Lovely Trigger (Tristan & Danika 3)

God, it was flooring how just listening to that deep voice of his could captivate me.  For just the sound of his voice alone, I could have stayed glued to that spot indefinitely.

I shook the thought off, calling myself a fool.

“I need a minute alone, if you don’t mind.  I’m going to go clean up.”

He tried to kiss me, but I turned my head away.  “My dress, please.”  My voice wasn’t sharp, in fact, it was gentle, but I saw him flinch out of the corner of my eye.

How did he always do that?  Make me want to take back whatever I’d said that may have hurt him, even after all this time.

Reason number one thousand why I needed to stay away from him.

We both gasped in a harsh breath as he dragged himself out of me.  I clenched at him involuntarily as he pulled, and that seemed to drag it out, into an act of pure torture.  His girth assured that he hit every nerve ending on his way out.

I cursed.

He pulled my dress back up onto my arms, then over my head, then my shoulders.  His hands were gently caressing as he eased every inch of it back in place.

I didn’t look at him.

He still had his h*ps close, still between my thighs, even as he smoothed my dress over my back.

I felt him nudge back against my sex, seeking entrance again.

I don’t know how, but I managed to shake my head.  We would not be going for another round, addictive as it might be.

I had to get off the crazy train now, not go for another loop.

I needed just a moment, to go be by myself and think.  The sooner the better.

He stepped back and helped me down.  He let me go to tuck himself back into his pants, and I fled into the house.

The place had a ton of bathrooms set throughout the sprawling mansion, but I went up to my appointed guest suite and used my private bath to clean up, then combed my hair, and touched up my makeup.

I stared at my dazed expression for a solid five minutes, wondering what the hell was wrong with me.

Was this some new sickness, or had the old one persisted, in spite of everything?

Or was this the result of mishandling the situation altogether?

How were we back to square one six years later, within just a few conversations?

Had that happened because we’d never learned to cope with sharing the same space?  Had never having any contact at all just made us more susceptible to a screw up of epic proportions?

Had we only made ourselves more sensitive to the other’s presence, when what we’d needed was to be desensitized?

Was it just possible that there was some middle ground here?  Some sort of closure to the romantic part of our relationship that I’d never pursued?

I had always thought of Tristan in terms of all or nothing, but clearly, that hadn’t worked.  That failure was currently staring me in the face, and perhaps more mortifying, dripping down my leg.

I could admit that cutting someone that had become such an undeniably significant part of me so completely out of my life had been damaging to me.

It had stunted me.  Stunted my happiness.  Stunted my growth.

That was a fact I’d accepted long ago, in a resigned sort of way, seeing it as a necessary evil.

But what if it wasn’t necessary?  What if it was only detrimental?

Spending some rare time in his company made me realize something new.

I’d been so focused on the bad of him, of us, the bad of all that had happened that I’d forgotten the good.

I’d lived the bad, existed with it every waking hour of every day and some nights, in my dreams, as well.

Why shouldn’t I get a bit of the good?

What if, just maybe, I needed it?

What if it would help me close that chapter of my life?

Being with him was out of the question.  A long-term romantic relationship was absolutely unthinkable.  But a friendship?  Hadn’t I moved on enough to at least give myself that small bit of comfort?

Didn’t I deserve it?

I was expecting it.  I wasn’t even a little bit surprised when Frankie made a point of cornering me.

She and I weren’t the type of friends that fought.  We gave each other shit on a regular basis, but that little scene earlier was as good as a full-on confrontation for us.

I’d known she was going to feel bad about it and quickly try to make it better.

The reception was still in full swing when I returned to the party.  I’d have been surprised if it didn’t go until morning.

I made my way quietly to my table, very acutely aware of the fact that, though I’d cleaned up as well as I could in a hurry, I hadn’t showered.  I was planning to slip away and do that just as soon as I thought it was politely possible.

Frankie joined within a minute of me sitting down.  She was alone.  Almost everyone else from the wedding party was dancing.  Estella was currently going to town as the dancing meat in a Stephan and Javier sandwich.

“You remember that I set you two up, right?” I asked her as I met her very serious eyes.  “You owe me.  I brought that hot thing into your life.”

She shot her longtime girlfriend a fond glance.  “I know it.”  Her face crumpled slightly, not a breakdown, not tears, just screwed up a bit, as though she were in pain.  She looked away.  “You know I love you, right?”

It was my turn to look away.  We were close friends, but not the mushy kind.  Things like this were rarely said between us.  “I do.  I love you too.  You’re one of my closest friends, and I know that your heart is always in the right place.”