TRISTAN
I sat in the living room with a cup of fresh black coffee going cold in my hand and laptop open on my lap, emails blurring in front of my eyes. Every thirty seconds my gaze drifted to the staircase like a f*****g addict waiting for his next hit.
Maya hadn’t come down once. Not for lunch. Not for dinner. She’d refused the tray I sent up, refused to answer when I knocked. The whole day she’d stayed locked in that room, and I knew exactly why.
I sighed and slammed the laptop shut, tossed it onto the opposite couch like it had personally offended me. My fingers raked through my hair, pulling hard. A low growl tore from my throat. “f**k, Desmond. You’re a goddamn idiot.”
I shouldn’t have touched her last night. Shouldn’t have sucked her fingers clean like a starving man. Shouldn’t
