Bad Things (Tristan & Danika #1) (47 page)

That warmed me down to my toes, as did the press of his lips on mine.
 
He eased back from all out necking, and began to give me sweet, short kisses.
 

I tried to press my body to his, but he backed away.

“I can kiss you all night, sweetheart, but if we start dry humping in this bar, I’m liable to embarrass myself.”

“I want you,” I whispered, as his lips came back to claim mine.
 
“I want you deep inside of me.
 
For hours.
 
I told Frankie how huge you are, how you stretch me you’re so big, but I didn’t tell her how perfect it feels to have you inside of me.”
 

He pulled back, gasping out a laugh, his eyes finding Frankie.
 
“You got an earful, huh?”
 

Frankie grinned, toasting the air.
 
“Drunk confessions are the best.
 
Tequila is like a truth serum, and she can’t take any of it back.”
 

“We could fuck in the bathroom, like we did in the casino that one time,” I said into his ear, seriously hot for him now, so hot I didn’t know how I could bear to wait until we got home.
 

He shook his head, smiling.
 
“Not at this place, we can’t.
 
It’s not four a.m. and deserted, like the casino was.
 

“Let’s have sex in your car then,” I suggested, trying to pull him flush against me.
 

He studied me, biting his lip.
 
I tried to tug his head down to me, because I wanted to bite his lip, too, but he wouldn’t budge.
 
“That’s a hard offer to turn down.
 
It won’t be comfortable, not that I give a damn about that.”
 

I shook my head at him, my eyes wide.
 
“I don’t give a damn either.
 
I need your cock buried in my pussy like ten minutes ago.”

That has his eyebrows shooting into his hairline.
 
“Aren’t you in a mood tonight?
 
Normally I can’t pry the word pussy out of you.”
 

“I do hate that word, but it’s not bugging me so much tonight.
 
Pussy, pussy, pussy.”
 

“I love that word,” Frankie mused, shamelessly listening to our conversation.
 
“I love any word that gets a visceral reaction, every time you use it out loud.
 
Pussy.
 
Cunt.
 
Fuck.
 
Cock.
 
Though it should be noted that the word cock is my least favorite of all of those.”

Tristan turned his head to look at her, smirking.
 
“How come that doesn’t shock me?”
 

She snickered.
 
“Here’s all I’m saying, everything about a woman can be pretty, from her feet to her ears, but the same can’t be said for a man.”

Tristan threw his head back and laughed, his hands rubbing my hips.
 
I loved his throat.
 
The sight of it stretched like that drove me wild.
 
I pushed up so I could lick it, and then suck hard enough to leave a mark.
 

“I can’t argue with you there,” Tristan told Frankie.
 
“I’m right there with you; team pussy all the way.”
 

I smacked his arm.
 
“That sounds way too general for my taste.”
 

He laughed harder, pulling my face into his chest.
 
“Okay.
 
I’m team Danika’s pussy all the way.
 
That better?”
 

I nodded, appeased at the conclusion to that ridiculous conversation.
 

“Go ahead, go screw in your car,” Frankie told us, her tone wry.
 
“Don’t delay on my account.
 
You’ve been making out in front of me for hours.
 
Why get shy now?”
 

“Good point,” Tristan said, taking her suggestion, and ignoring her sarcasm.
 
“Excuse us.
 
We’ll be back in ten to fifteen minutes.”
 

Frankie’s grin turned rueful.
 
“I wouldn’t go advertising
that
.
 
It’s not exactly an endorsement.”
 

“I’ve never had any complaints,” was his parting shot as he tugged me out of my chair.
 

I felt giddy as we raced to his car, clutching hands and laughing.
 

“We’re going to get ourselves arrested,” Tristan muttered as he opened the back door of his car for me.
 

I just laughed harder, strangely uncaring of that possibility.
 

He crowded me into the car, and it was a tight fit, to put it lightly.
 

“Are you wet?” he asked, as he positioned me on my hands and knees, facing away from him.
 
He began to peel my tiny jean shorts off.
 

“I’ve been wet since the moment you touched me.”
 

“Good,” he grunted, folding himself over my back, lining himself up at my entrance.
 
“Tell me if I’m too rough.
 
I need to fuck you hard after all of that making out.”
 

I moaned loudly as he worked himself into me, his breath hot on my neck, coming out in fast pants as he invaded me.
 

“I need you, Danika.
 
I’ve never needed anything like I need this.”
 
Each word was drawn out and punctuated with a rough stroke.
 
“I’ll never get enough of you.
 
Never
.”

It wasn’t his usual dirty talk, and his words fed so much more than my desire.
 
I needed to hear these things, craved every little sign that he might be anywhere near as obsessed with me as I was with him.
 

His hands moved over the curves of my breasts, kneading softly at that aching flesh while pounding hard into the core of me.
 
My nipples were puckered hard, and he pinched and then pulled them taut.
 
It ached in a way that made me whimper in pleasure.
 

He rammed his huge, engorged length into me, hard and fast, keeping up an unrelenting pace that made me grip the door handle for dear life.
 

“Is it too much?” he rasped into my ear.
 

It was.
 
It was so much, too much, his fast, brutal invasion stuffing me so full that I felt like I couldn’t take it for another second, but I’d never tell him that, never let him stop with the wonderful filling of me.
 

The sensations were so intense that I wasn’t sure if I was about to come or scream my head off.
 

Turns out, I did both.
 

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Three days later, we found ourselves at a house party for some friend of Jared and Frankie’s.
 
It was a big house, and pure chaos, and the second we stepped in the door I wondered why I’d let myself be talked into it.
 
I was tired.
 
I hadn’t had a decent night of sleep in I didn’t even know how long, and house parties had never been my favorite.
 
It always just tended to be the stoner way to party, since you had to hide that stuff in clubs and bars.
 

I could smell the pot smoke in the air the second we got in the door, and someone was actually snorting coke off a table in a room just right of the entrance, fully visible from the front door.
 

I was so over it.
 

All of that was bad enough, but about ten minutes in, as we made our way through the crowd, looking for Jared or Frankie or Cory or Kenny, I spotted my ex.
 
Not Daryl the Dickhead.
 
The other one.
 
Patrick.
 
The one that hadn’t been a
complete
dickhead, though I’d dumped him anyway.
 
He’d gotten too heavy into drugs for me to deal.
 
And I’d fallen out of love with him.
 
Though now that I’d found what I’d found with Tristan, and felt this crazy, out of control thing in my chest every second of the day, I had to admit that I hadn’t fallen out of love,
 
I’d just never fallen in.
 

I had a strange epiphany as I stared at Patrick’s profile.
 
I’d called it love, and looked for love, because that’s what I’d wanted, but love was not a thing you could force yourself to feel, or, more importantly, it was not a thing you could keep yourself from feeling.
 
Both realizations were demoralizing for me, a girl with control issues.
 

I was jolted out of my thoughts as Tristan threw an arm around my shoulders, pulling me close.
 

“What’s up, sweetheart?
 
You look like you just saw a ghost.”
 

I grimaced.
 
I very much wanted to avoid Tristan seeing Patrick and finding out that he was an ex, if at all possible.
 
I just had a feeling that Tristan wouldn’t take the meeting well.
 
And that feeling was backed up by experience…For a former man-whore, he tended to be surprisingly jealous.
 

“Nothing like that,” I finally answered.
 
“I’m just not feeling this party.
 
The chick snorting coke on the way in was a bit too hardcore for me.”

He gave me his wry smile, rubbing my shoulder.
 
“Yeah.
 
This was not what I was expecting.
 
Jared knows some crazy people, and Frankie knows everybody in town.”

I started to make my way out of the room, heading to the backyard, when I saw Patrick spot me out of the corner of my eye.
 
I knew it because he froze, and a second later, began to move toward us.
 

I grabbed Tristan’s hand, trying my best to paint a very clear picture for Patrick.
 
I didn’t look his way again, and only hoped he’d gotten the hint.
 

We found Frankie and Jared out by the pool.
 

“Where are the rest of the guys?” Tristan asked them by way of a greeting.

“Hell if I know,” Jared said, sounding put out about it.
 
“They were supposed to be here hours ago.
 
So were you, for that matter.”

Tristan whipped out his phone.
 
“Let me call ‘em.”
 

I was feeling antsy, and glancing around constantly, afraid that Patrick would follow us out.
 
He didn’t, not right away, but within five minutes I saw him coming out the back door, scanning the crowd.
 
I knew, just knew, that he was looking for me.
 

It had been a strange ending with Patrick.
 
It was almost like I’d just woken up one day and seen the situation for what it was; a relationship between teenagers who should have only ever been friends.
 
What hadn’t been sudden was my revulsion every time he’d wanted to have sex.
 
And realizing that you didn’t have to keep having sex with someone if you didn’t want to had been an important lesson for me, though of course I’d had to relearn it with Daryl.
 
The fact that Patrick had started doing some hardcore drugs had helped me to end it, as well, though I knew better than anyone that with my co-dependent streak, especially back then, I would never have left him for that alone, if I’d felt for him even a tenth of what I felt for Tristan now.
 
I liked to think I’d gotten past some of those co-dependent leanings, but if push came to shove, I couldn’t say with any certainty that I’d ever leave Tristan willingly.
   

Tristan still had his phone to his ear, and I squeezed his arm to get his attention.
 

When he looked at me, I pointed at the house.
 

“Bathroom,” I told him, and took off.
 
I assumed Patrick just wanted to say hi.
 
I wanted to just get that over with, and avert any drama with Tristan.

I made it maybe three steps into the living room when a hand grabbed my elbow from behind.
 
I knew instantly that it wasn’t Tristan.
 
The hand wasn’t big enough.

I turned and looked into Patrick’s steady gaze.
 
“Hey,” I said, giving him a weak smile.
 
“How’s it going?”
 

He studied me for a long time.
 
“I’m okay.
 
It’s really nice to see you.
 
You look…amazing.”
 

“Thank you,” I said, feeling flattered by the admiration in his tone, and unwillingly, enjoying it.
 

He was tall.
 
Not Tristan tall, but he was close to six foot, with dark hair, a medium build, and some awesome tats.
 
He was very handsome, in a boy next door kind of way.
 
I’d forgotten just how nice his smile was, how sincere.
 
And he still had enough dirty rocker in him to make my heart beat a little faster.
 

Even if it was only remorse, I was surprised to feel something, after all this time.
 

I hadn’t been cruel about the breakup, which in the end, had been the most brutal thing of all.
 
I’d drawn it out, to spare his feelings, and ended up hurting him worse.
 

“You’re dating Tristan Vega,” Patrick said, as though he was still processing it, and what he had learned didn’t please him one bit.
 

“You know him?”