R. Lilley: Rock Bottom

Frankie shook her head, sighing loudly and dramatically. “I don’t know. Those guys do have a rule about that. They don’t hook up with each other’s girlfriends, ex or not.”

“Yet they’ve slept up with the same women before. Makes no sense.”

“I doesn’t make any sense to me either. That is definitely a guy thing. Somehow calling a chick your girlfriend changes everything.”

My phone dinged with another message, and I had the strong urge to chuck it out the window. “I need to stop going to these stupid parties with him all the time. They’re pure drama.” If I was honest with myself, I was terrified for him to go to one without me. Twatalie seemed to be lurking everywhere, just waiting for her chance.

“That’s not a bad idea. You have enough on your plate without dealing with Dean’s instigating ass.”

“I could have gotten some studying done tonight, or even just helped Jerry with the boys. Anything would have been better than going out and watching my man get chummy with his ex.”

“I know I’ve said it before, but if it helps I’ll say it again; I don’t think there’s a chance in hell he’d ever touch her with a ten foot pole.”

It did help.

We ate burgers and skipped the fries. We’d decided that the fries were the fattening part, and the burgers were just good solid protein.

We were heading back before I checked my texts. I rolled my eyes when I saw that there were thirteen of them. The last one told me all I needed to know about his mood.

Tristan: Where the fuck did you go?

I made a face at my phone for that one, and my reply was short.

Danika: Left with Frankie.

His answer was immediate.

Tristan: Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving?

That was all the invitation I needed to vent.

Danika: I would have, but you were busy talking to Nat.

My phone started ringing, and I cringed inwardly before answering.

“Hey…” I began.

“ She fucking walked up to me !” his angry voice was loud enough that I held the phone away from my ear. “I wanted nothing to do with her. I never do. Where are you? I’m coming to get you.”

“We’re driving back to the party now.”

“We’re ten minutes out!” Frankie called loud enough to be heard on his end.

“Are you mad about this bullshit?” Tristan asked, his voice low and mean and just his tone would have had me mad if I wasn’t already.

“I don’t know. Are you mad enough about Natalie sleeping with Dean after you broke up to fight him over it?”

He cursed on the other end. “That is not what happened. Dean is just trying to start shit, as usual.”

“Answer me this then: Are you upset that they slept together?”

“I’m not mad at Natalie. Believe me when I say that I couldn’t care less who she hooks up with. I’m upset with Dean. He’s crossing boundaries we set up fucking years ago, and he’s starting shit between you and me when there’s no call for it, and it’s none of his fucking business.”

He both had and hadn’t answered my question, but I suddenly felt silly about the entire thing. He’d only been talking to her, and it wasn’t like they’d gone off alone.

His voice suddenly got very soft and from the first word, I knew I was done for. “Let’s not fight, sweetheart. You know you’re the only one I want.”

Did I know that? The man had gotten around before he met me. Hell, he’d been getting around even after that. But he had been on his best behavior since we’d become exclusive. I should know, since we were practically attached at the hip.

“I don’t want to fight either,” I conceded.

I glared at Frankie as she sent a smirk in my direction. Everyone knew that Tristan had me wrapped around his little finger.

“Does this mean we skip straight to the make-up sex?” Tristan’s low voice rumbled across the line, making things low in my stomach clench. “Want me to pull your hair and give you a rough ride, sweetheart? Fuck the angst out?”

I snuck a peek at Frankie, and by the irrepressible grin on her face, she was hearing every word he was saying. “I’ll see you in a minute,” I barked at him, hanging up.

“You’re blushing,” Frankie observed with a laugh.

“That man is shameless,” I grumbled.

DANIKA

Tristan was standing in the middle of the street, arms crossed over his chest, as we drove up. He looked ready to fight…or pull some hair and do some hard fucking.

“Man, he’s got some impressive arms,” Frankie remarked.

Did he ever. They were bulging and tatted up and looking ready to bust the seams of his black T-shirt.

He looked mean, and gorgeous, and his glowering expression did contrary things to my libido.

God, I wanted him.

“I’m not gonna lie, he is fucking hot, if you’re into that kind of thing, which it’s apparent you are.”

I barely heard Frankie as I watched Tristan stride around to my side of the car, pulling the door open before we were even fully stopped at the curb.

“Relax, loverboy,” Frankie called to him, “we were only gone an hour.”

He barely answered her, just giving her the most perfunctory wave before he tugged me out of the car.

“Let’s go home,” he growled, pretty much dragging me after him down the sidewalk.

“Goodnight!” Frankie shouted loudly.

“Call you tomorrow!” I yelled back, suddenly just as anxious as Tristan to get us to his car. All it had taken was one smoldering glance.

“You like fighting,” I accused him, my voice low.

“Hardly. What I like is fucking you, and I can’t do that when you’re ditching me at parties.”

I just glared at him, no comeback coming to mind. It didn’t help that he was making me equal parts horny and mad.

“We grabbed a burger. You were busy, so I don’t see how you can complain.”

“What do you want me to do, run when she comes near me? Should I have shoved her in the pool?”

That painted an appealing picture that had me smiling. “You might have earned some brownie points, if you had.”

He grimaced as he handed me into the car.

I changed the subject, just as tired as he was of talking about Natalie. “You sure you’re good to drive?”

“Yeah. We were talking more than drinking.” He got behind the wheel, not looking at me as he started the car.

“Take off your panties.” His tone was casual, idle even.

My nipples tightened, a heavy, delicious feeling pooling between my legs. “We aren’t that far from your apartment,” I protested, even as my hands inched my skirt up, pulling at the tiny string of my panties. I yanked them down impatiently.

“Just a warm up, pudding.”

I swallowed hard as he started driving with one hand, and the other went to my upper thigh, rubbing hard. “I’m already warmed up.” I’d come a long way from needing much foreplay. He had me well tuned, in a constant state of rut that matched his own.

“Open your legs. Prove it.”

I parted my legs, my hips moving towards his hand. He inched it higher, but not enough.

“You wet? Show me. I want your pussy crying for me.”

I grabbed his hand, tugging it until his knuckles grazed my entrance. We both sucked in a breath at the light contact.

He turned his wrist in my hand, shoving two fingers in deep before I knew his intent. My eyes shut and I moaned loudly.

“God, I love your hands,” I groaned.

He dragged his fingers out slowly, wriggling them along my inner walls, making me squirm and curse. He punched them back in hard, and I kicked a shoe off, digging one heel into the car seat, tilting my hips up as far as they’d go, lost to sensation, worried only about my own race toward release, the world coming down to what his fingers were doing to me.