Twenty-Three
Tristan eased his still-pulsing c**k from Lulu’s body. She lay with her arms spread out, utterly relaxed, the picture of boneless bliss. He needed a moment to collect himself, so he pressed a lingering kiss to her lips and murmured, “Be right back.”
She blinked at him with hazy blue eyes. “Washroom?”
And even that was adorable, the Britishism of washroom instead of bathroom.
He grabbed one of the towels Toni had piled on the dresser and wrapped it around his hips. In the downstairs bathroom, which was still unfinished and awaiting tiles, he disposed of the condom, cleaned himself off, and braced his hands on the sink. He looked at himself in the mirror and said one word.
“Fuck.”
He knew what it meant. He didn’t have to explain himself to his reflection. It meant that thi
