My brows go up. “Really?” I should not feel happy that she just said that, right? It’s no big deal, what we’ve got going on. This is just fun and games. Yeah, I like her. Yeah, she feels…special, which makes me uneasy just thinking it. But what more can there be? A few months of fucking and then what?

I don’t know.

“I do appreciate your going downtown efforts.” She smiles. “Despite everything you’ve said and done, I like you, Tristan.”

“Despite everything I’ve said and done?” What the hell is she talking about?

“You’re awful.” She kisses me. “You say the worst things ever.” Another kiss, this one a little longer. “You’ve done your best to push me away, yet you always come back for more.” The next kiss involves a slip of the tongue, a nibble on my lower lip. “You’re funny. You’re sweet. And you quote Sex and the City.” Another sweet, too brief kiss. “I think I’ll keep you around.”

“Don’t forget that I make you chant my name when you’re coming,” I point out.

She nudges my shoulder, her lips quirked in a barely contained smile. “Shut up. I did not.”

“You so did.” I sneak my hand up into her hair at the back of her head and pull her down so our mouths meet again. “You said it over and over,” I murmur, my voice low. I need to somehow get inside her, find relief, something. I feel like I’m about to blow and I refuse to come in my jeans like some inexperienced kid.

“No,” she whispers against my lips as I kiss her. “I don’t believe you.”

“I can show you again if you want.” The kiss deepens and I roll her over so she’s beneath me. “Make you come.” I thrust my hips against hers, a slow roll that has her moaning low in her throat. “Drive you wild. Just so I can prove that I can make you say my name.”

“Sounds like a plan,” she pants, her hands reaching for me.

This man needs to be satisfied and quick. After the mind-blowing orgasm he just gave me—my God the things he can do with his tongue—I want to return the favor. I’m dying to see him, touch him.

He’s thrusting against me nice and slow, his big body pinning me to the bed. I like the feel of his weight pressing me into the mattress. He’s solid, so warm, so incredibly male and big and hard…

Everywhere.

His mouth is also fused to mine, our tongues tangling, his hands wandering. I run my fingers around the top of his jeans, slipping them down the front, his stomach muscles contracting when I brush against them. I unsnap his jeans, tug down the zipper and skim my fingers along his erection, which is straining against his underwear.

Um. Wow. He’s long. Thick. And that’s just my early assessment.

“Roll over,” I murmur against his mouth.

He nips my lower lip. “No.”

“Tristan.” I shove at his shoulder with my other hand, my fingers still curled firmly around his cock. “Please.”

“If you insist.” Just as I let go of him, he rolls over so he’s flat on his back, his arms tucked under his head, elbows out, very casual. Kneeling beside him, my gaze roams, lingering over all the good stuff on display. His biceps bulge with muscle. The wall of his chest, his flat stomach, his jeans undone and spread open, exposing the black underwear beneath, the outline of his cock pressing against the fabric.

Somehow he kicked off his boots earlier and he’s just in his socks. His cheeks are ruddy, his lips damp and swollen from our kisses and his hair is a wreck. He looks good. No, he looks sexy in that deceptively relaxed pose. His body is tense, his gaze full of heat and want as he watches me and waits.

I need to put him out of his misery.

Leaning over him, I kiss his lips once, moving down so I can kiss his jaw, his neck, run my lips over his chest, his pecs, the soft hair in the center tickling my cheeks. I kiss one nipple, the other nipple, his muscles so tight beneath my lips, his body trembling. I know he’s holding back, restraining himself. I love that. He’s nothing but potent, male power, and he’s letting me do whatever I want to him when really he just wants to grab me and get on with it.

I kiss his stomach, my lips soft and seeking, my tongue darting out for the occasional lick. Glancing up at his face, I find him watching me, his eyes blazing, his mouth a grim line as he reaches up and pushes my hair away from my cheek.

“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” he says, confusion mangling his expression. I’m sure that’s the first time he’s said that to a girl. I mean really, this is the man-whore king stud on campus. Telling girls they don’t need to give him a BJ if they don’t want to is just…incomprehensible.

“I want to,” I tell him honestly, noting the relief I see in his otherwise dire features. The struggle is real for him right now and I think it’s adorable. “But I’m not going all the way.”

Why, I’m not sure, but it almost feels too intimate, to let him inside me tonight. Fine, I let him mash his face against my vagina and suck me straight into an orgasm. I’m about to put my mouth on his cock. That’s all well and good. It’s—fun. Sexual exploration, relieving all of that tension we’ve been dealing with since the night we met.

But letting him enter me, fusing the two of us together, face to face, heart to heart, is such an incredibly intimate act, I’m scared to do it with him. Scared more that once it happens, he’ll leave.

And I’ll be left behind to pick up the pieces, alone.

“That’s cool. I’m okay with it. We don’t have to,” he says in a rush of words. “I’m not going to pressure you to do anything you don’t want to, Alexandria.”

He says those words and I believe him. Tristan has never broken a promise yet and I appreciate that about him. He’s always been honest—most of the time, to a fault. He says what he feels, what he’s thinking, with absolutely no filter. A lot of the time, it’s annoying.

It’s also endearing.

“I know,” I whisper as I start to tug his jeans down. “Help me out here.”

Grinning, he lifts his hips, pushing his jeans down to his thighs, where I take over and pull them the rest of the way off, letting them fall onto the floor. He’s wearing black boxer briefs that mold to his thighs and everything else, showing off all that he has. I stare at him for a moment, swallowing hard as I consider how I’m going to approach this. He’s big. I’m not what one would call tremendously experienced in the going downtown department. Yes, I’ve given a blowjob. No, I’ve never swallowed. Yes, I enjoyed it—somewhat. Okay, a little bit. The three guys I’ve given blowjobs to, all of them came so fast it was over before I barely started. Which I preferred, you know? No lockjaw for me.

This is why I don’t like it when guys go down on me. I take forever—usually. They can never find anything, you know? The lick and suck in the wrong place or they rub me so hard with their fingers, it freaking hurts. It’s a delicate process down there and every guy I’ve been with in the past didn’t seem to realize it. They just attacked it with little to no finesse.

Tristan seemed to understand that. The best part was when he touched me so lightly I barely felt it. His tongue. The way he seemed to find my clit right away, with no hesitation. I’m tingling between my legs just thinking about what he did to me…

“I know I’m huge,” he drawls, snapping me out of my dreamy state. “But I’ve never rendered a woman dead silent for so long before.”

I shake my head, sending him a look as I move to straddle him. His eyes widen when I climb atop him, rubbing my sex against his stomach, a shuddery groan leaving him as he reaches out to grasp hold of my waist. “I was just thinking about what I wanted to do to you,” I tell him.

His fingers skim my waist, my hips. “What’s your plan?”