We made love throughout the night, not able to get enough of each other. The first two times, earlier in the day, were just pressure relievers—letting us release just enough pent-up energy by meeting our most primal needs before we both exploded. Now, with that edge off, we could truly get reacquainted. No, it was more than that. Having been newlyweds for only two weeks, we hadn’t even had a chance to really get to know each other in the first place, not intimately. We’d been allowed to smell the bouquet, to taste the flavor, even to enjoy a full glass, only to have the bottle taken away. Now, another bottle was brought out, same year and vintage, but with time and separation, the flavor tasted new, yet at least recognizable. And more intense…so much more intense.
We started slow, rediscovering places we’d been before but with new appreciation. Feeling at once familiar, yet unknown and exciting. It didn’t take long to become more comfortable, less inhibited. We quickly moved on to explore and discover and learn with and from each other. And we made every effort to make up for those missing years. Well, at least one or two of them.
Several times I had to tell Tristan how much I loved him when he seemed to be losing control. At one point, he downright frightened me.
Using his paralyzing power, he pinned me against the wall, a couple of feet off the floor. It was an exciting game to see how long I could let him touch me without being able to move or respond with anything but my eyes or mouth. We’d only tried this experiment once before because it was a dangerous game—he had to maintain control or his power could literally crush me to death. The risk made it all the more thrilling.
He placed his hands on each side of my head and started by kissing my lips, then my cheeks, then along my jaw, his loose hair trailing over my skin like a feather. His lips moved down my neck and, his hands still flat against the wall, to my breasts. He kissed and sucked and rolled my nipples with his tongue. I could do nothing but let him. I desperately wanted to reach out and slide my hands over his perfect chest or press my body against the full length of his. I shivered with the combined feeling of anticipation and helplessness as his hands finally caressed my body.
Starting at my shoulders, they moved slowly down my arms and back up again while his lips and tongue trailed along my collarbone. Then he slid them down my torso, over every curve and every indent. They explored my breasts and my tummy and my hips. They ran down the outside of my legs and trailed electricity back up the inside. One came back up to my neck, while the other stayed in between my legs and a finger slid inside me. I could only respond with a moan of pleasure.
Tristan’s mouth came back to mine again and I looked into his eyes. They exploded with fire. A long, feral growl rumbled through him as he kissed and sucked on my neck, one hand squeezing my breast and the other still between my legs.
“Tristan,” I whispered breathily, “I love you, baby.”
He growled again in response. Then it seemed like his hands were suddenly everywhere, fervently rubbing all over my body. His lustful gropes became rough, not his usual, careful caresses. Every place his mouth landed, he sucked hard, as if trying to devour me. And then I felt his power intensifying, pressing in on me, squeezing me from the outside in. My heart, already racing with excitement, throbbed even harder, as I felt a loss of control. I was paralyzed—unable to reach out and grab his attention. The shivers changed to trembles of fear.
“Tristan, please,” I pleaded. “Look at me.”
He ignored me. He panted with desire as he yanked me off the wall and into his powerful arms, holding me firmly against his hard body. One hand gripped tightly at the back of my neck and the other pressed into the small of my back as he carried me to the bed. His power was released from me, but now he could have easily snapped my spine or neck with just one unintentional squeeze or twist and I didn’t know if I could heal from such an injury. I normally wouldn’t have worried about him going so far, but I’d never seen him with such little control. His eyes burned brighter and panic rose in my chest as my heart tried to pound through it.
I braced his head in my hands and forced him to stop and look at me.
“I love you, Tristan. Please, baby. I love you.” I sounded desperate and I didn’t know if the distressed pleas would make the situation worse. But not knowing what else to do, I simply repeated the three-word sentence he’d been so eager to hear earlier and hoped it would get through to him before he did something rash.
I continued staring into his eyes as the fire finally died down and his grip on me loosened. A look of horror spread across his face as he realized what he’d almost done and his eyes darkened completely with regret as he sat on the bed with me still in his arms. He shook his head and opened his mouth to say something.
“Shh,” I said. “It’s okay. I love you. I trust you.”
He fell backward on the bed and closed his eyes. I leaned over him and kissed his mouth, pressing his arms to the bed with my hands.
“Just let me do it now,” I whispered.
I didn’t have the power to keep him still, but he lay there as if I did. His hands clawed at the bed—and only the bed—as I took over. I leaned down further, pressing my breasts against his chest, while I kissed his face. My mouth moved back to his and I pushed my tongue inside, tasting his tangy-sweetness. I pulled on his lower lip with my teeth, then moved lower. I slid my hands and mouth over his neck and then his chest, kissing and licking and sucking. Continuing downward, I kissed and stroked every inch of him until he trembled with anticipation, just as he’d done to me. He didn’t move until I straddled his waist and sunk down onto him.
I was ripe and ready for him and I moaned as he filled me completely. He finally lifted his hands and rubbed his palms against my hard nipples, then gently squeezed my breasts. I leaned over again and planted my mouth on his. His hands slid down, over my butt, then to my hips and they gently rocked me, slow at first, getting into our rhythm, then faster and hotter and deeper. I cried out when that last stroke went deep, hitting just right. I squeezed him as every muscle in my body contracted and I plunged into oblivion.
It had to be nearly dawn when we finally fell asleep from exhaustion. The end of my memory-dream played—the one that wasn’t a memory at all, just a figment of my semi-accurate imagination. Tristan in the desert mountains, writhing on the ground in front of the Daemoni. Then his face clearly filled my vision, the scars bright red and fire filling his eyes. He growled loudly and deeply and then dove for my throat.
OH! I sat up, gasping and wide-eyed. My breath came out raggedly as I looked around, trying to get my bearings. No desert. No mountains. Just a dream. I sat on the floor of the Caribbean room, wrapped in a sheet, the room completely destroyed. Tristan lay on the floor next to me, his hand tugging my arm, pulling me to him.
“You okay?” he mumbled, squinting at me in the bright morning light.
“Yeah,” I breathed, collapsing into his arms. “Nightmare.”
“Mmm.” He nuzzled my neck. “Want to tell me about it?”
The visions tried to come back into my mind. I shoved them out. “No. It was nothing.”
I relaxed into him and we lay there lazily for a while.
“How come you don’t have nightmares?” I finally asked, rolling over to look at him. “I think if I were you, I’d be afraid to even sleep.”
He frowned. “It’s a practiced art, but I’ve learned to cut off that part of my mind.”
“Your subconscious? You can cut it off?” I asked with disbelief.
“Cut it off, close it down. It took a hundred years or so to learn how, but if I hadn’t, you’re right. I would have never made it this long.”
“So, you don’t dream at all?” I lifted an eyebrow.
“Only if I want to allow it…and when I do, I take the risk of reliving some horrors I’ve tried to forget. But while I was gone, I allowed it, hoping to dream of you. And I did, every night.”
My heart squeezed. “What did you dream about?”
He smiled. “Mostly our memories…the good times we had. But, sometimes, I got really lucky.”
“What do you mean?”
His grin grew. “I dreamt of times like last night.”
“You dreamt of dinner with Owen?”
He laughed, then nuzzled my neck again. “I think you know what I mean.”
“Wow…you did get lucky. I never had dreams like that. Well…actually, I did dream of our wedding night.”
“Yes, that would be one of them,” he murmured against my ear. Goose bumps rose on my arms. “One of
