Twin Babies with the Billionaire for Christmas

25. Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Five

Rachel

There’s something different about fucking Tristan guilt-free.

I loved the naughtiness of doing it when it was forbidden. But now that we have come clean about so many things with one another and there’s no need to keep our attraction a secret, it’s like a whole new world of sexy opportunity has opened for us.

I didn’t waste any time stepping out of my clothing when we got to Tristan’s bedroom. He had paused for just a moment to turn on the fireplace to banish the chill in the room before he had done the same.

We stand facing one another, naked, waiting for the other one to make a move. I know Tristan. I know that he likes me to take charge, so I decide to do so.

I move closer to him, taking my time, admiring his thick cock, which is already as hard as iron. I trail my finger down his side and then flatten my palm and run it along his lower abdomen and his back, dragging it behind me as I circle him.

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” I say to him honestly. I have never seen a more attractive man.

Sometimes I wonder how it’s possible that he can look like this at his age when most people alive will never aspire to his level of sexiness.

“You’re just saying that because you want my dick,” he rumbles.

“Well, yes,” I agree, coming back around to face him.

I stretch up on my tiptoes and press a soft kiss to each corner of his mouth. “But I also know art when I see it,” I tell him. “And your body can’t be described as anything else.”

“You’re just taking pity on this old man,” he insists and I roll my eyes.

“Now you’re just insulting me,” I assert, running my hand along the length of his cock and giving it a little tug. He sucks in a breath and his eyes flash a darker gold.

I stand still for a moment, my fingers still cradling him, sticky with precum.

He stares at me with naked want, still restraining himself. I turn around and walk sexily toward the huge bed in the middle of the room. I look back over my shoulder.

“Want an early Christmas gift?” I ask him coyly. I watch with approval as his cock twitches.

“You know I like presents,” he replies.

I nod, drawing to a halt next to the bed. I hold my arms wide, and say, “Do with me whatever you want. Merry Christmas.”

He just looks at me for a long moment, then his smile grows wide. He’s across the room in moments, flipping me around and bending me forward.

I catch myself with my palms before I fall face-first onto the bed, moaning as he slaps my ass hard.

He kicks my feet apart, and leans over me, trailing kisses down the bumps of my spine. I can feel my pussy throbbing for him. The ache at my core is so painful that I think I might pass out.

“You are the perfect Christmas gift,” he says to me, just before he lifts my hips and plunges into me.

I cry out as he stretches me, pressing back into him to take him more deeply. He’s so big that the first thrust is always almost painful, but I have found that this is one of my favorite parts of fucking him.

I love the sense that he is claiming me, marking me, changing me.

He starts moving within me, his thrusts sharp, powerful, overwhelming. I hear someone keening loudly, and realize in an abstract way, that it’s me making the harsh sounds of pleasure that are reverberating around the room.

I wrap my fingers into the sheets, holding on for dear life, straining to push back into him, to take him even deeper. My sensitive breasts ache as they swing with my movements, the sensation only adding to the pleasure of being taken this way.

I love this new feature of our connection—being used, plundered, enjoyed. It makes me feel powerful that I can reduce him to this kind of wild need. That he wants me so much that the polished, perfect veneer slips away to reveal this man who is desperate for release.

“Tristan, I’m so close!” I shout, pressing wildly against him. The tidal wave of orgasm is hovering in my nerve endings, and I’m already shivering with it, seconds from letting go.

Suddenly, he stops moving and slips out of me. I don’t have time to protest before he tumbles us onto the bed. He crawls up the mattress to position himself over me, his golden-brown eyes glowing in the late afternoon light.

He looks down at me for a moment, his eyes hungry, but his body still. I can hear our mutual ragged breathing filling the space and my body tingles with desire, each cell alive with want.

I wriggle closer but don’t break eye contact, mesmerized by the emotions chasing one another in his expression, hungry for the connection between us that seems strongest when he’s buried inside me.

I feel the tip of him nudging against my folds and I arch toward him hungrily. “Please,” I beg, writhing under him. “Tristan, please.”

He starts to press slowly home, and I moan as he fills me up again. I can feel the orgasm flooding back, tingling through my nerve endings, ready to crash over me.

“Wait for me,” he tells me, his voice rough as he starts to move back and forth. “Let me catch up, baby.”

I try to clamp down on the rush of pleasure that’s threatening to wash over me, gasping with each slow and tender thrust.

I feel like I’m going to die if I don’t let the orgasm have its way with me, but there is something deliciously dangerous about holding it back, making it wait for him.

“Tristan,” I warn him. “Tristan, I’m going to come.”

“Come for me,” he tells me, his voice sounding desperate, just before he starts shaking and snapping with his own release.

I let go with a sharp cry, feeling my pussy gripping his cock, feeling the warm flood of him within me as I press up to meet him. My back arches with the force of my release, and I grab his shoulders to help me balance, feeling like I will be swept away if I don’t have something to cling to.

“I love you, Rachel!” he gasps in my ear. “I love you so much.”

I hear the words, but at first, the reality of what he has confessed doesn’t sink in. My orgasm ebbs down to a more gentle level, and I open my eyes to look up at him. He’s still holding himself above me, his arms trembling a little with the effort, his eyes searching mine.

I meet his gaze for a moment, and then I grin at him. “Took you long enough to admit it,” I say teasingly, pressing up toward him for a kiss. He returns it, his lips gentle on mine, before he rolls to the side, taking me with him.

His hand comes down to rest on my belly which is just starting to show the barest hint of a curve. He strokes gently back and forth, his gaze trained on his hand.

“You don’t have to say you love me back,” he says to me, something hurting and small in his voice. “I would understand if you aren’t… there yet. Sorry to…sort of sneak up on you. The words just came out in the moment. But I mean them with all my heart.”

I look at his long fingers tracing paths on my skin and I feel a little smile tugging at the corners of my lips. My heart is sore for both of us, for our lack of love growing up, for having to figure out how to care for people without a roadmap of how the process works. We could have saved ourselves a lot of stress if we had known how to handle everything between us.

“Tristan,” I say gently. When he doesn’t respond, I reach out and put my hand on his. “Tristan, look at me.”

He slowly turns so that he can meet my gaze. I hate how worried he looks. He is so worthy of love. He should never have to question if he deserves my affection.

“Tristan Black,” I tell him, a smile working its way into my words. “I have loved you since the moment that you took me back here and let me force you to beg.”

His grin is abrupt, and wide, and his eyes are bright. “Truly?” he asks me, his tone still cautious, as if he doesn’t dare hope that I am telling the truth.

“Truly,” I say to him with a nod. “I want us to raise this baby together. The rest of the details, I don’t know…we can figure those out later. Just know that I love you.”

“You really are the best Christmas present ever,” he shouts, rolling on top of me and pressing silly, sloppy kisses all over my cheeks, my lips, my neck, and my breasts.

I giggle, struggling in his grip, feeling him get hard all over again. I feel lighter than a feather, truly happy for the first time in weeks.

Suddenly, his phone rings.

We both ignore it for a few cycles, but then it starts all over again.

Sighing, he tumbles off me, being careful of his cock, which is standing proud again, eager for more action.

I admire the majesty of it as he stands by the bed, talking to whoever is on the other end of the call. I start getting wet all over again at the idea of him being inside me.

“Hello?” he says into the phone. “Yeah. Did you manage to convince them to accept a payment to stop the story? Good deal. Oh…okay,” he says, his brows drawing down.

I ponder lazily whether the other men I had been with were just too small to really satisfy me, or if there’s something specifically special about Tristan’s cock and my body.

I have never experienced anything even approaching the kind of pleasure that he gives me so effortlessly. I remembered Cara talking about a college hookup that had been so good that she had ignored all the other red flags just to be able to experience the kind of sex that I was enjoying with Tristan.

I didn’t understand it back then, but now, I did. Boy, did I ever.

I watch him in confusion as his expression gets even more annoyed-looking. He looks over at me, his eyes wide.

I sit up a little, tugging the sheet up over me. I hope that everything is okay. But his face looks like everything is not okay at all.

“Yeah. No, that’s really helpful. I’ll take care of it. Thanks.”

He hangs up the phone and puts it back on the bedside table, then looks over at me. He looks a little shell-shocked.

“What is it?” I ask him, worried.

He shakes his head a little, and then looks at me with a rueful expression on his face. “That was my PR folks. They got the two big tabloids to kill the story about us.”

“That’s great news!” I say, even though it won’t make my publisher take me back. It at least means that we don’t have to stare at garbage about us all over social media for a while.

I am so tired of seeing the headlines blaring that I’m a terrible and untrustworthy person who had the nerve to sleep with someone she was writing a book about. Of all the problems in the world, it seems like my personal life really shouldn’t be at the top of the pile of things to obsess over on social media.

“That part totally is good news,” he agrees. “They found something out when they paid the requested amount to kill the story, however. They found out who tipped off the press that we were fooling around.”

My brows draw down a little. “Oh?”

He nods and drives a hand through his hair. “It was Denise. She called them and told them to start following me and she told them what you looked like and who you were. She tipped them off.”

“Bitch,” I murmured, surprised at the venom in my voice. I didn’t usually hate anybody, but boy, did Denise deserve my dislike.

“Agreed,” Tristan says, shaking his head again. “Damn. She’s worked for me for so long. I know she’s not easy to deal with and stuff, but she took her work seriously. I thought we were over all of the nonsense after the Amy thing went down.”

I reach out and rub my hand down his back soothingly. “Sometimes people suck,” I say, the words inelegant, but appropriate.

He snorts at that and turns to look at me. “Yeah. I guess that’s just how it goes sometimes. I’ll wait to fire her until after the Christmas break.”

I make a face. “I’d fire her today, but I get that you have to get HR involved and stuff. Do you have enough other concrete problems to cite to let her go?”

“Mountains,” he says back. “I was too patient with her. She’s just…been with the company since the early days. Damn,” he says again.

“It’s okay to trust people and make mistakes,” I reassure him, squeezing his thigh comfortingly.

He meets my gaze with another one of those heart-stopping grins that he’s so good at.

“At least I usually trust the right people,” he says, pressing me back against the sheets and separating my legs. “After all, I let you have your way with me, and look how well that turned out?”

I giggle as I watch him kiss his way down my abdomen, then gasp as he blows a warm breath over my pussy.

“I couldn’t agree more,” I moan, as he drags his tongue along my slit.

“Merry early Christmas,” Tristan growls against my aching pussy.

“Merry early Christmas,” I breathe back, before giving in to the pleasure that is threatening to sweep me away again.