing I want to do is face Lizzie Walton.
But she knows I'm here, so I step out into the quiet hush of the library, the soft murmur of voices, and the scratch of old pages being turned.
Lizzie is looking right at me with her amber eyes, her mouth in a flat line, her expression unreadable.
I don't know what to say to her. Is there anything I can say really? Anything that'll make it better that is?
“You two …” Lizzie starts, but Tristan steps partially in front of me and cuts her off.
“What we were doing in there is none of your business, Lizzie,” he says, and the way he looks at her, I can tell he's sorry, too. He cares about her, but in the same way he cares about Creed. As a friend. That's it. When he looks back at me, there's a brightness in his eyes that makes me catch my breath.
He turns back to Lizzie again, and I remember his words from before. “I was waiting for you to fight for me.”
I step forward and curl my arm around Tristan's.
“I'm sorry, Lizzie,” I tell her, feeling one of the tight knots in my stomach come undone … and another one reform. “I wanted Tristan to choose between us so badly that I didn't think about asserting myself as much as I should have. I—”
“I love him,” she says, her eyes filling with fat tears that roll down her cheeks and land on the black chest of her uniform. “I love him enough to choose him and only him. So what about you, Marnye? Is Tristan your choice then?”
A flare of fear shoots through me, lighting me up on the inside. Do I choose Tristan? Have I chosen him? But … I can't choose. Not yet. Just the idea of it makes me sick. It's only January; I still have months left to make that decision.
“Don't pressure her,” Creed drawls, appearing from the sea of books with my bag and Tristan's both thrown over his shoulder. He saunters out and pauses beside us. If I didn't know him as well as I do, I might not notice the way his fist clenches around the strap of the bag, or how his ice-blue eyes are dark with jealousy. “She doesn't have to make that decision now.”
“Seriously?” Lizzie asks, looking between Creed and Tristan. “It doesn't bother you that she refuses to pick a guy? Not at all? Because that's all I ever wanted: for Tristan to pick me.” Tristan reaches into his pocket and pulls out his handkerchief, but Lizzie doesn't accept it. Instead, she backs up even further.
“Different things make different people happy,” Creed says, coming to stand beside Tristan. “I've gotten everything I've ever wanted, my entire life, just as I've wanted it. For once, there's a what-if. That's enough for me.”