The Boys of Blueberries

25

"And I'd also like to thank the amazing project team behind this collaboration." Sabina raises her glass, smiling, and the rest of the audience does, too. "And again to Women for Women for trusting The Fit, and of course, to the cause this collaboration is for. Thank you all for coming, have a great night, grab some champagne and dance. Thank you."

A loud round of applause meets her, and Sabina knocks back her own champagne before she moves down the stage, where her secretary is smiling at her, looking devilishly handsome with his hair pushed back and in the expensive suit Sabina got him. "Congratulations, Ms. Kyle," he murmurs when she's close enough.

Sabina whispers, "Follow me."

In the amazingly clean bathroom, Sabina pushes back, moving her dress and her underwear aside, and Tristan groans in her ear. "Do not ruin my dress or my hair or my makeup, Bishop, got it?"

"That'll be hard, but I'll try my best," he rasps, hands on the wall beside Sabina's head. Sabina hears him inhale shakily when her back presses to his front. "God, shit, you feel so good."

Sabina bites her lip to keep her smile, and she moves her hips back and forth, back and forth. "No ruining your suit either, that cost me a hundred couple of dollars."

"Feel like I'm your sugar baby," he groans, hands fisting into balls, breathing turning erratic. He slides Sabina's hair carefully to the side, exposing her neck, and presses his lips to her hot skin. "You're so hot, fuck."

"Wanna make you feel good," Sabina murmurs, turning her head so she can grasp his neck and kiss him hard. "Always make you feel so good."

Tristan's answering moans are good enough indication that she's done her job.

They stay at the event until the morning, waiting until all their guests have cleared out, and when they get home, Tristan carries her to the bedroom, makes love to her all over again—sweet and slow this time, not dirty and quick like in the bathroom—and looks her in the eye while he pleasures her.

"Say you love me," he breathes, quickening his pace, thumb brushing her lip, the other holding her hips down.

Sabina fists the sheets, writhing underneath him. "I love you," she struggles to say, panting, eyes watering. "I love you, Tristan—fuck, please—"

Tristan swallows her sounds when she releases, nails digging into her skin and bone.

"I love you too," he whispers, after he's cleaned her up gathers her in his arms, kissing her head.

Sabina listens to his heart and hums, breaths slowing.

*

"So I heard you're going to Malta," Rhysand drawls lazily, tossing the box of pastries on Sabina's counter. "That's from my wife, by the way."

Sabina scoffs, sitting down on a stool after passing him his bitter coffee. "I know it's from Andy, I would never assume it's from you. Although, it is kind of surprising to see you come by my apartment."

"I'm surprised you let me in."

"Oh, ha ha, I'm not a bitchy as you are."

Rhysand's face is blank as he takes a sip. "Sabina. When Andrea and I broke up, you invited me for a drink, fully intending to punch me because I hurt her. And you know I hurt her."

That is one of the few times she's heard Rhysand say a lot in one breath, and Sabina doesn't know why he's bringing it up now. "Yup. I remember. Clearly."

The producer looks away, and Sabina raises an eyebrow, unnerved with his behavior. Rhysand usually looks a lot angrier and moodier than this—this weird, fidgety bitchass talking about sentiments. "MJ can fight, I know, but she doesn't have the balls that you have."