Page 55 of Faking It with a Single Dad

They click off. The way Dad phrased the last statement makes it sound like a threat. I press a hand to my chest as the air around me feels suffocating. The lines between what I felt then and what I’m starting to feel are blurring, and it’s all bearing down on me. I turn around and rest my forehead on the cold brick wall, taking deep breaths.

My phone buzzes, and Tristan’s name appears on my screen. I peek at the time, and it isn’t yet time to pick Ruby up from school. I straighten my gown and jump up and down quickly to try to shake off my frustration. It doesn’t work.

Shit.

I make my way into the house.

***

When I step in, Tristan is standing by the couch. He’s wearing gray sweatpants and a sleeveless gray shirt. His face is a mask of concealed emotions, and I wonder what he’s thinking. As soon as I enter, he looks up from the glass in his hand.

“You’re drinking?” I ask with surprise in my voice.

“It’s Rondel.” He raises his glass.

“Rondel?” I raise a brow, staring at him.

“It’s non-alcoholic.” Tristan picks up the bottle from the table and gets another glass from the bar in the corner. “You want some? I can’t vouch for the taste, though.”

Tristan offers a glass to me without waiting for my response. He rests an arm on the bar and tilts his head. I shrug and step across the room to meet him. I stretch to collect the glass, but he pulls it back.

What is he doing?

“I was supposed to do the talking, wasn’t I?” His fingers tap on my withheld glass.

“I never said I would do that.” I put my hands in my gown’s pockets. “You told me to, but I never agreed to.”

Tristan hands me the glass, and our fingers graze lightly. “You defended me. That was supposed to be me doing the—”

“I’m getting tired of you telling me what I can and can’t do, Tristan.” I step close to him, my fingers turning into fists. “They were insulting you. Saying shit about you like you haven’t been grieving Deanna. I can’t stand there and watch them abuse you after everything you told me on the—”

Tristan closes the distance between us in one stride and interrupts my words with a kiss. The kiss shocks me. I stiffen, confusion racing in my bones. I shouldn’t be doing this. One of his hands anchors my waist, and another cups my neck lightly.

The kiss deepens, growing more urgent. My head tilts back as I place a hand on his muscular chest. Tristan takes that as permission and pulls me closer to him. I can taste the wine on his tongue, and I want more.

His hand leaves my neck and carves into my hair, pulling me deeper into the kiss. I suck on his lips lightly, my teeth grazing against his lower lip. My hand leaves his chest and reaches his forearms, squeezing gently.

Tristan pulls back, his eyes glistening with the lust I saw the other night. “I want you.”

Fuck. He's unfairly sexy.

I groan in response. My gaze drifts from his eyes to his lips, and then I move close enough to invite his touch. Tristan puts his hand over mine and collects the glass from me. He sets it on the bar, then turns and swoops me off my feet.

His lips return to mine as he heads up the stairs to the bedroom. He gives me his tongue, and I suck on it, wishing his mouth never leaves mine. I wrap my hand around his neck as he climbs the creaking stairs. I can feel my depths throbbing and moistening.

“Ruby will be home soon,” I say amidst short, wet kisses. “School’s almost out. We have to—”

“Then, we should be fast.” He says as he recaptures my mouth.

We fumble with our restrictive clothes when we reach his room as we kiss. In no time, we’re naked and entangled in fervent kisses on the giant bed. The cotton sheets feel soft against my skin. We lay side by side as I spread my legs beside him. One of his hands kneads my breast, and his other hand reaches down and parts my depths, slicking his finger with my wetness.

“Oh, God, Tristan.” My mouth falls away from his lips as pleasure brings me shivers.

“You’re so wet,” he says as he licks my neck, leaving small bites in his wake. “You’re my good girl, aren’t you?”

“I am.” Little moans accompany my words. “I’m your good girl, Tristan.”

I reach down and wrap my fingers around his cock. It throbs in my hand familiarly, and I feel his breaths become rushed. My arm hangs onto his shoulder as his fingers work their magic between my legs. My legs quiver, and my breaths quicken as his pace increases.