The Air He Breathes

My finger grazed against her bruised face. “Does it hurt?”

“I’ve felt worse pain.”

“I’m so sorry, Elizabeth.”

“My friends call me Liz, but you made it pretty clear that we are not friends.”

“I don’t know how to be a friend anymore,” I whispered.

She closed her eyes and placed her forehead to mine. “I’m really good at being a friend. If you ever want me to, I can give you a few pointers.” She sighed, lightly pressing her lips to my cheek. “Tristan.”

“Yes?”

“You kissed me earlier.”

“I did.”

“But why?” she asked.

My fingers moved to the back of her neck, and I slowly pulled her closer to me. “Because you’re beautiful. You’re a beautiful, broken kind of woman.”

She smiled wide, and her body shook slightly. “Tristan?”

“Yes?”

“I’m going to throw up again.”

Her head had been in the toilet for over an hour now, and I stood behind her, holding her hair up. “Drink some water,” I said, handing her the glass sitting on the sink.

She sat back and took a few sips. “Normally I’m better at this drinking thing.”

“We’ve all had these kinds of nights.”

“I just wanted to forget for a while. To let go of everything.”

“Trust me,” I said, sitting across from her. “I know what that’s like. How are you feeling?”

“Dizzy. Silly. Stupid. Sorry about, you know, vomiting on your toes.”

I smirked. “Karma, I guess.”

“Was that a smile? Did Tristan Cole just smile at me?”

“Don’t get used to it,” I joked.

“Dangit. Too bad. It’s kind of nice.” She went to stand up and I followed her movements. “Your smile was the highlight of my day.”

“What was your dark moment of the day?” I asked.

“Your frown.” She exhaled as her eyes locked with mine. “I should get going. But thank you for controlling my drunkenness.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, with a thickness in my throat. “I’m sorry for making you fall earlier.”

She pressed her fingers to her lips. “It’s okay. I already forgave you.”

She headed back toward her house, much more sober, but still moving on her tiptoes. I made sure she made it inside the house before I headed to bed. When we both got to our bedrooms, we took a few moments to stand by our windows and stare at each other.

“You felt it, too, didn’t you?” she whispered across to me, speaking of our kiss.

I didn’t reply, but yeah.

I felt it.

Chapter Twelve

Elizabeth

That night after Tristan and I left our windowsills, I lay down in my bed, still a little tipsy, and I imagined him and his wife. I imagined what she’d been like. I wondered if she’d smelled like roses or lilies, I wondered if she’d been a cook or a baker, I wondered how much he loved her. I imagined her with him, and for a moment I even pretended that I heard her whisper she loved him against his thick beard. I felt his fingers pulling her closer, the gentle touch to her spine as she curved into his body, the way she called out his name.

Tristan…

My hand glided against my neck, and I pretended it was her neck he was touching. He warmed her up without saying a word; he loved her quietly with his hands. His fingers trailed down her neck and she moaned as he reached the curves of her breasts. Tristan… My breaths picked up as I felt him taste her skin, his tongue gliding from his mouth and slowly licking her nipple before he placed it between his lips and sucked, nibbled, massaged. She was surrendering herself to him. Tristan…

My hands moved lower across my skin as Tristan filled my mind. He lowered her panties as I lowered mine. His hand glided between her pulsing thighs as I slowly slid a finger inside myself. I gasped, almost surprised by the feeling Tristan brought to me, my thumb massaging my clit as I kept imagining.

But she was gone now.

It was only him and me.

His rough beard brushed against my stomach before his tongue danced around my belly button. I moaned slightly, feeling another finger slip into me. His fingers moved faster, fell deeper, and pushed harder as he worked me up to a sweat. I whispered his name as he owned mine, and when I felt his tongue taste me, I was seconds away from losing myself to him. My hips thrust against his tongue, my lips begged for more, and he gave me more, faster, deeper, harder. Caringly, gently, forcefully. Oh my God, Tristan…

My mouth parted and I pumped my fingers faster, feeling myself hanging from the cliff of forever and moments away from falling into the depths of never. He fed my imagination, he rocked my insides, he begged for me to come apart against his lips, and I did. I collapsed with his touch inside me and released with a feeling of bliss, unable to remember the last time I’d been able to feel alive.

I’m good.

I’m good.

I’m so fucking good.

And then I opened my eyes and saw the darkness of my bedroom.

My hand slid from between my thighs. My panties moved back up my legs, and the feeling of bliss dissipated.

I’m not good.

I looked over at Steven’s side of the bed, and a level of disgust filled me inside. For a moment, I swore I saw him lying beside me, staring my way with confusion. I blinked once and reached out to touch him, but he was gone.