Hazel St. James - Fighting For You (Redemption#1)[ (18 page)

Peyton looked up at him with a frown on her face. “I don’t know if I believe you, Tristan. I heard what Cara said tonight.”

“I know what you heard, Peyton. I don’t need or want that shit, and I don’t think you would either. It was just an outlet for all my aggressions. It didn’t help me and it sure as fuck didn’t feel good when I lost control and sliced that girl’s back up. I don’t want that anymore. Please. Believe me. I just want you. Just like this…”

Tristan guided Peyton onto her back, and helped her out of her T-shirt and panties. He slipped off his boxers and lay on top of her, pinning her into the bed. He softly kissed her for a long time, happy when she started arching her body against him. He kneeled in between her parted thighs, and nibbled on each of her breasts, then licked a path down to her core. Tristan groaned as if in pain, when he brushed his fingers through her folds, and realized she was drenched already.

As if he needed to prove something to her, Tristan rolled on a condom and moved on top of her and slowly inched his way inside her swollen core. He carefully advanced a bit at a time, watching Peyton’s face for signs of pain. She was the most responsive creature he’d ever been with, and he knew that if she was in pain, it would show plain as day on her face.

Tristan had to fist the bed sheets in his hands to keep from losing his control and pounding her as hard as he could into the bed. She needed to know that he was able to be a gentle lover, and didn’t need the whole dominant role to get him off. He wanted her responses; wanted her to argue and fight back and push him. It was her fire that got him to this point in his life…where he actually wanted more for himself. And more for her.

Peyton arched her back and gripped him hard, drawing his cock in even deeper. His pubic bone was slowly rubbing over her and she was pressing her core against him even more, until her cries were reaching the point of a constant plea. Tristan leaned in to drink up her moans and held her tight while he picked up the strength of his thrusts. The moment that her body tensed around him, he knew that she was going to come. His own body responded with a surge of white hot pleasure that started at the base of his spine and ran all the way out through his limbs.

Once Peyton had gone limp in his arms, he slowed down enough to ease her back down from her orgasm and felt the last shudders leave her body. As they lay panting in each other’s arms, Peyton started to squirm underneath him, and he remembered that she was trying to go to the restroom earlier and he’d stopped her.

“Troubles, fancy pants?”

Peyton tried to push back against his chest to get him to move off of her, as she laughed. “Seriously, dickhead. You need to get off me before I pee all over you.”

Tristan had gone soft inside her anyway, and just rolled over to the other side of the bed. Peyton jumped up and was racing to the bathroom, her delicious backside barely bouncing as she ran. “Damn it, girl. You could bounce quarters off your ass! I think it’s time to scale back the booty work-outs!”

Peyton finished in the bathroom and came back out with a short robe wrapped around her body. “Why do you say that, Tristan?”

Tristan lifted himself up by his arms, leaving his lower half plastered to the bed. He used one arm to snake around her waist and pull her onto the bed, so that she was laying on her stomach and he could straddle her thighs. Peyton was fighting and flailing the entire time, but she was laughing as she did. Tristan grabbed her wrists in both of his hands, and pinned them into the mattress, leaving her robe up and over her bare backside.

“Because I’m an ass man,” he answered before placing a kiss against her bare lower cheek. “And I need somewhere to put my hands.” Tristan gave her other ass cheek the same chaste kiss, before he raised his head up again. “If you lose any more of this ass, I won’t be able to do this.” The words had barely left his mouth when he clamped his teeth around the meaty part of her butt and gave the flesh a firm bite. Peyton squeaked a little, before a deep groan practically vibrated his body through hers. He released his hold on her ass, then used his tongue to soothe where he had left the mark. After a few minutes of lavishing the area with his tongue, Tristan gave her love bite a soft kiss that made her hiss in a breath, and let go of her arms.

“That is as dominant as I will ever get with you, Peyton. I’ll mark you as mine and ask that you try to at least listen to me on occasion, but I don’t want a submissive woman.”

Peyton, rubbed her ass for a second as she smiled playfully, and answered, “Yes, sir.”

Tristan laid flat against the bed, and pretended to be in pain. “You’re going to be the death of me, Peyton.”

Chapter Twenty

H
e was in his childhood home. The house smelled awful, and was so cold. Dark and cold. There was a single light on in the bedroom, but it was so dim, it didn’t reach this far out into the house. He could hear the faintest sounds coming from the bedroom…they sounded like a lullaby. Like someone singing. Tristan knew that voice. Knew who that was. He started walking towards it, and could feel the dread creeping across his skin.

He shouldn’t go in there. He was told not to. Supposed to stay outside. He stepped all the way into the room, and could see a woman, a tiny wisp of a thing, sitting on the bed, clutching something in her hands, rocking from side to side. She started singing again, but this time Tristan could hear the words. “Baby mine, don’t you cry. Baby mine, dry your eyes. Rest your head close to my heart never to part, baby of mine.”

The woman looked up at him, and Tristan saw the tears streaming down her sunken in face, instantly knowing that she was his mother. “Come here, Tristan,” she said in a distant voice as she reached for him. Her hand held his arm and he flailed about wildly trying to get her off him, “Nooooooooo!”

Tristan sat up in his own bed, sweat pouring off his body. Peyton was sitting on the floor next to the bed, holding her hand to her cheek, her eyes wide as she panted and stared at him. The pieces of the dream started to come back to him, and he realized the voice he’d heard in his dream was Peyton. His wildly beating heart continued to thump as he asked in a voice that was not his own, “Did I hurt you?”

Peyton removed her hand from her cheek, and checked the skin for what he assumed would be blood. She shook her head, and then slowly crept back over to the bed on her hands and knees. Tristan watched her, realizing that her face was full of fear…which was to be expected. She approached him slowly, and laid her head into his lap and wrapped her arms around his waist.

Tristan let the last few minutes wash over him, rehashing the new bits of his nightmare. He was familiar with the song, but it wasn’t something he’d heard in a very long time. The feelings however, still clutched at him, and made his heart ache. The words she was singing added to the pain, and he tried to keep his feelings inside. He choked back tears that were desperately trying to break free from his body.

Peyton’s body was warmer than his, and it felt as if she was trying to infuse some of herself into him. She still hadn’t said a word yet, but it was obvious to both of them that it wouldn’t help anymore. It was a terrible feeling when you realize that you are so fucked up and broken that you can only bring pain to those around you.

His tears fell unbidden from his eyes, and dripped down onto his chest. He sobbed for the first time since he was eight years old.

Peyton finally crawled back into bed and held onto both of Tristan’s hands as she lay next to him. She hadn’t gotten too close to him, which was unusual for her. There was very little time that they spent together where she wasn’t holding onto him in one way or another. So, as soon as she had fallen back to sleep, Tristan went out to the living area and sat in one of the recliners. His body was on edge, and he knew there was no way he would be sleeping again tonight.

There was only one window on this side of the apartment, and he sat in front of it, staring out into the November night. It was cold and rainy, and the leaves were missing from all the trees. Tristan shifted restlessly in his seat, thinking about the last few months of his life.

He felt like he was in a
pile it on
moment, where his mind added his worst memories to the list of things to process, and the more that was added, the further down he slipped. Tristan didn’t even realize there was a mine field inside his brain, and wondered about the ramifications of his disease. If he had things buried deep inside that kept him locked in this cycle of ups and downs, then he wanted to get them the fuck out. But at the same time, he knew that all of this would mean another stay in the hospital. It wasn’t the end of the world, but losing your freedom like that was a shock to your system, and nothing that he wanted to repeat.

Tristan zoned out, and the hours flew by, but he never did fall back to sleep. He snapped out of his haze early the next morning, when Peyton called for him.

“Tristan? Where are you?”

He didn’t answer; instead he got up and walked back to the bedroom, staring off into space the entire time. Peyton was sitting up in bed, clutching the sheets to herself when he came into the room. She gasped when she looked at him, and jumped out of bed. She wrapped her arms around his waist, but he didn’t return the sentiment. Tristan was void of emotion, and his body was completely numb as they stood there, Peyton hugging him close.

Finally, she sniffled against his skin, and backed away. “Baby? Do you want me to take you to the hospital?”

Tristan just shook his head and headed to his side of the bed. After he’d stretched out, he cleared his throat and spoke towards the ceiling with a shaky voice, “I didn’t mean to hurt you, Peyton.”

“I know that, sweets. It just scared me is all. Did you take your instant meds?”

Tristan just shook his head against the pillow. “No. Sick of being dependent on that shit.”

Peyton laughed nervously, “Well, let’s work on kicking the habit after we get you feeling better, shall we?”

She left him, but came back within minutes with a glass of water in one hand, and the tiny pill he recognized as his anxiety medicine in her other hand. Tristan didn’t even balk, even though he’d thought about it. Peyton was pumping him full of his drugs, keeping him sedated enough so that he didn’t feel the pain that lanced his insides, all the way down to his soul. That was half of the story, he thought to himself, imaging that Peyton was keeping him drugged up so that she could get through the next two months with him. Or maybe Peyton was the drug for him, and her calm demeanor made him able to handle everything surrounding them.

Being so dependent on these meds, made Tristan feel like he had an addiction that he would have to kick when he was able. The drugs were his first problem, and then Peyton was his second. It was like she was another drug that he couldn’t kick. And he needed to if he was going to get out of this hellhole inside him. The rollercoaster of emotions was flooding his mind, and he could feel the panic attack building inside him. Just as soon as the overwhelmed and strangled feelings started, the medicine kicked in…his mind emptied, and he floated off into euphoria.