S H A D E S

The Devil wears Prada. And Gucci. And Louis Vuitton.

We rode across the endless stretch of flat lands to the lush oasis nestled where the trees speared down from the supple mounds of verdant hills. With the horses tethered, grazing on grass and sleeping in the dappled shade, Tristan spread out the blanket from the packed bag.

"Come here," he said, eyes glittering with a different sort of hunger.

Eager, breathless with need, I slid into his arms. My body so sensitive, so eager, so responsive to his subtle ministrations. His hands scored over me, wild, without restraint. We undressed in a hurry, wasting no time on anything short of focused and frenzied passion. Heat met heat, finally naked in each other's arms, his body stretched over mine. Reaching between us, I felt the delicious girth of him run along my seam—plunge. Fill. Stretch.

I cried out his name. Coming in the wake of that single, glorious thrust. His body, an arched bow forged of iron, every muscle straining for more. He rocked in me, over me, our bodies trained in a breakneck sort of dance that would lead us both to sheer, absolute ruin. Deep. So deep. My legs wrapped around his waist, taking more. Needing more.

"There, right there," he growled his approval against the skin of my throat, his teeth sinking in to lay claim. His hands cupped my thighs, his fingers tightening around firm muscle. The sinful wet, slap of flesh as he plundered harder. My pleasure rose within me, a violent wave casting all else in its shadow.

I sobbed his name, he urged me to scream it—louder. Headless of anything else but him, I did; coming apart in his arms—that wave crashing over me, over us both. The hot pull of him emptying inside of me, I rolled my pelvis, clenched my core—milking every glorious spasm from his gorgeous body.

Sated, Tristan sagged over me. I enveloped him in my arms, nuzzling against the curve of his throat, where his pulse leapt and raced and wondered if there was anything more amazing, more...satisfying, than knowing the man you loved was ruined—completely ruined and in your arms?

We lay that way for awhile, beneath an open, cloudless sky. The sun was strong and warm, tempered by a lusty, cool breeze. We lay with our limbs entwined, our hands slipping over our bodies in a lazy kind of way that makes me think of the afternoon breeze brushing through the tall grass. We say nothing for the long while, almost as if our grazing touches are speaking for us. Saying so much and yet saying nothing at all.

Could I tell him? The words burned in my belly, rose to my throat, but they never pushed beyond that point. Stilled by what, I couldn't know for sure. Maybe I was scared. Terrified, really, to say them aloud only for him to dismiss, reject or worse, decide things between us have gone far enough as is. To walk away.

I looked up to him, searching—trying to see some inkling, some hint of Tristan's mysterious soul. And slammed straight into that wall I could never seem to see beyond.

"What's this?" he asked, skimming a finger between my eyes where a line furrowed. "What's on your mind?"

"My nephew," I lied. Disgusted by the fact I completely chickened out. But it wasn't an entirely untrue, I was worried about Nate, and shared everything Collin had told me about his son, and tossed in the details I'd uncovered after the fact.

All the while Tristan listened, silent and without interruption.

"So Nathanial is the young and sombre youth I saw you speaking with earlier today?" Tristan plucked a long strand of tufted grass, running the feathery plumes between his fingers in thought.