14. Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

Looking out the window at the blinding snow that the storm left behind, I can’t quite believe the turn of events. The steam from my tea curls and swirls as I blow on it, the warm air tickling my nose before I take a sip. The moment Dax agreed with our plan, I felt an intoxicating surge of joy, like I was walking on clouds. Good things don’t always come my way, so I’m determined to savour every precious moment I get to spend with him; right here, right now. I want to make the most of our time together and create memories that will linger long after we say goodbye—because we will inevitably go our separate ways.

When I suggested keeping this fling in the cabin, I meant it. At the time. But now I’m already worried about how I’m going to manage my everyday routines without his familiar presence. I had an incredible time last night. As soon as he gave his consent, I jumped into action, not wanting to lose a single second. I dropped to my knees in front of him and got my first proper look at his beaded cock. It looked even more impressive up close, and he seemed happy with me exploring it. He was a panting mess by the time he came down my throat.

He made me stand, and, in one swift movement, tore my shorts from my body. My anger only lasted a second because once his warm mouth swallowed me down, all thoughts evaporated. He promised to replace them, and I intend to hold him to his word.

We’d spent the evening sharing stories and laughter by the warm glow of the fire, the initial passion we felt replaced by a deeper connection. Dax’s eyes lit up as he described the joy of renovating the cabin, and he shared heartwarming stories of Jake growing up. How he met Jake’s mother and how, through a shared understanding, they discovered they would never work as a couple, including his realisation that he was gay. He described his teaching job, his voice filled with amusement as he told stories about the kids that made me laugh until my stomach hurt. He explained how they have prank day at school each year, and how he always falls for their tricks.

As the last rays of sunlight faded, we built a crackling fire and walked hand in hand to the bedroom. The flickering flames in the living room cast a soft, warm glow through the doorway as he railed me for hours.

But when I woke this morning, a feeling of change had settled over me, like a shift in the very air I breathed. I felt a loneliness I had never experienced before. I realised I wasn’t just looking for casual sex anymore; I wanted something deeper. I crave the comfort of waking up to the warmth of a loved one, their breath soft against my skin. I’m looking for someone to share my hopes and dreams with. To cook meals for, to shower with love and affection, to spoil rotten, and to let myself be spoiled, too. Maybe it’s my subconscious playing tricks on me because I know Dax isn’t interested in anything more. Why do you always crave the things that are just out of reach?

After getting up, I took a quick shower, cleaned the kitchen, and made some croissants. Two of the delicious pastries may have accidentally found their way into my mouth. To keep the soft fruit from spoiling, I tossed together a colourful fruit salad, saving it for later.

Since it’s lunchtime and Dax hasn’t woken up yet, I decide to open one of my presents from under the tree. Today’s gift is a super-snug gingerbread bodycon romper that fits me like a glove.

Just as I finish my tea, the warm mug still lingering in my hands, strong, warm arms slide around my waist, followed by a gentle kiss on my neck. No hesitation. It just feels right, like it’s supposed to be. My lips are tingling for another kiss, but I know I need to be patient and wait for Dax to be ready. The last thing I want to do is make him run, not after I’ve gone to all this trouble to get him. Almost.

“Morning,” he says, his voice raspy with sleep.

“You mean afternoon?” I joke.

A low chuckle rumbles in his chest. “Yeah, sorry about that. I can’t remember the last time I slept in so late. I’m usually up with the birds!”

I turn my head slightly, and our eyes meet. “Maybe it’s because you worked hard last night,” a cheeky smile plays on my lips.

He smirks. “Yeah maybe.”

I turn back to looking outside, placing my cup on the windowsill, loving the way he’s holding me. My hands clasped around his arms, the gentle sway of our bodies soothing me. I let out a deep sigh. I’m desperate to hold on to this feeling, this moment, for just a little while longer.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice low, laced with concern.

Everything. Nothing. All of it. “I don’t know.”

My stomach chooses this moment to growl. “You hungry? Have you eaten? Want me to make you something?” he says.

I haven’t eaten in a while. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I’m just hangry. I’ll feel better once I get some food. “Sure, I’ll take a sandwich.”

“A sandwich? You sure? I can probably make some pasta.”

“Dax, don’t underestimate the power of a sandwich. It’s like food from the gods!”

The warmth of his breath sends shivers down my spine as his laughter ruffles my curls. “All right, tell me what you want in it?”

“Hmm... banana, sugar, and lots of real butter. You can’t have a sarnie with fake shit!”

“But real butter is so hard, it’ll tear the bread.”

“Dax, Dax, Dax,” I say, turning to him and shaking my head. “You never know when a sandwich emergency might pop up, so I’m always prepared! There’s a plate of butter on the side.”

My hands cup his face. I feel the rough stubble of his unshaven cheeks against my palms. He looks even more handsome and rugged than when he was clean-shaven. “You’ve got a lot to learn from me.” He blushes adorably.

I let go of his face before I lean in and place a kiss on his lips. Stepping aside, I start to make my way to the kitchen. His hand closes around my wrist, his fingers warm against my skin. “Hold on, let me take a look at what you’re wearing.”

He twirls me around, groaning with approval, the sound making my chest flutter with happiness.

“Come on, a delicious sandwich waits for no man!” I tell him.

I give Dax a little sandwich-making lesson, showing him exactly how I like it, just in case he needs to know for future reference. You can only hope, right? Dax makes himself a ham and cheese sandwich, and I grab a bowl of crisps for us to share. We sit down at the table to eat.

“So,” he says, his voice muffled by the bread in his mouth. “I feel like I dominated the conversation last night, talking mostly about myself. I didn’t even ask you anything about your life. So... tell me about you.”

“Not much to tell, really,” I mutter, swallowing the last bit of my sandwich. “Jake probably told you all about me.”

Wrinkles crease his forehead. “To be honest, Jake is really protective of you, and he doesn’t tell me much.”

That makes me wonder if he’s asked about me before. The thought of Jake not mentioning me, fills me with a mix of love and a tinge of sadness. While I appreciate Jake keeping my business private, I can’t help but feel a little disappointed he didn’t mention me at all to his dad.

“Hey, I see that look in your eyes. Please don’t take it personally,” he says, voice softening. “Jake was just being a good friend to you. Really, it was none of my business. But if it makes you feel any better, I ask him about you every week during our FaceTime calls.”

“You do?” I exclaim, raising an eyebrow in disbelief.

“Yep, he always tells me I should just ask you myself, but it feels awkward to call you out of the blue.”

“I mean, you absolutely could have. I had no idea you had my number.”

A blush creeps onto Dax’s cheeks as he pops a few crisps into his mouth. “Yeah, well, it wasn’t easy to get, trust me,” he grumbles, a scowl etched on his face.

“You actually ask about me every week, huh?” My stupid heart leaps in my chest, a foolish little dance. I tell myself it’s nothing, but I can’t shake the feeling that he’s more than just curious about who his son hangs out with. Why else would he want to know?

“Not gonna live that down, am I?” I shake my head at him. “Anyway, stop avoiding the question. Give me something, anything. I’m curious to learn more about Tristan Hayes.”

Now, there’s a million-dollar question. Who is Tristan Hayes? “Well, I’m just me.” I shrug. “Good friend of your son, a university dropout. A guy who lives alone. I don’t even have a cat,” I joke.

His head tilts to the side, the silent gesture a clear signal that he’s not buying my bullshit. I’ve never really been comfortable talking about myself—I always feel like I’m being judged, and my flaws are all I can see. I blow out a breath, running my fingers through my tangled curls before sinking back into my chair and meeting the intense gaze of his deep brown eyes staring back at me.

“I work at a homeless shelter. We’re a halfway house for folks who are struggling with addiction and living on the streets. We provide meals twice a day, along with basic care. It’s a safe space offering a few hours of comfort and nurturing. And I absolutely love it.”

“How did you come to work there?” he asks, sounding genuinely interested.

“University wasn’t the right fit for me. The workload with its deadlines was too stressful. I could see that Jake was happy and flourishing in his new environment, but I felt out of place and was struggling. On my way home from a night out, a kebab in hand, I stumbled over a guy curled up under a duvet on the pavement. Instead of letting me fall, he reached out and caught me. He was an elderly gentleman, his eyes shining with kindness beneath the dirt. Maybe it was silly, but I sat down next to him and gave him my meal. He explained that he’d become homeless after his business failed and his marriage ended. As I walked home, I was reminded of the fragility of life—how everything we hold dear can disappear in the blink of an eye. I left school the next day and went to the nearby shelter to offer my help. I haven’t regretted it for a second.” I smile.

“That’s incredible, Tristan!” He reaches out and opens his palm, beckoning me to place my hand on top of his. “You are truly amazing, and I can only imagine how thrilled that guy must have been to meet you.”

“His name is Sam, short for Samuel. He goes to the shelter. When I’m on food duty, I always stash away some extra bread rolls and little packets of real butter for him to take with him when he leaves.”

Dax snorts with laughter. “Of course you do. You have such a big heart filled with empathy for everyone around you. What about your family? Are you close to them? Mum? Dad? Siblings?”

Ugh, here comes the dreaded moment of telling him about Mum. I love talking about her, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t want Dax to think I’m playing the victim. People always assume you’re hard done by when you have a sick parent, and I don’t want to come across that way. His pity is the last thing I need.

“Nope, I never knew my dad. I don’t have any siblings, and my mum is living with dementia. She’s in a nursing home full-time, and I visit her every week, bringing her fresh flowers and a smile. So, it’s just me.” I give him a fake smile and get up, taking my plate with me to the sink, waiting for the usual, ‘ Oh, I’m so sorry, Tris. It must be so hard. You’re a saint. I don’t know how you cope .’

A heavy silence hangs in the air, and his words don’t come. Slowly, I turn around, my gaze meeting Dax’s as he remains seated at the table. His arms, thick and strong, are crossed over his chest, and as he looks me up and down, a blush rises on my cheeks. “Did I say you could get up from the table?” he growls, the sound making my stomach clench. I bite my lower lip and shake my head.

“That’s what I thought.” He stands up so abruptly that his chair topples over with a loud thump. He clears the table in an instant, sweeping his hand across it and sending everything tumbling to the floor with a deafening crash. “You. Here. Now.”

Of course, I fucking obey. I’m not stupid. He heaves me up and, with a slight grunt, settles me on the table. “I wasn’t finished eating.”

Pinned beneath the weight of his hand as he pushes me back, I stare up at the rough-hewn beams above as the fabric of my bodysuit tears. Fucking hell, I’ll have no clothes left at this rate... “ Oooooh !” His warm tongue meets my hole. I’ll just zip my lips. I’ll play the role of his gingerbread man. Eat me.

Tris 3 Dax 100.