Page 64 of The Tryst List
Peter’s eyes reflect a storm of swirling emotions. He takes a half step forward. Stops, unsure whether to close or keep the distance. I mirror his hesitation, though I long to run and jump into his arms. The space between feels like a vast expanse, charged with the potential of what could be and the fear of what might not be.
“Do you want to sit down?” Peter breaks the silence and gestures to the couch, where his food has been set up.
I nod. “Yeah, that would be good.”
We tentatively move to the sofa. We’re close enough to touch, yet we both refrain from invading each other’s space just yet. The physical proximity only seems to amplify our awkwardness. He’s close, yet so far.
Gulping down my fear, I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “I wasn’t sure if I should come, but I needed to see you.”
“I’m glad. Jordan. I… I wasn’t expecting this.” Peter runs a hand through his hair, his gesture of unease. “I thought we’d talk once I got home.”
We’re navigating uncharted waters, trying to find a way back to each other while being acutely aware of the hurdles in front of us.
“Yeah.” I smile and place my hand on his knee. “I couldn’t wait another day, though.”
My bold move helps dissipate our initial awkwardness. Our physical affection, though slight, is a reminder of a bond distance and time don’t seem to erase. The uncertainty of the moment lingers, but it’s tempered by a cautious hope—at least for me—of reconciliation.
“I… Jordan, before we go any further there’s something important I need to tell you about the project.” Peter’s discomfort is palpable. “I’ve realized it’s much bigger. Ah, fuck. It’s at least a ten-year commitment.”
I hold his gaze. “I know. My pops filled me in on the expectation. I'm not in London to tell you goodbye. I came to tell you home is wherever you are. I don’t want to lose you over this.”
Relief washes over his features. “You have no idea how much I needed to hear you say that.”
“My pops also made me realize something even more important.” I move closer and take his hands in mine. “If we really want this, we’ll make it work, no matter the distance or time—or obstacle. I love you. I want a future with you, if you still feel the same way.”
Peter’s eyes search mine. “Are you sure? This is a big move. I don’t want to hold you back.”
I squeeze his hands. “First, thank you for giving me the time and space to process. In answer to your question, yes. I’m sure. There’s more. Merc and I have talked about opening a branch of The Salty Siren in London. If I need to relocate, we can figure it out.”
“Wait, you’d relocate? For me?” A look of astonishment settles on Peter’s face.
I shrug, feeling a surge of hope. “I believe in us, Peter and despite my…standoffishness for the past few weeks, I’m willing to take this chance. As long as we’re honest with each other going forward and there are no more secrets. Except for presents. Presents can remain secret.”
Peter yanks me into a tight embrace against his broad chest. “I love you so much, baby. No more secrets. I promise. We’ll figure this out.”
As we hold each other in his hotel room, I feel a sense of rightness. Despite any challenges ahead, I think we can be—no, are—something beautiful.
“I need you, baby.” I stroke the stubble on his face. “Please…”
“On your back.” Peter presses against the cushions, unbuttons my jeans and yanks them down with my underwear like a man possessed. “Goddamn, baby. I can smell you. I’m starving for your sweet little pussy.”
He kneels between my legs, dips his thumb into my wetness and drags it up to my swollen clit. When he gives it a little pinch, I practically levitate off the couch. “Christ, Peter.”
“You have no idea…” He groans as he shoves the denim pooled around my ankles off and to the ground.
Peter pries one of my legs up and sets it on the back of the sofa, opening me up. His palms caress my inner thighs to press them even farther apart and he dives in. I cup his head in both my hands and cry out as he licks the entire length of my slit with the flat of his tongue. He spreads my lower lips apart with his fingers and licks slower this time, as if he’s savoring me. Needing more, I raise my hips to push my pussy against his mouth.
“Now. Now, baby.” Peter palms my lower belly to press me back down and rubs his thumb over my swollen clit. “Let me take care of you. Relax.”
He resumes feasting on me until my thighs quiver on either side of his head. My blunt nails rake across his scalp when he wedges both thumbs into my channel, spreading me wider to bury his tongue deep inside. My hips rock into him, I’m gasping and grinding as he explores everywhere. All the while circling my clit with a finger. Flicking it with his nails. Lapping up the arousal pooling out of me.
“I’m close…”
Peter looks up at me from between my legs. “I can taste it.” He hums against my clit before sucking it hard between his lips.
Manic pulses overtake my body like low-level electrocution. Keeping suction on my little nub, he thrusts two fingers into me hard and curves them upward to my sweet spot, making me gasp and try to scramble up to get away. “It’s too much…”
“Never. You’re going to come all over my fucking face,” Peter growls, pressing his forearm across my belly to keep me still before latching his lips on my clit.