Loving The Better Brother Free Preview

WILLOW

My husband married me when I was at my lowest.

That sentence always sounded like a blessing when people said it out loud. In their words, Marcus Hale had plucked me from misery out of kindness. As though love had been the reason he chose me when I had nothing to offer.

It was true.

Back then, I didn’t have money. I didn’t have a name that could hold a candle to his. I didn’t even have parents to introduce at their family dinner. I was an orphan with a polite smile and a clean background. Although, that didn’t really matter because he never bothered showing me off to the public. Only his family and his closest subordinates knew who I truly was.

That was more than enough.

At least, it had been.

Recently, everything I thought I knew about myself had cracked open.

My father found me.

Or rather, he claimed me.

Florence.

The name meant nothing to me when he first said it, spoken softly in a private hospital room. I thought it was just another lie adults told to make tragedy feel meaningful. But then lawyers appeared with a lineage written in ink older than my marriage.

In an instant, I was no longer just Willow Hale, the wife of Marcus Hale. I was Willow Florence. Sole heir. The only surviving child of a man who had built an empire quietly and far away from cameras.

However, we had been reunited too late.

He was already sick when he found me. An illness he hid behind gentle laughter. I learned how to love a parent I’d only just been allowed to have.

And then I learned how to lose him.

He died on a Tuesday.

I didn’t tell Marcus right away because I wanted to tell him properly. I wanted to sit beside him, to be held, to be allowed to fall apart for once. I wanted to tell my husband that I had found my father, and he owned one of the biggest enterprises in the entire country. I wanted to tell him I was arranging a funeral alone because I was the only one left.

The only heir.

The only daughter.

The only Florence.

But Marcus was busy.

He was always busy.

That morning, I packed his lunch myself the way I always did, even though he rarely noticed. I stood in front of the mirror longer than usual, smoothing my dress, practicing how to say the words without crying.

I found my father. He died. I need you.

However, I never got the chance… until now.

The Hale Group tower rose above the street like it always did. I walked through the revolving doors with the lunch bag held carefully in both hands.

The front desk assistant looked up and then looked down again.

She had never been fond of me.

“Miss… Willow?” she said.

“My husband,” I said quietly. “Marcus. I—” My voice faltered. I cleared my throat. “I brought him lunch.”

Her lips curved, slow and knowing.

“He’s busy.”

“His board meeting,” I said, forcing the words out gently. “Right?”

She tilted her head, studying me.

“Board meeting, you said?”

The way she repeated it made my stomach tighten.

I nodded, clutching the handle of the lunch bag. “I won’t interrupt. I just wanted to leave this for him.”

She looked at her screen, then back at me. Then she smirked.

“Well,” she said lightly, pressing a button to release the elevator gates, “go ahead and proceed upstairs, then, Miss Willow.”

The elevator chimed softly behind me.

“You seem down,” she added, her voice sweet. “The scene might cheer you up.”

I went up to the room and told myself to breathe.

The boardroom doors were slightly ajar, light spilling out into the quiet hallway. I thought I would wait, but my feet moved on their own.

Instead of a room full of investors, only two people were there.

My eyes landed on Marcus first—standing too close to the edge of the table, his back half-turned, his hands braced against the wood. Then I saw a woman on her knees. Her head moved, her hand resting where no hand should have been, and the truth slammed into me with clarity.

I gasped.

The lunch slipped from my fingers.

The container shattered against the floor, soup bleeding across the carpet.

They froze.

Her head snapped up first, eyes wide, lips swollen, mascara slightly smudged. Marcus turned a second later, his face flashing with surprise. His hands moved quickly, buttoning his pants.

However, I had already seen everything. Every awful, undeniable detail burned itself into my mind.

“Oh,” he said flatly. “You’re here.”

I stood there, rooted to the spot, staring at the man I had loved when both of us were nothing. My husband. The man I had defended in rooms where I didn’t belong. The man I had waited up for. The man whose name I carried while erasing my own.

It was our anniversary today.

And my father had just died.

The timing was impressive in its cruelty.

I remembered everything then—every step that had led us here. When Marcus had been at his lowest, too. When his father passed the company to his older brother without a backward glance. When Marcus had come home drunk and furious, talking about how unfair it was, how the world owed him something. He had been the second son. The overlooked one. The spare.

We had bonded over that emptiness.

He had promised me we would rise together.

Now he was COO while his brother remained CEO.

And I was standing in front of him, watching him betray me without shame.

“I’m sorry,” Marcus said finally.

I laughed in both disbelief and shame.

“Sorry?” I repeated softly.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair as though I were the problem here. “Willow, don’t make this dramatic. This is just how things are at this level.”

At this level.

I looked at the woman beside him then. She was standing now, straightening her skirt, eyes darting between us with the faintest hint of satisfaction. Recognition hit me like a slap.

Serena King.

One of his business partners. A woman whose name appeared frequently in late-night calls and weekend meetings. A woman I had shaken hands with at company dinners.

I stepped forward.

Marcus didn’t move to stop me.

I shoved him—enough to push him back toward her.

“We’re over,” I said calmly. “I’ll bring the divorce papers.”

Marcus didn’t even flinch. Instead, he scoffed.

“You’re serious?” he said, disbelief edging into irritation. “Willow, don’t be ridiculous. You don’t have anything without me.”

I turned away, my hands shaking, the delayed reaction finally catching up. I took three steps toward the door before his voice followed me.

“You don’t have anywhere else to go.”

I paused.

For a second, I considered turning around to let him see my face, to let him see what he had done.

But he didn’t deserve that.

I stood there, silent, my back to him, my spine straight.

Then I walked out.

WILLOW

I had already packed all of my belongings.

There wasn’t much when I really looked at it. Clothes I’d bought to suit his image. Everything fit neatly into two suitcases, as though my life here had always been temporary.

Marcus stood by the doorway, arms crossed, watching me zip the last bag.

He didn’t look panicked. Instead, he looked curious and amused.

“Come on,” he said lightly. “You’re really going to leave?”

“Yes,” I replied. My voice surprised me with how cold it sounded.

He frowned, probably not expecting the answer to come so easily.

I lifted the suitcase and turned toward him. Up close, I could see the faint crease between his brows—the one that only appeared when things didn’t go according to plan.

“You know everything is just business, right?” he continued, gesturing vaguely. “The Kings are important shareholders. Serena’s family holds influence. I need to keep her entertained.”

I laughed quietly. It slipped out before I could stop it.

“Then entertain her more,” I said. “I’m no use to you, right?”

His jaw tightened. He clicked his tongue, irritated, and reached out to grab my wrist.

“Hey.” His grip was firm, possessive. “Don’t be like that.”

I looked down at his hand around my arm.

“You love me,” he said, like he was stating a fact. “We’re married.”

I met his eyes. “You don’t love me.”

“You’re being dramatic, Willow.”

“No,” I said calmly. “I’m just telling the truth.”

His grip loosened, but he didn’t let go.

“You want a family, right?” he said, switching tactics. “You’ve always wanted that. We can have that—after I secure this deal with a bigger company.”

The words hit something deep in my chest, dragging memories to the surface.

Every night, he came home late, ranting about his brother and how unfair it was that he had to fight twice as hard. I had sat beside him on the couch, listening, nodding, absorbing his anger so he could sleep. I had believed in his dreams even when he didn’t believe in himself.

“Wait for me,” he said. “The Kings have secured a deal with that particular company. This is it, Willow. Once this goes through, everything changes. My dad said he’ll give his shares to the one who secures this deal.”

I felt tired.

“Let go,” I said softly.

He didn’t move.

“You’re really leaving me?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said again.

He stared at me, searching my face for hesitation.

I gave him none.

“You’re making a mistake.”

I finally pulled my arm free. “No,” I replied. “I made one when I stayed.”

His expression hardened.

I grabbed my suitcases and walked past him toward the door. My heart was pounding, not from fear, but from the finality of it all. Every step felt like peeling myself away from a version of me that had been shrinking for years.

“You don’t have anything without me,” he said again, louder this time.

I didn’t stop.

“You’re emotional right now,” he continued. “You’ll calm down.”

I opened the door.

“You’ll be back in no time,” he called after me.

—

The cafe smelled like burnt sugar and roasted beans. I wrapped my hands around the ceramic cup in front of me, letting the heat seep into my fingers. Across the table, Kath leaned forward, already halfway to anger on my behalf.

“I’ll be staying with you for a while,” I said quietly. “Just until… things are arranged.”

She didn’t hesitate. “Of course you are.”

The company—my company, though I still couldn’t say that out loud even in my head—had already reached out. They said a house was being prepared for me, as per my late father’s request. I still hadn’t seen it. In fact, I knew that the company was big, but I had never researched it.

Kath didn’t know any of that.

In fact, no one did.

“It’s time to leave him,” she said firmly, stirring her drink with unnecessary force. “You’ve done enough. You always did so much for him.”

I exhaled, staring down at the coffee’s milky surface. “Did I really?”

She looked at me like I’d just insulted myself—which, I suppose, I had.

“You cooked for him,” she said, counting on her fingers. “You cleaned for him. You managed his schedule when his assistant messed up. You cooked for his dinners and hid when the investors cam. You smiled behind the cameras when he didn’t want to show you off. You listened to his endless rants about his brother and his stupid company.”

I huffed a weak laugh. “I guess I didn’t allow him to have sex with me,” I joked.

Kath snorted. “Rightfully so. He must have an STD with how many people he’s fucking.”

The sound that came out of me then was real laughter. It startled me how much I needed it.

“Thank you,” I said softly.

She waved it off. “Anytime. My specialty is emotional support and verbal violence.”

My phone buzzed on the table between us.

I didn’t need to look to know who it was.

Kath raised an eyebrow. “Is that him?”

I nodded.

“Open it,” she urged. “I want to see what kind of garbage excuse he’s sending now.”

I hesitated for half a second, then tapped the screen.

It wasn’t an apology.

“If you’re going to keep acting like this, bring back the necklace I bought you. It was expensive,” I read.

Kath leaned over to confirm what I had just read, and her mouth fell open. “See! What a fucking asshole. You should just throw the necklace away.”

I shook my head. “No.”

“No?” she echoed. “Willow—”

“I’ll bring it back,” I said calmly.

She gaped at me. “Are you serious? No way. Let’s pawn it.”

“I don’t need the money,” I replied. And I meant it, even if I couldn’t explain why yet. “He must be desperate for it.”

That earned a pause.

Kath studied my face, then smiled slowly. “Oh. I like this version of you.”

I finished my coffee and stood, the decision settling into my bones with a strange sense of clarity.

“I need to go to the company,” I said.

Her eyes widened. “Now?”

“Yes.”

She reached across the table and squeezed my hand. “Text me if you need me. Or if you decide to key his car.”

I smiled faintly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

—

The Hale Group tower looked the same as it always had. Walking through the revolving doors felt different this time, though. It felt like I was stepping into a place I no longer belonged in.

The front desk assistant looked up, recognition flashing across her face before turning into something smug.

“You can’t go in,” she said immediately.

“I’m here to return something,” I replied.

She gave a little laugh. “You don’t have the right anymore. I heard you’re getting a divorce.”

I felt something cold settle in my chest.

“It’ll just be a moment.”

She leaned back in her chair, enjoying this far too much. “Rules are rules. Strangers cannot go in without a pass or a formal appointment.”

Then she froze.

Her eyes went wide. Her posture snapped straight.

“Sir Tristan,” she gasped, scrambling to stand. She bowed so deeply I thought she might tip over. “Good afternoon.”

I frowned and turned around.

A man stood behind me—tall, composed, dressed in a perfectly tailored suit that screamed authority. His presence changed the air in the lobby instantly. Conversations hushed. Heads turned.

My brow lifted slightly as recognition clicked into place.

Tristan Hale.

Marcus’ older brother.

WILLOW

Tristan Hale wasn’t someone I knew well.

I had met him in passing at family dinners and brief introductions. He was the original heir to the Hale enterprise, the first son, the one their father had trusted without question. He was also the man Marcus resented the most.

Tristan was everything Marcus wanted to be and couldn’t quite reach. He was smart and capable. He was handsome in a way that didn’t feel curated for magazines, though they still chased him relentlessly. He was single, untouchable, and currently the most wanted bachelor in every business column.

Even the front desk assistant wanted him.

I saw it in the way her posture shifted and how her voice softened when she said his name.

“Willow,” Tristan said calmly.

I pursed my lips. Hearing my name from his mouth felt… strange. He said it evenly, without judgment or surprise.

“I just wanted to return this,” I said, lifting my hand slightly to show the necklace. “But she won’t let me.”

I didn’t look at the front desk assistant as I said it. I felt her stiffen.

Tristan’s gaze flicked briefly in her direction.

“Please,” he said, already turning toward the elevator. “Come with me.”

I hesitated for a second before nodding and following after him. The click of his shoes against the floor was unhurried. Behind us, I could feel the assistant still frozen.

The elevator doors closed softly.

Neither of us spoke.

The ride up felt longer than it should have, filled with silence that was strangely not awkward. Tristan stood beside me, hands loosely at his sides.

His office was nothing like Marcus’s.

There were no gaudy displays of wealth. The moment I stepped inside, the first thing that struck me was the scent.

It smelled like fresh paper and polished wood, with a faint undertone of bergamot. Whatever it was, it smelled like him.

Tristan moved behind his desk and took his seat, motioning for me to sit across from him. I remained standing instead.

I placed the necklace on the smooth surface of the table between us. The diamonds caught the light, glittering faintly.

His gaze dropped to it.

“This necklace,” he said slowly. “Marcus gave it to you?”

“Yes.”

He hummed softly, leaning back in his chair. “Interesting.”

“Why?” I asked.

He studied the necklace for another moment before lifting his eyes to meet mine.

“I specifically remember him asking me to buy him this,” Tristan said.

The words hit me immediately.

I stared at the necklace, heat rising to my cheeks—not from embarrassment, but from anger. I pursed my lips hard.

“Cheapskate,” I muttered before I could stop myself.

Tristan’s mouth twitched.

“He wanted it returned,” I added flatly. “Apparently, it was expensive.”

His brow lifted. “Yet it wasn’t even his.”

I shifted my legs, suddenly aware of how tired I felt.

“Is he here?” I asked after a moment.

Tristan shook his head. “No.”

“He’s with Serena,” he continued evenly. “Our business partner.”

I pressed my lips together again.

“Do you want to know where they are?” Tristan asked, raising a brow.

“No,” I said immediately.

That answer seemed to surprise him.

I lifted my chin. “We’re in the middle of getting a divorce.”

That captured his attention.

His posture changed subtly. His gaze sharpened, focusing on me in a way it hadn’t before.

“Oh,” Tristan said quietly.

“He hasn’t told you yet? or your father?” I asked after a second.

He shook his head. “No.”

A corner of his mouth lifted. “He doesn’t like me,” he added calmly. “I think you already know that.”

I let out a soft chuckle before I could stop myself. “Yeah. That much was obvious.”

There was a pause that made me suddenly aware of how quiet his office was, how the faint hum of the air conditioner filled the space between us. Tristan leaned back in his chair, fingers loosely interlaced, studying me with intensity.

“Anyway,” he said, “want to go have a drink?”

“Huh?” The sound left my mouth before my brain caught up. “What are you talking about?”

He blinked once, then shrugged. “I’m stressed.”

I frowned slightly. “You’re stressed?”

“Yes.”

“What’s gotten you stressed?” I asked, genuinely curious.

“Marcus,” he said without hesitation.

“He’s bringing the company down with his incompetence,” Tristan continued. “But my father insists we still need to compete with each other. He thinks rivalry builds character.”

“Our stocks dropped this year,” Tristan went on. “Right after, I was removed from several key decisions.”

I remembered the moment when Marcus was elated because his brother was removed. He said he had done some things, but knowing him now, he must have whined relentlessly.

“Apparently,” Tristan added dryly, “my presence was ‘demoralizing.’”

I snorted in amusement.

“That bad?” I asked.

He looked at me. “Worse.”

Silence settled again, thicker this time. I was suddenly aware of how close I was to his desk, how the scent of his office clung to the air.

“So,” Tristan said, leaning forward slightly. “Willow.”

He said my name again, and this time, it landed differently.

He looked directly into my eyes.

It was then that I really saw him.

Not as Marcus’s older brother. Not as the heir. Not as the name whispered in boardrooms and business columns.

But as a man.

He was… damn sexy.

The realization caught me off guard, almost embarrassing in its suddenness. I’d never allowed myself to look at him properly before. I never had the reason, or perhaps the permission. But now, with nothing tying me back, nothing asking me to look away, the details surfaced all at once.

I swallowed.

“Do you want to go?” he asked again, his voice lower now.

For a moment, I forgot about Marcus. I knew I shouldn’t even consider his offer. He was a Hale after all—the very brother of the man I was divorcing.

But heck, I really needed a drink, and this sexy man was offering me his presence.

With that, I gave a small nod. “Let’s have a drink then.”

WILLOW

I had one, two—maybe three.

I lost count somewhere between the second glass and the way the bass vibrated through the floor. The VIP area was dim, washed in low amber light. It was just the two of us here. The music was loud enough to drown out my thoughts but soft enough here that we could still talk without shouting.

Tristan sat across from me at first, his suit jacket discarded, his tie loosened and hanging crookedly around his neck. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, forearms exposed, veins faintly visible when he lifted his glass. It was distracting in a way I didn’t bother hiding anymore.

He was really handsome.

That thought drifted through my head lazily.

We were ranting. Well, it was mostly me.

Marcus had come up again, like a bad habit I couldn’t shake. I talked with my hands, my words tumbling out faster than I could organize them.

“I think I know the reason why he cheated on me,” I said, my voice wobbling just slightly. “It’s because I didn’t let him use my body. That’s all he wanted me for.”

I laughed, but it cracked halfway through. “Nobody wants me. Nobody understands me. I bet no one even knows what I do.”

The glass in Tristan’s hand lowered slowly.

“You’re a nurse,” he said.

The fog in my head thinned just enough for surprise to slip through. “Huh?”

“You’re a nurse,” he repeated calmly. “You volunteer every month at an orphanage. You cook well—really well, actually. And now you’re teaching at a university for aspiring nurses because you feel burnt out working at the hospital.”

That sobered me up really quickly.

“What?” I stared at him. “How did you know that?”

He shrugged, lips curling slightly. “You mentioned it once at a family dinner. You also cooked for the family often, although you’ve never mentioned it.”

I paused. I remembered now, vaguely. I’d talked about it between courses while Marcus was busy impressing someone across the table. I’d thought no one was listening.

“How did you remember?” I asked quietly.

Tristan’s gaze didn’t waver. “I have good memory.”

I swallowed.

I couldn’t help the thought that followed—how Marcus never remembered.

Tristan leaned in just a little, his voice lowering. “But let’s go back to what you said earlier.”

My heart skipped. “What part?”

“You said you still hadn’t… done it with Marcus. Have sex, I presume?”

Heat rushed up my neck, blooming across my cheeks. “We—” I hesitated, then scoffed softly at myself. “Just kisses. We got married young. It hasn’t even been a year.”

His mouth curved into a slow, knowing smirk. “That’s reasonable.”

The word felt loaded coming from him.

The space between us felt smaller now, though neither of us had moved much. I became aware of the warmth radiating from his body, the clean scent of his cologne mixing with alcohol. His knee brushed mine accidentally, and neither of us pulled away.

Fuck, he’s really hot.

He chuckled under his breath.

“Thanks,” he said.

It took me a second to realize what he was responding to. My gaze dropped, then snapped back up.

“I didn’t say anything,” I protested weakly.

“You were thinking it,” he replied easily, eyes glinting.

“Crap,” I muttered.

I took another sip, slower this time. My head was buzzing, my pulse louder than the music.

He turned his head, and for a moment, we were too close. Close enough that I could see the flecks of gray in his eyes.

Then he smiled, “Hey.”

I held my breath.

“Want to spite my brother even more?”

—

I don’t even remember standing up.

One moment we were on the couch of the VIP area, and the next Tristan’s hand was at my elbow, guiding me forward.

The elevator doors of his condominium building slid open.

We stepped in.

The moment the doors closed, something snapped.

Tristan turned to me, and before I knew it, his mouth was on mine. It was sudden and consuming, like he’d been holding himself back all night and finally let go.

I gasped into the kiss, fingers gripping his shirt. His hands came up to my waist, pulling me closer until there was no space left to doubt what this was.

This felt too good.

His kiss wasn’t anything like Marcus’. There was no demand for it. Tristan kissed like he was listening, like he was paying attention to every sound I made. His mouth moved against mine slowly at first, then deeper, his tongue brushing mine in a way that sent heat spiraling straight through my chest and down my spine.

My mind went hazy.

Why was I agreeing to this?

The elevator hummed as it climbed, but I barely noticed. All I could think about was the way his hand slid up my back, how his thumb pressed lightly at the base of my neck, sending a shiver through me. I made a soft sound before I could stop myself, a breathy moan that surprised us both.

Tristan froze.

He pulled back just enough to look at me, his forehead resting against mine, his breath uneven. For a second, the only sound was our breathing and the faint whir of the elevator.

“Okay,” he said quietly. “Let’s stop.”

The words cut through the fog.

That was my signal.

I knew it was.

I should have stopped there.

He was my soon-to-be-ex-husband’s brother. I was drunk—or at least not thinking clearly. This was reckless, messy, and unforgivable. Every rational thought I had left rushed back in all at once, crashing against the desire still buzzing under my skin.

“You’re drunk,” Tristan added gently.

I shook my head, lifting my chin stubbornly. “I’m sober.”

He studied me for a long moment, searching my face like he was trying to find the line between impulse and intention. “Say my name, then,” he said. “I’m not your husband.”

“I know,” I replied without hesitation.

The elevator dinged.

The doors slid open, revealing a room so large it stole my breath for an entirely different reason. Soft lighting spilled across furniture and expansive windows.

I stepped out without thinking.

I turned slowly, taking it in. “It’s… huge,” I murmured, awe slipping into my voice.

Tristan followed me inside, the door closing behind us with a soft click.

He was on me again before I could finish turning around.

His hands framed my face this time, his kiss deeper, slower, like he was savoring it. His tongue traced my lower lip, coaxing, and when I opened my mouth, he kissed me like he’d been waiting for permission. My knees nearly buckled.

I clutched his shoulders, fingers digging into muscle, my body reacting faster than my thoughts. The room spun gently around us. I moaned again—soft, unfiltered—and this time, it felt like the sound came from somewhere deeper than my throat.

Tristan pulled back immediately.

His eyes were dark, jaw tight, restraint written into every line of his face. “Willow,” he said carefully.

That should have been enough.

It wasn’t.

I stepped closer, my hands still on him, my pulse racing. The doubt was still there, whispering, but it was drowned out by something louder.

“I know it’s you,” I said softly. “And I know what I want.”

His breath hitched.

“Take me, Tristan.”

WILLOW

The bed dipped beneath us as I fell back against it, the room still spinning faintly from the alcohol and from him—from Tristan. His weight settled over me, and his mouth found mine again as if it had always belonged there. I felt the kiss everywhere, not just on my lips. It spread through my chest, down my arms, into places I didn’t have names for yet.

“You smell so good,” he murmured against my mouth. “You always smell so good.”

“Huh?” The word came out breathless, wrapped in haze. Everything felt unreal, like I was floating in the clouds.

He pulled back to look at me. His eyes were darker before he smiled slowly.

“You smell good, too,” I said as a response.

A chuckle escaped his lips, shaking his head. “You’re really… something,” he whispered.

My heart kicked hard in my chest.

“Are you really sober now?”

I swallowed. The room steadied a little. My thoughts aligned. “I am, Tristan.”

Something in his gaze shifted at that—approval, maybe. Or maybe it was his restraint snapping.

“Then don’t look at me like that,” he said quietly.

“I don’t know how else to look at you,” I admitted.

That was all it took.

He kissed me again, deeper this time, unhurried but certain, like he wasn’t asking permission anymore—but still waiting for me to pull away if I wanted to. I didn’t. My hands fisted in his loosened tie instead, dragging him closer.

His hands moved next—exploring and demanding all at once. He kissed along my jaw, down the curve of my throat. I gasped when his fingers brushed the edge of my sleeve, and he paused just long enough to look up.

“Tell me to stop,” he said.

My mouth didn’t move an inch.

One by one, he removed what I was wearing. Each piece felt like a small surrender, the air cool against skin that suddenly felt too exposed. My breath came faster with every second. I wasn’t used to being seen like this.

When I instinctively tried to cover myself, heat flooding my face, he caught my wrists gently and lifted them above my head, pinning them there with his forearm.

“Don’t hide,” he said softly.

“Wait,” I breathed, not because I wanted him to stop, but because everything was happening too intensely.

He stilled immediately, his grip loosening. “Willow.”

The way he said my name sent a shiver down my spine.

His gaze softened. “You’re beautiful,” he said. “All of you.”

He leaned down again, kissing my neck. My skin was already sensitive there, already marked by the night and by him, and every press of his lips sent heat spiraling through me. I arched without meaning to, a soft sound leaving me before I could stop it.

“That?” he murmured. “Did that feel too good?”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.

My mind betrayed me then, flashing images I didn’t want. I remembered how Marcus used to touch me. He always did so, like it was his obligation rather than a desire. We had gone this far—touches when we were naked, but it had never ever left like this.

Tristan made me feel like I was being unraveled and worshipped at the same time.

Tristan’s hand moved, and my breath hitched sharply. The sensation was overwhelming, toeing the line between pleasure and panic.

He paused again, forehead resting against mine. “You’re shaking,” he observed.

“I’m fine,” I whispered. “I just… I didn’t know it could feel like this.”

His thumb brushed along my wrist. “That’s because no one took the time,” he said quietly.

I opened my eyes, meeting his gaze. Slowly, he began to slide his hands into my underwear, the only piece of clothing I had left, and smirked.

“I need to loosen you up.”

As he teased the moist bud of my hole, he sucked my breasts, alternating between the two, eliciting a moan from deep within me. He looked up at me, his eyes dark with desire, the deep charcoal color of a storm cloud.

“Tell me what you want,” he demanded, his eyes demanding honesty, his face inches from mine.

I really must have lost my mind.

“You. All of you. Right now,” I managed, my voice cracking with need.

He shifted, positioning himself between my legs. The sheer size of him made my stomach flip. He was ready, straining against the fabric of his trousers. I reached for the button, fumbling until he took over, stripping himself bare in one swift movement.

He didn’t rush. He lingered at my entrance, slicking himself with the moisture already pooling there, making me squirm with anticipation. The moment of entry was slow, deep, thick pressure that forced a long, drawn-out “Ahhh,” from my lungs as my body stretched, accommodating his impressive width.

Then the control snapped.

He was a powerful conglomerate, and it seemed he was powerful in bed, too—a monster unleashed. He didn’t just move; he slammed hard into me, his face contorted in a mask of beautiful, savage pleasure.

Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

The sound of skin meeting skin echoed in the small room, pushing me back against the frame of the bed.

I wrapped my legs tight around his waist, pulling him deeper into the painful friction.

He was a monster, yes, but I was more of a monster because I already couldn’t get enough, demanding more with every frantic movement, tilting my hips up to meet his punishing force.

“Faster, Tristan! Don’t stop!” I screamed, the sound echoing in my own ears.

He obeyed, driving into me, stealing my breath with every deep stroke. My vision swam, reduced to the sensation of him filling me completely, the pressure building until I thought I might shatter.

“Fuck, Tristan,” I said, the words torn from me.

He paused, leaning his forehead against mine, sweat dripping onto my shoulder.

His breathing was ragged.

“I can’t believe I’m your first,” he muttered, the confession thick with satisfaction, right before he plunged again, sending me spiraling over the edge.

My body convulsed around him, a tight, shuddering wave that wrung a strangled cry from my throat. He followed seconds later, his own release a long, satisfied groan. He collapsed, his weight crushing me, but I didn’t care. I merely held him tighter, pulling his damp body close.

“I can’t believe I did this,” I muttered.

“How was I?” he asked.

I looked at him and somehow felt more comfortable now that we’ve had sex with each other.

“You’re terrible,” I managed, laughing softly, the sound bubbling up from my exhausted chest.

He lifted his head, his lips grazing my ear. “Oh, I’m terrible? You were moaning like a maniac just now.”