Tryst (3 page)

I am too stunned to even reply. Shit, now how do I approach Electra about this girl without sounding like a complete douche bag?

Electra utters a groan. Turning to face her, she looks like she’s ready to tear my face off, "Shit, we've been here less than a day and you've already managed to piss someone off Tryst? Do I even want to know what she means by you assaulting her, aside from just now when you tried to devour her breasts? And why are you creeping outside my door eavesdropping? You aren’t really stalking her are you?"

The way she said that last statement with vehemence, makes me wonder if she really thinks I am capable of such a thing. Am I capable of going to such an extent? Man, I fucking hope not- I'd seriously have to turn in my man card if I needed to chase a girl who doesn’t seem to be interested.

No, I won’t write Spitfire off just yet. I decide she likes playing hard-to-get.

I look back to Electra assuring her that no, I am not stalking anyone. Not even realizing all this time that she has been holding her breath.
Damn capabilities like that have promise.
Sadly, she isn’t the one I picture while I think that to myself, with my mind nowhere near this conversation. Nope, it's totally lost in the fact that I went motor-boating in some very nice, slightly too large, all-too-real breasts.

I'm gutter-minded while thinking of how and when I will get to explore them again. Some men are ass men, some men are into thighs, but me, I’m a boob guy. I like them big and I like them real. No one wants to play with a pair of tits that are stiff and plastic.

A slap to the side of my head brings me back to reality. Now what the fuck is she asking me? Oh yeah, assault.

"Umm, well I kind of had a run-in with her in the lobby. I wasn't paying attention and damn near tripped over her. A better question is, who is she? How do you know her, and why is she so pissed off?"

I wait for Electra to start talking, completely missing her body language. She's shutting down on me. She starts shaking her head back and forth. Whatever is going on, she's not about to let me in. Fuck that! She's not getting away with that shit with me. I've only ever seen Electra shut down once before. Something about her best friend being murdered, and it being her fault.

She had convinced the girl that her stalker was just some harmless weirdo sending her letters, but he turned out to be a full-on psycho who chased her down one night after months of stalking. Electra had been out celebrating with her, but they went their separate ways at the end of the night. Electra was almost to her car when she heard the screaming. She said she ran for her but by the time she got there it was too late, and her friend was lying in a pool of blood.

I remember she said the dude had smashed her in the head with something, and before she could get up he had put her friend in the trunk of his car. They eventually caught the nut-job but her friend was never found. The guy never did tell them where to find the body.

Shit, now what the fuck was her name, fuck... damn it I can't remember. That’s the only other time I've ever seen this look on Ele's face.

When I look back up at her, she’s completely defeated- the tears are threatening to spill. Shit, what the fuck did Spitfire say to Ele? No one gets to be a bitch to her and not hear it from me. She's been through hell and back. I go to open my mouth, not really sure of what to say, when Electra cuts me off. Through sobs and hiccups, I try to make out her words.

“It’s all my fault, I never should have left Cora alone. I knew she was being stalked. I just thought it was one of the local boys being a dick. If she had reported it she might still be here. It's my fault I destroyed their lives, I destroyed her life."

I pull her close to my chest and ask who the
she
is that Ele is talking about. Who did she destroy?

Another sob, and she half-answers, "Because of me she lost her twin. Everything she has become, and everything she gave up after Cora's murder, it's all my fault. I never should have asked her to come back here. I should have known she wouldn’t be able to handle coming back to where it all happened."

I try talking her down, seeing if I can get some kind of answer.

“Ele, what happened back then wasn’t your fault. You can’t blame yourself. If she really thought she was in danger, she would have told someone else. You can’t keep holding that shit over your head. I don’t know whose life you think you ruined, but I’m pretty sure that’s a load of shit, too. Talk to me, Ele. Tell me what’s going on.”

With a final sob, she collapses in my arms and I carry her over to her bed, tuck her in, and shut the light off.  As I walk out and cross the hall to my room, I wonder who the fuck she was talking about. What twin, and what the fuck does this have to do with Spitfire?

I enter my room and decide to search the internet for this Cora person. Unfortunately, I find only a few articles here and there. There is mention of a twin once or twice. But there is no name, and no picture. I have no one to compare to the tall blonde in the photos.

I know I should try and get some rest, but my mind is reeling from what just happened with Ele. Since I can’t sleep, I scroll through the loaded Kindle Ele gave me a couple months ago for my birthday. I start skimming through books when one catches my eye, written by some girl named Bentley.

By the time I shut the Kindle down, the sun is fully up. My eyes are dry as hell, and I am totally mind-fucked. How can any female have such a violent imagination? I skimmed through three of her books, all having some seriously fucked up, psychotically deranged, horrifically violent death scenes. If I didn't know better, I'd say this Bentley has a serious hatred for men. On the other hand, there's that mind-fuck again where two chapters later she's writing some seriously kinky sex shit that left my dick throbbing and my balls ten shades of blue.

I wonder if she has done half the shit she writes in her stories. Well the sex anyway, I'd rather not think of some chick slicing some guys dick off and making him chew on it jerky-style before killing him horror-movie-style. Even if the dude deserved it. And believe me, he always did.

Chapter 2

Bentley

Stepping inside my room, I double lock the door, shutting myself inside. It seems trivial, yet it’s as much a necessity as it is habit. At home even the windows have a double-locking mechanism.

Stomping my way toward the bed, I pull my hair free of the clip that’s holding it, and let it fall in a knotted mess. I'm so infuriated with myself for allowing that asshat to get under my skin. First, he tries to grind my ass into the tiled floor, and then he decides to try and make my breast his next meal... What the fuck do I look like, KFC?

I kick my boots off, muttering more silent curses into the air. I swear if I had a few more inches on me I'd kick his lily ass. I don’t care how much muscle he's sporting under that white Henley, nor do I care that the rest of the man is a 6’4” solid wall of sex god. I damn sure don't care about those eyes that look like the color of a tropical ocean, his all too masculine chiseled jaw, or those slightly pouty lips just begging to be nibbled on, especially when that dirty boy grin lights up his face.  And don’t even get me started on his thick chocolate brown “I look like I’ve just been thoroughly fucked” locks that my fingers were practically begging to run through.

Oh, and let’s not forget the ink lines that were peeking through his shirt. Damn if I don't want to trace every inch of every line with my tongue. I was practically salivating at the darkness highlighted against his shirt. When that man opened his mouth, it was like listening to liquid sex. I swear it went straight to my fucking panties, leaving them unbearably wet.

Letting out a deep groan of frustration, I come to one logical conclusion. The man is completely infuriating. How the fuck did I let this pompous dickhead get the best of me?

As I head to the shower, I can't help but let my imagination run wild. I think about what all of those taut muscles would feel like under my fingertips. I wonder if his cock is proportionate with the rest of him. I bet, knowing the kind of man he is, I could Google that shit and probably get a picture. Sadly, it likely wouldn't live up to expectation and would completely ruin my fantasy, which might be exactly what I need. I mull it over as I step into the steaming shower, allowing the water to wash away some of the day’s anxieties.

As my hands roam around my body, lathering my body wash, I think of how it would feel if it were his hands. Hell, I wonder what it would feel like to be any man’s hands. The thought quickly brings me to a dark place and I shudder, opening my eyes just to reassure myself I am alone. By the time I get to the bed I am bone tired, slightly less annoyed than earlier, and feeling relieved my anxiety meds are in full effect as my head hits the pillow.

The first thing I feel is his impressing weight bearing down on me, pinning me to the bed. His breath gently breezes across my neck as he places a light kiss behind my earlobe. Slightly rough hands take my own and pin them above my head. He keeps one of his there, securing mine in place, as the other languorously roams across my body.

His fingertips caress my skin, leaving feather soft strokes across my rib cage, and up the side of my breast. My body reacts to his every touch as he trails further down. He pauses at my hip, drawing small circles across the skin with his thumb. His lips and tongue trail down my neck, pausing to leave kisses and small nips at my collar bone. He spends several moments there before continuing his descent, trailing his tongue across my chest and using a tortuously slow pace to move down and between my breasts. He shifts his weight, moving his other hand away from mine and uses it to grope one breast. He tweaks the nipple until it’s hardened, then continuously rolls it between his fingers while sucking the other into his mouth. He is sucking on it hard, before releasing it with a pop, then swirls his tongue around it to mimic the movements of his hand. Shifting his weight again he settles more between my legs while drawing patterns across my stomach with his mouth. His hands make their way between the sheet and my skin, kneading at my ass as his tongue slowly trails lower leaving small bites across my pelvic bone. I moan at the sensation.

It is right about that time the music on my alarm clock starts blaring a rather loud, upbeat song. I roll over and groan into my pillow. Damn my alarm, and damn my inability to ever be able to put a face to my mystery man. Oh well, shit happens. If I want to get my cardio in, I need to get my happy ass up and out of bed and out of this room in the next ten minutes. Trudging myself downstairs, I get ready to brace myself for the frostbiting cold I am about to step out into. Too bad I won't be going anywhere. There’s a good three and a half feet of snow blocking the doors and it shows no signs of stopping.

Dante traveled back here with me, only instead of staying at the hotel, he went to his parents so he could spend time with them. I rarely travel without him. It’s nice to have that bit of extra security he offers. Pulling my phone out, I send him a message telling him not to chance it. I know Dante is crazy enough to do just that. Sure he's a bit on the insane side, but he’s the best damn kickboxing instructor you'll ever meet.

After confirming with him that I won't be going anywhere, I begrudgingly head down toward the hotel gym. At least I'll be able to get some fitness in today, even if it isn't the ass kicking kind I so desperately need. After parking my now very much unhappy ass onto an elliptical, I load up my IPod with as many angry rock songs I can, and start burning away some of the stress lingering from the previous day.

Sadly, my reprieve is short lived. A pair of hands close around my waist, and set off my hair-trigger self-defense mechanism. First, my foot comes down hard on the instep, and then I lean forward and bring my foot back to kick right under his knee, and quickly turn and nail him in the crotch as hard as I can. I am really hoping to have caused some serious damage. Judging by the heavy grunt and a very unmanly high-pitched squeal, I'd say my task was accomplished. He is definitely incapacitated. It isn’t until I catch my breath that I actually open my eyes and look down to face my attacker. Instead, I am faced with the asshat from last night attempting some kind of standing fetal position.

Catching my breath, I rage at him, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? What, one assault wasn’t good enough for you? Are you really that fucking hard up, you think it’s acceptable to feel up whomever the hell you please?”

I can hardly make his words out through the wheezing and grunting, “I wasn’t trying to assault you. If I wanted a piece of ass there is plenty of it around. I was trying to correct your posture. The way you were carrying yourself your back is going to ache later tonight.”

Placing my hands on my hips, now even more pissed off for his so called correction, I continue my rant. “Well I’d say thank you, but truthfully I’d be fucking lying. I’m perfectly capable of knowing my own body. My posture was strained because I was trying to change my song while still moving. Had you been looking at something other than my ass you might have noticed that.”

“Look I get it, ok? You’re a prude bitch who obviously doesn’t like men touching her. No wonder you’re so high strung. You know, if you actually got a bit of dick, you might relax a fucking bit,” he said, still doubled over.

“I’m not a prude anything, and my sex life is none of your fucking business, nor will it ever be. Now unless you plan to crawl up to your room, I’d shut the fuck up asshole,” I finish, while stretching a hand out toward him.

I want to ask where the fuck he thought he had any right to say those things, but seeing him hurting got the better of me. The stupid voice of reasoning inside my head says helping him would be the only decent thing to do. After waiting a few moments and him not taking my hand, I go and grab the moron some ice then send a text to Electra letting her know her boy might need some medical attention. I'm not really sure what I feel worse about, the fact that he is in pain, or the fact that two minutes later Electra is standing over him laughing like a hyena. Seriously, as soon as she caught her breath she'd take another look at the anguish on his face and double over again in laughter.

I watch as Tristan gives Ele a death stare. I don’t know what he expected, the girl gets off on seeing others in pain, she always has. Before I can ask her to give me a hand in helping him up, she excuses herself, saying she has someone she needs to meet in the lounge. I seriously debate leaving the moron on the floor, but even the smallest movements have him grunting in pain.

I finally feel bad enough for the jerk-off half standing in front of me, to offer my assistance again in getting him back to his room. Sadly, any hope of that was short lived when I ask where his room actually is, to which he informed me is across from Ele's. Of course it is... because it's only convenient to get the two rooms that are furthest from any elevators, and he sure as hell isn’t walking three flights of steps.

I swear fate is playing some cruel fucking joke on me. There is no way in hell he will make it to his room in his condition. He is barely able to make it to the elevator without collapsing.
Son of a bitch
! Here I go again doing something stupid. As we get ready to enter the elevator, we are informed the event we are here to attend had been postponed for weather reasons and would be delayed to the following day.

So here I am lugging Mr. Muscle over to my own room, because it's right across the hall from the damn elevator. I really think at this point I've lost my damn mind, because not only am I letting him crash in my room while his injury subsides, but I'm running this asshole a bath to soak in. As I leave to go get ice for an ice pack, I'm truly wondering what the fuck is wrong with me. I'm sympathizing with my own assaulter, and taking care of him. After helping his ass to my bathroom without so much as a single word, I go open my door to a much calmer Electra wondering where her boy is. I point to the bathroom then leave the room.

Figuring I can use some fresh air, I go back downstairs in search of fatty, gratifying foods. I am not disappointed when I see the bakery shop somehow manages to be open. After picking out a few things to take back up with me, I figure room service might be in everyone’s best interest since I doubt my new guests are leaving anytime soon.

Tristan

As I'm sitting in Spitfire's tub nursing my wounds, I can't help but wonder who the hell this woman is. When a knock on the door jolts me out of my thoughts, I look up to see a less than pleased Electra standing in the doorway. I take a deep breath, knowing I'm about to get lectured like a child who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. I expected she would be annoyed with me, but what I wasn't expecting was the hint of anger I hear in her voice as she begins to speak.

"I thought it was pretty clear after last night that assaulting Bentley was not a good idea. Did you honestly expect that after attacking her twice she would willingly allow you to put your hands on her? For fuck sake, Tryst, what the hell were you thinking?”

I mull over her words for a moment before it finally strikes me.
Bentley
. Bentley is the girl who likes to write stories that leave you mind-fucked. I look to Electra asking half jokingly but completely curious, "Isn't she the chick who writes the erotica that always ends up killing some dude off in the most fucked up, psycho ways? I mean damn, some ex must have really screwed her over for her to write shit like that."

When I look back up at Electra I expect to see an amused look, but I couldn't have been more wrong. When she opens her mouth I visibly cringe as the venom pours from her lips. "She doesn't write about some pathetic asshole who fucked her over. It’s her way of punishing the sick fuck who murdered her twin in the only way she knows how, through her writing. She throws in the happy endings as a twisted way of punishing herself because she carries the blame of her sister never getting to have her own happy ending."

Oh fuck me, you have got to be kidding, no way in hell... shit, shit, shit.
How the fuck did I not realize that last night when Ele was ranting about Cora right after Bentley left? Damn it, no wonder she kicked the shit out of me. She probably does really think I was trying to stalk her. I look back to Electra, and am more than slightly pissed off at my circumstances."Why the fuck didn't you tell me when I asked you last night who she was? Why didn't you tell me you still spoke to Cora's twin, or even that she would be here, Ele? How the fuck was I supposed to know that? You think I went out of my way to run into her? No, that shit was a fucking accident. Yes, today when I saw her down at the gym I put my hands on her waist to get her attention. I figured she would have just stopped moving. It's isn’t like I expected her to go bat shit crazy. I sure as fuck didn’t expect her to go all Jet Li on my ass. Although, I can't say I'm sorry she did. I feel better knowing that at least she could hold her own, so long as it's a fair fight."

Truth be told I’m kind of proud of my Spitfire. Sure it hurts like hell, but at least I know she's not one of those girls who just lay down and take the abuse.
My Spitfire
, I smile at the way it sounds playing in my head.

I try not to laugh at my predicament, because that shit hurts like a motherfucker. But hey, I'll take what I can get. Judging by the smell coming from the living room and the fact I'm in her room at all, tells me Bentley doesn't hate me nearly as much as she's letting on. I let the thought sink in for a moment before reality rears its ugly head again. If I remember what Ele said, after the trial Bentley ran as fast and as far away as she could. She moved into her own little fortified prison where she rarely awards herself for good behavior and hardly ever leaves the confines of her structured prison walls. How the fuck am I going to break down walls she created to protect herself the only way she knows how? Well fuck me sideways, this is one hell of a predicament. Not only do I still want this girl, but I want her that much more.