TRISTEN
It was like a gun had gone off in his head.
Almost as if he had been blindsided, knocked over the head with a bat the size of a log of wood.
If her plan is to kill him by means of insanity, it was f*****g working
She turns this way and that, like he isn’t already about to lose himself.
“So?”
He wants to corrupt the innocence in her voice.
Corrupt it, shatter it, ruin it.
Schooling his face and suppressing the groan of pure desire that almost makes its way out of his mouth is the hardest thing Tristen has ever had to do.
He tilts his chin up at her.
She isn’t wearing a bra. If he touched her would the tips of her n*****s strain through the sheer fabric of the dress?
“So what?”
She frowns at his tone and he wonders if she can tell he’s thinking about closing his mouth
