29. Dante

TWENTY-NINE

Dante

I don't want to wake Tristan, so I don't let myself touch him. I want to though. Fuck, I want to. I see him lying beside me, on his side with his back to me, breathing quietly, peaceful in my bed. But my hands want to prove what my eyes see, that he's really here. That I'm here with him.

I couldn't believe when the security feed showed me Noah's truck pulling up to the warehouse and Tristan getting out. It meant a lot to me that Noah brought him. It meant that Noah trusted me, so I should trust myself. But I didn't expect Tristan to trust me enough to approach, even if only to tell me he didn't want to see me again. I definitely didn't expect him to accept me as I am. He didn't tell me to stop. He didn't ask me to change. He told me … that he loves me.

He said it once before, but I didn't let myself believe it, not when he'd been out of his head with lust. But today …

Fuck.

I need to touch him. I do it carefully, laying my hand lightly on his hip. He needs sleep. I know that I do too, but it's impossible.

I breathe a sigh of relief at the contact. My cock is hard, of course, but I can deal with it. I just need this for a second.

His hand lifts and settles over mine. Without rolling over, he says, "I didn't know you were awake."

"I didn't know you were either."

"I was trying to let you sleep."

"Same," I reply.

We stay like that for a while, just sharing the silence. I love that Tristan doesn't feel the need to talk all the time. He speaks when he has something to say.

He says, "I want you."

"I want you too."

He rolls onto his other side, facing me. The room is dark. My eyes are adjusted enough to make out the lines of his body but no more than that, and I'm glad. There's something I want, but I don't want him to see my face. I don't want him to see how I might react. Even though I want it.

I take his hand and draw it toward my cock. He startles when he realizes that's what I'm doing. Then he relaxes and lets me do it. I know Tristan can't hear my heart hammering, but I'm sure he can hear my rapid breathing.

I close his hand around my cock. Nausea and revulsion roll through me in waves. A shudder wracks my body. A broken sound escapes me.

I guess he didn't need to see me to perceive my reaction. But he simply lets me have that reaction. Without comment. Without pushing. Without pulling away.

The awful sense that there's another man's hand on my cock fades within the knowledge that it's Tristan's hand. I lost some of my erection at the initial touch, but Tristan's quiet acceptance gives me time to adjust. He doesn't squeeze. He lets me control the pressure. He lets me start to move his hand up and down my stiff shaft.

It starts to feel good. Really good.

I don't know how Tristan feels about it, however, until he cuddles into me, tucking his face against my throat and sighing in pleasure as I press his fingers into my balls. It makes me gasp and dig my teeth into his scalp. I moan as I press harder and harder, loving the bite of pain.

Someday, I want to be able to have him tug and pinch and twist me.

I drag his hand back up my length and press the palm of his hand against my leaking tip. He kisses my throat and murmurs against me, "Fuck me with this thing. Please."

I groan and reach for the lube.