Broken Bond - Callie Rose Page 0,52

he’s hurting both himself and the people around him with his attitude.

Whether he means to or not, Trystan brings out a strength in me none of the other men do. Even Dare doesn’t quite manage to access that part of me, even when he’s being cold and distant and I want to throttle him.

While Archer and Ridge are usually gentle with me, careful of my old wounds and fragile emotions, Trystan’s unrelenting confidence and perfectionism pushes me outside my comfort zone. Dare is forceful in a different way, and maybe it’s because I know his emotions are driven by the pain he carries deep inside him that I cut him a little slack.

Trystan’s just a cocky, confident asshole sometimes. A man who thinks he knows better than everyone.

But maybe… maybe I need him to challenge me the way he does.

I call on that strength now—the strength he brings out in me.

“Trystan, I care about you,” I tell him, my voice still hard. “So much. I know what a good man you are. How much you care about your pack, and how loyal you are to the people you love. But every single day, I watch you push people away. I see you hold them at arm’s length because they’re not perfect, because their choices don’t match what you would do. You’re more closed off than any of the men sleeping in this house. You can never see a side to things that isn’t your own.”

His nostrils flare. He looks almost like I’ve slapped him, and I wonder if anyone has ever called him out like this.

My heart is beating so hard that it feels like it’s rattling my entire rib cage. Adrenaline pours through my veins as if my body is primed for an actual fight. Trystan and I face off against each other silently, our faces just inches apart. Tension hovers between us like a taut string pulled to its limit.

I’m angry.

He’s angry.

We’re both waiting for the other to back down, but we both know that will never happen.

Suddenly, that tension snaps.

I don’t know who moves first, him or me. But suddenly, I’m in his arms, his mouth on mine, his hands gripping me tightly as he consumes me with his kiss.

18

Sable

I don’t know quite how this happened.

One minute, Trystan and I were standing practically nose-to-nose, shouting at each other… and now we’re kissing like we might die if we stop.

It’s like all the emotions that were rising up inside me suddenly crystalized into a single feeling.

Desire.

His lips are warm and firm against mine as he kisses me feverishly, driving all the breath from my lungs. His tongue strokes against mine, hungry and demanding, and his hands are all over my body. We stumble across the small kitchen, tripping and weaving from side to side as we go. I have a vague notion that I want to get to the bedroom, and I think we’re moving in that direction. But then my back hits the wall in the little hallway that leads toward the bedroom, and I forget all about where we were going.

Trystan’s body pins me, his lips still devouring mine as his hands slide up under my shirt, meeting bare skin. Fireworks explode in my nerve-endings as he reaches higher, massaging my breasts through my bra, making my nipples pebble against his palm.

My emotions are still high, anger mixing with stark need, and it makes me bolder than I would normally be. Up until now, I’ve pretty much let the men take the lead in all of our sexual encounters, but something about coming off that fight with Trystan has given me courage I didn’t know I had.

He said I don’t let him steamroll me. And he’s right.

I never really have, and I don’t think I ever will. Especially because I can see the man he is underneath all his confidence and bluster. He’s a good man, a sweet man. Dedicated and hardworking, always expecting the best from others because he accepts nothing less than that from himself.

And right now, I want to tell him what to do.

“Take off my shirt,” I demand, because it’s the easiest thing to start with. My voice is raspy with desire but firm and strong, and at the sound of it, Trystan draws back, looking down at me with blazing eyes.

A slow smile spreads across his face. Our earlier argument is still hovering over us, and instead of feeling like a separate event, this feels like a continuation of it. Like