Think Outside the Boss - Olivia Hayle Page 0,51

inner thighs. It’s the most glorious thing I’ve ever experienced.

Tristan, undone like this, undone in the same way I’ve been unravelling for weeks. A complete loss of control.

I dig my fingers into the wide expanse of his back as if I can keep him by force, fuse the two of us together.

He’s crushing me, but I think I’ll die if he moves.

“Holy shit,” he whispers. Our heartbeats thunder against one another, chest to chest, his hair-roughened skin against my nipples.

I take a deep, nourishing breath. Tristan must feel it against him, because he lifts himself up.

“You okay?”

I nod.

He raises a questioning eyebrow, thick hair falling over his brow. The gesture tugs at my heart.

“You didn’t hurt me,” I insist, flexing my legs around his hips. There’ll be soreness tomorrow, sure, but none of it uncomfortable.

Tristan grips the base of the condom as he pulls out. I wince at the lack of him. It’s just as jarring as his intrusion had been.

He returns to me within moments and stretches out beside me on the bed. I turn on my side, but he stops me with a hand on my hip.

“Not yet, you don’t,” he murmurs, bending his head to my nipple. It’s still taut.

“But—”

“I’d never leave you hanging.” His hand skates down my stomach, and oh God, he’s circling that spot again. I close my eyes against the sensations building inside me. I’d been right at the edge before, and now…

Tristan tugs me effortlessly to the side and curls his hands around my thighs, spreading them. Bending his head. I break apart at the touch of his lips and tongue, fracturing and reassembling as pleasure ripples through me.

He doesn’t stop touching me, either. It just shifts from rapid to soothing.

I struggle to catch my breath, staring up at the eggshell-white ceiling. My hand knots in his thick hair. “I hope nobody was in the hotel room next to ours.”

He chuckles against my thigh, his eyes telling me exactly how he feels about himself right now, and it’s pretty damn good. “I don’t care if they were.”

I give him a crooked smile. “How come you’re always the one who goes down on me? I want a shot too, you know.”

“There’ll be time for that.” He pushes off the bed and walks to the minibar. I flip onto my stomach and watch him pour us both a glass of sparkling water. Admire the long, strong lines of his legs. The muscled expanse of his back, widening into broad shoulders. Every inch of him speaks of confidence and masculinity, a body inhabited by someone who revels in life. Tristan hands me a glass of water and watches as I drink, his eyes never leaving mine.

Nerves flutter in my stomach as we both come back down after our orgasmic high. What does this mean?

Tristan reaches down and runs his thumb over my bottom lip. “I have to say, I didn’t expect this, Strait-laced.”

I catch his thumb between my lips and bite down softly.

He grins. “I won’t stop calling you that, you know, no matter how much you bite.”

My teeth dig into his thumb and he pulls it out with a chuckle. “Heathen.”

“I didn’t expect it either,” I say. “To be honest, I didn’t think much further ahead than making it to the roof.”

“About that,” he says, setting down his glass on the small table in-between two leather chairs. This suite has to be three times the size of mine. “Where did that phobia come from?”

I rest my head in my hands. “You’ll laugh.”

“I very much doubt that.”

“Promise me you won’t?”

“I promise,” Tristan says, stretching out beside me on the bed.

I take a deep breath. “I liked to climb trees when I was little. Large ones, small ones, didn’t matter. I climbed them all.”

“Non-discriminatory,” Tristan notes with a nod. “Admirable.”

I knock him with my shoulder and he laughs, draping his arm over my bare back. Fingers trace down my spine. “What happened?”

“Well, I fell out of one.”

“Did you break anything?”

“No.”

“That’s good,” he murmurs. “But Freddie, why would I laugh at that?”

“Because I fell five feet.”

His eyebrows rise and I shake my head at him. “I know, it’s nothing. I climbed higher trees than that all the time. But after that, I stopped, and somehow the fear just grew and grew in my head.”

Tristan presses a kiss to my forehead. “We all have scars. I won’t judge where yours came from.”

“And what would—” The shrill sound of my cell phone cuts off my response. It’s jarring and