Page 52 of The Tryst List
“Do you feel better?” I look up at him from over my shoulder.
Peter slides his hand down to my bare pussy and runs his fingers through my folds. “Much better. And I can tell you liked it too.” He kisses me hard and deep and brings the finger coated with my arousal to our lips. “Taste.”
“Mmmm.” I suck myself off him and he dips his wet finger into my moisture.
No one can get me off as fast and as often as Peter can. The palm of his hand presses against my mound as he fucks me with his fingers, every so often pulling them out to rub my clit. When his free hand slips under his T-shirt and pinches my nipple, it’s all over. Wincing, I cream all over him, clamping down on his wrist with my thighs, trapping him in place.
Peter laughs and drags his lips under my ear. “Greedy, greedy girl. Do you need another one?”
“Yes, please.” I turn slightly in his arms to watch him rub my clit.
This man has ruined me. Well, he did that in Vegas years ago. It’s only been confirmed over the past couple months of us being together. My body craves him. It doesn’t matter what we do, he and I are molten.
“Hold up your shirt, baby. I want to suck on those delicious nipples of yours.” I do as he asks as Peter sneaks his other hand behind me and works a finger inside my ass. He dips his head down and rakes his teeth along my breast and resumes fucking me with his fingers in both locations.
In seconds, I’m a blithering mess.
When I return to normality, Peter’s kissing my forehead. “Welcome back, sweet girl.”
“Not that I’m complaining, but you didn’t need to get me off.” I reach up and stroke his hair. “It was supposed to be about you.”
He bends down to kiss me. “For me, it’s always about you. Plus, we checked off another item on the Tryst List.”
“Sex on a balcony. Right. Though it was just oral…” I wriggle in his lap.
He cups my tits and squeezes. “I thought we said we're using your list as a guide.” He slips his cock into me from behind. “We're making progress. Washing machine was easy. I nailed you at the jobsite after everyone left. We film ourselves all the time. What do we have left? Somewhere public, mile high club, and nature?”
“Don't forget we knocked off my shop and your office.” I watch him thrum my nipples as he thrusts up into me. “The limo was kind of public, wasn't it? We agreed your boat checked off both yacht and being stranded, right?”
Peter nuzzles my neck. “Yep. So, we have two left.”
'Ohhhhhhhh.” I can't even comprehend what he's saying because my orgasm rips through me like a lightning bolt.
After Peter expertly fucks me into oblivion, we pull ourselves together and relax on the lounger entwined. The city's distant hum mirrors the buzzing in my head. As much as I’m tempted to get lost in this moment of closeness, it's long past time to address some unspoken truths between us. There's an undercurrent of things left unsaid. A disconnect I can't afford to ignore any longer.
“Peter,” I try to convey tenderness with the seriousness in my tone, “we need to talk. About everything. London, your family… I shouldn't be hearing about these things from other people.”
He squeezes his eyes shut. When he opens them, they’re filled with a dawning realization he can’t avoid this discussion any longer. His brows wrinkle with worry. “I’m not trying to keep things from you. I don’t want to burden you with my problems. Especially not with my family.”
“But that’s just it.” I prop myself up on an elbow. “If we're going to move forward, there shouldn't be any burdens we can't share. Let’s start with this museum project. My pops told me the scale of it. Why didn't you?”
He scrubs his hand through his hair, his “tell” when he’s uncomfortable, I’ve learned. “Truthfully? I… I wasn't sure how. The thought of being away from you and how it might affect us… It weighs on me. I want a future with you and…”
“…I need honesty.” My tone is delicate yet firm. “If our lives can ever truly mesh, we need open communication. I can't commit to you if you're half in the shadows.”
He nods and tightens his grip around my waist. “You're right, of course. I suck at this. Sometimes it's hard to open up when I'm afraid of what the reaction will be. It's always been a source of stress in my world.”
“I understand, but I’d like it if you could start trusting me.” I take his hand, offering a reassuring squeeze. “A committed relationship means sharing the stress. The worries. The fears.”
He looks out over the Seattle waterfront. The early-morning light casts a mellow glow over his face. He doesn’t answer for a while and I’m about to say something when he threads our fingers. “I am committed to you. Last night was a real eye opener for me. Your family is loving. Supportive. I can see where your expectations for a relationship were learned.”
“And…” I encourage.
“My experience was very different. There's no room for error or there are accusations, snide comments, and gaslighting. Fights in the Vander household are no joke. I've always hated it. Felt like I was born into the wrong family.” He lets out a big breath and looks me in the eye. “There’s no excuse. I need to learn how to be honest with you about what’s going on. I want to let you in, even if it means you’ll be disappointed in me.”
I lean against him, closing the distance between us. “I’ll only be disappointed if you clam up. So, let's start. Tell me about London.”
He takes a deep breath, turning to face me. “London… It's a huge opportunity, baby. The kind of project architects dream of. But it also means I’ll have to move…”