I nodded again, then gasped as he thrust hard into me.

It had been weeks for us, and so it was a fast coupling.  Fast, but satisfying.

As always, he waited until I came before he let himself go, holding me tight on his cock as he emptied himself deep inside of me with a gratifying shout.

He caught his breath, growled for me to hold on tight and without pulling out, carried me to the couch, lying back so I was riding him.

His hands went to my hips, gripping tight, and his eyes flew to mine.  There was a world of worshipful desire in his eyes that I craved like air.

“Ride me,” he ordered, or begged.  It could have been either, his tone was so rough, his eyes so intent.

He was hard and ready to go again, which I’d become accustomed to.  It took a lot to really satisfy him, after days apart.

I started to move, circling my hips, seating myself hard, then pulling up again.  I rode him how he loved, my movements sure, my hands cupping my breasts.  I knew how it titillated him to watch me touch myself, and I was rewarded with a harsh groan and a hard surge of his hips under me.

I pinched my nipples, my head falling back, hips still grinding on him with more frantic, jerky motions as I grew close.

My own release made me pause as I shivered and gripped around him like a vise, squeezing him tight as each wave of pleasure took me.  He wasn’t far behind, surging high inside of me as he went over.

We didn’t move for a long time after.  My hands sifted through his hair as we kissed leisurely, lazily.  I thought I could have slept for days after that delicious interlude.

He pushed me back slightly to smile up into my face.  “I missed you.”

“Always.  Every second of every day.”

DANIKA

I was getting dressed the next morning, in the process of buttoning my jeans, when I felt him running a light finger along first one of my shoulders, and then the other.

I glanced down at myself.  A line of small bruises patterned my shoulders, which brought my eyes down to my chest.  One abused breast had received a similar treatment.

The man at my mother’s house had left his mark on me.  Tristan’s talent for distraction had helped me forget the entire thing, for a time, but the bruises were an unwelcome and brutal reminder.

I could feel the tension in his voice when he asked, “Where did these come from?”

I’d always been a terrible liar, but I still gave it an honest try.

“Hmmm?” I attempted, going for casual.  I made a point of glancing behind me, where his hands were tracing, my brow furrowing as though I had no notion where they’d come from.  “No idea.  Could have been anything.”

“Those bruises look like handprints.”  His tone was deadly.

I began to backtrack and tiptoe.  It was a fact that Tristan had a temper that was not to be messed with, and if he had a clue what had actually made these bruises, he’d go ballistic in a heartbeat.

“I bruise easy.  I’ve never even noticed them before, so it must have just happened.”

He took a quick step back.  A man his size didn’t move that fast without an impact.  I turned to study his face.  The arrested look of horror on his face didn’t help.  I saw right away that I’d played it all wrong.

“I did that?  That was me?”

I began shaking my head no before he’d gotten a word out.  “No, no, no.  It definitely wasn’t you.”

“How can you say that?  You don’t know where those marks came from, you said.  I must have grabbed you there yesterday.  I did that to you.”

“It wasn’t you, okay?  I swear.  Can we just drop it?”

He seemed to catch something in my words, or my tone, that had his expression changing from horrified into perceptive, an even more troublesome option.  “What happened, sweetheart?  Tell me how you got those bruises.”  His tone was all cajoling charm.

I didn’t let it sway me.

He moved until we were face to face, brushing light hands over my shoulders and up into my hair, fisting until he’d tilted my face up to his, his body moving close enough to mine to stop my brain from functioning properly.  “Tell me.”

“They don’t even hurt.  You’re overreacting.”

He blinked, looking taken aback.  “Overreacting?  Okay.  So tell me what I’m overreacting to.”

I swallowed, feeling very nervous about his response, my mind still trying to find an excuse for the bruises.  I honestly thought he might kill the guy if I gave him the real story.

“It was a misunderstanding,” I explained, licking lips gone dry.

His face became very blank.  “A misunderstanding did that?  Where can I find this ‘misunderstanding’?”

I rolled my eyes, though I’d known all along he’d go straight caveman on this.

I rubbed his chest, a soothing gesture, still trying to avoid what I knew was coming.  “I’m hungry.  Let’s go eat, ‘kay?”

He stayed where he was as I pulled myself slowly out of his hands.  I bent to grab my bra, turning my back to him again as I shrugged into it.

I wasn’t quick enough, and he stayed my hand with his, stepping around me to look at my chest.  A tick started pumping high in his jaw as he took in the bruises there.

This was bad.

He swallowed, let go of my hand, gripping his fingers hard into his hair as he took a few steps back from me.  “What is that?”  Each word was pronounced slowly through his teeth.  He was about to lose it.

I fastened the bra, bent down, grabbed my shirt, and shrugged into it fast.  The longer he looked at the marks, the worse he seemed to get, so I wisely determined to cover them sooner rather than later.

“Tell me.”

I ignored that too, going to dig through my bag for something that would completely cover my shoulders.  “It’s not what you’re thinking, and you need to calm down.”

“Explain it to me then.  Explain to me why my girlfriend looks like she’s been manhandled.  Give me a good reason for those marks, and then I’ll calm the fuck down.”  Rage vibrated through his voice with every word.

“I don’t like your tone, and I refuse to talk about this right now.”  As I spoke, I shrugged into a little blue cardigan that covered my shoulders and chest.

“Do I need to call Jerry about this?”

My nose wrinkled at him as I tried to figure that one out.  “Surely you don’t think that Jerry bruised me up?”

“No, but I think he will help me get to the bottom of this.”

He wasn’t wrong.  Jerry would piece things together in a hurry.  He knew where I’d gone yesterday.

“Please, just drop it.  I’m hungry, and this nonsense is going to make us late to meet with Frankie.”

I didn’t wait for an answer, walking out of his room.  I could feel him moving behind me as I made my way through the apartment, which I supposed was a good sign.  Maybe he was actually going to drop it.

He was silent on the drive to the Cavendish Hotel & Casino where Frankie had her tattoo parlor.  We were meeting her at a diner that had the best steak and eggs in town.  It was turning into a weekly ritual, though Tristan was a new addition to the equation, since he’d been gone so often lately.

After twenty minutes of silence, I was ready to crack.  It was unnerving to watch him drive, his hands white on the steering wheel, without a word passing between us.

I put my hand on his thigh, rubbing in little soothing circles.  “Frankie’s been working on my tattoo,” I told him finally.  I’d been meaning to get it done when he was out of town, and surprise him when he got back, but it was the only way I could think of to distract him from his black mood.

It worked.  He sent me a probing sideways glance, his interest thoroughly caught.  “Your tattoo?  So you are for sure getting one?”

I nodded, rubbing my hand higher, feeling a rush of relief that he was going to let the issue of the bruises go.  “Yes.  For sure.”