MoboReader> Romance > Wildflower

   Chapter 7 Seven

Wildflower By Aubrey Wolfe Characters: 27443

Updated: 2019-10-21 22:08


My entire body is shaking, I still can't believe I'm here. When I sent the text asking to talk, and didn't get a response for almost an hour, I started freaking out. Every bad possible scenario came to my head, but none of it was strong enough to push me to open my laptop, and research the name like Everett told me to.

If there is something I need to know about Tristan, I want to hear it from him. If he can't tell me the honest truth, then it goes to show he isn't ready to trust me yet; or maybe he never will be.

The fear creeps the back of my mind. It was obvious before that Tristan is hiding something dark within him, which is also making me suspect it's the reason he wants to wait to pursue anything between us romantically.

He is silent and frozen in place, his dark eyes wide. I try and make out the emotions flashing through his eyes, but I'm trembling so bad I can't help but look around the house and fidget with my hands.

"Where did you hear that name?" he finally speaks, his voice barely above a whisper.

I open my mouth to tell him, but clamp it shut. If I tell him Everett told me, the dislike I know he has for him will surely turn to into hatred, or something more, depending on if that is his name, and if the story behind it is darker than I'm hoping.

"I don't want to say who; I just want to know if it's true." I curse mentally when I hear my voice shake.

He lets out a breath, sounding just as uneven as mine.

"Yes, that is my full name."

The tone of his voice sends shivers down my spine. There is so much emotion in his voice, but the fear sticks out the most to me. He sounds terrified.

"How much do you know?" he asks, making me look up. I gasp when I see his dark eyes have become even darker, which I didn't think possible.

"N-nothing, " I mutter, my lips now trembling.

Tristan moves closer to me, but I don't move away. I'm glued to the spot, unsure of what to do or say. He lifts his hands to cup my cheeks lightly, looking hesitant himself.

"You know absolutely nothing of that name?" he asks, speaking as if he doesn't even recognize his full name anymore. Like he is just Tristan.

"I thought about looking it up, but that's why I'm here, " I speak like someone else has taken over my mind, pushing through my fear, "I want to hear whatever I need to know from you. If there is anything you think you need to tell me, I want to give you the chance to tell me."

His eyes shine with something unknown. Pride? Affection? Relief?

"I don't know if I'm ready to re-live those memories again, " he says, softly stroking my cheek.

"I'll be right here next to you, to remind you that you're safe now. That they're nothing more than just that; memories." I reach down and grasp his hand, seeing some of the tension release from his shoulders.

He leads me over to the couch and we sit down, my hand firmly grasped in his, as if it's his lifeline during this moment. A reminder that it isn't real, that's what I hope to provide for him.

"I hope you're prepared for a long story, and made time for it today, " he says and I can tell right away he is stalling, trying to think of the right words to start off with.

"We have all day; you can take as much time as you need." I squeeze his hand for extra reassurance and he takes a deep breath, calming down a little.

"I want to tell you everything, Emily. So, I mind as well start from the vague beginning. My mother left not long after I was born, I was never given a reason why and she has never contacted me. I was raised by my father who was once a respectable lawyer of New York, but drugs and greed quickly got to him, and he fell to the shadows. I was left to fend for myself pretty much at the age of 10, only managing to attend school for one year longer, before I dropped out and managed to trick the teenaged manager at McDonalds, that I was 14 and could work."

I feel my mouth drop open at his words. Is he serious? How is that possible?

Tristan smiles, but I see the tension in it. "I had an early growth spurt just before my 12th birthday, and though I didn't have any facial hair at the time, I could pass for 14 at the youngest."

"How could you work at such a young age?" I ask, my lower lip trembling from the rage and sorrow rolling through me right now. Sorrow for what he had to live through; rage at his parents for bringing a beautiful child into this world, only to abandon him.

Tristan manages another tight smile. "I was motivated at the time; I needed the money to get food and make sure the electricity stayed on every month. My father would come back every now and then, somehow with a buck load of cash, and would pay off the landlord for the next two months. But then, he would disappear again for weeks at a time, never telling me where he went or when he was coming back. At times, I thought he never would."

"How did that make you feel?" I ask, scolding myself for sounding so much like a therapist. It earns a small chuckle out of Tristan, and I get the sense he is thinking the same thing.

"Honestly, it felt good. Even now, it has been over 10-years since I last saw my father, and I'm glad he isn't in my life anymore."

I freeze. 10-years?

"Not seeing him for that long, wasn't out of choice, though, " he continues, reading the look on my face and assuming my thoughts. "My father brought home a woman one night and said she was an old-friend, but didn't give me her name or any other information, and said to watch over her while he was gone, make sure she gets whatever she wants. I would run to the store and buy her smokes, often getting caught and brought right back home where she would pretend to be my mother and scold me, as if nothing ever happened before. She would then hit me or burn me with her lighter, saying I needed to learn to be smarter."

I gasp, cutting him off and cover my mouth. "That is horrible, " I mutter, gripping his hand tighter. I can see the struggle in his eyes, the pain he is enduring as the memories of this time flash back to him. I want to tell him to stop, that this was a mistake and I never should have asked him to do this, but he squeezes my hand back and keeps going, despite the growing shadows in his eyes.

"She was there for about a week, my father never returned. I frequently locked myself in bathroom and tinkered with my father's computer, the empty one he left at the house that he never used after quitting his law firm. I took it apart one day out of rage, but instantly regretted it and tried to put it back together. I realized I have a knack for that kind of stuff, so explored it more. Started getting into computer programing, little bit of hacking, seeing how far I could go, and how much I could distract myself from the strange woman my father had left me with.

"One night, men started banging on the front door, demanding they be let in and that I have something they want. The woman seemed to know who they were just by the sounds of their voice, and she tried hiding herself, using me as a human shield, thinking they would never shoot a child. They eventually broke down the door and tried dragging her out of the bedroom, with me still attached to her, but I let them take her, the hatred and anger for everything she and my father had done to me bubbling to the surface. The men didn't seem to care about me, they just wanted her, so I practically pushed her into their arms; and one man shot her, point blank in front of me."

Tristan closes his eyes and I feel the fear ripple through his body, goosebumps appearing on his arms and the hair sticking up. I can imagine the guilt he feels for what he did, even though I feel I might have done the same to the woman.

A stranger enters your home and starts treating you like a child slave? Burning and beating him, when he wasn't even her child, is inexcusable, and can only say so much for the other things she had probably done in her life.

"I don't blame you for what you did, don't let the guilt eat away at you, you did what you had to, to get this awful woman away."

Tristan shakes his head and opens his eyes, a new kind of guilt behind them. "That isn't the story I told Parker. I lied to

shut, before dropping her down on the bed.

"Oh, my god. It feels like I'm lying on a cloud, " she says, cuddling deeper into the mattress.

I grin down at her, "you can thank Parker for that."

She kneels on her knees in front of me and tugs on my hand, pulling me closer to the bed. "I'll have to later, " she whispers, her hands moving for the buttons on my jeans, prompting me to remove them.

I back away from the bed to remove my shirt and jeans, watching as Emily's eyes as they watch me, seeing the same lust and hunger I have for her. She licks her lips slightly, and the small gesture nearly drives me insane.

I've never experienced these feelings so intensely. I have dreamt and daydreamed of losing it with Emily, but the feelings I thought I would experience, are nothing in comparison.

Reaching out, I grasp her hands and pull her towards the edge of the bed, grabbing the hem of her shirt and lifting it slowly over her head, marveling at how beautiful the curvature of her body is, how every curve seems to be in the perfect place, her stomach baring small skin marks and freckles, making her skin all the more beautiful.

My lust at full force now, I gently push her down against the bed and remove her pants, standing back to admire her perfect beauty. They say that there is no such thing as perfection; I say that's bullshit.

I have never seen a woman look so perfect, imperfections and all. They make her beauty unique to any other woman, a rare flower.

"Like what you see?" she asks, biting her lip.

A growl emanates from my throat, shocking both of us. "You have no idea, " I whisper, before swiftly removing my boxers and hovering over her to remove her underwear as well, giving her no chance to budge.

I have a vague idea of what I'm doing, but I only give myself enough thinking time to put a condom on, then sink into her instantly. It feels amazing for me right away, but I stop when I hear her whimper.

She nods her head, telling me she is okay, but has a slight look of pain on her face. I keep a slow rhythm, but even that is too much, the feel of her squeezing around me threatening to push me over the edge.

I chew the inside of my cheek and try to hold back, letting the pain wash through her, until there is nothing but pleasure for the both of us. When her whimpers quickly turn into soft moans, that is more than enough to end me climaxing, picking up my pace instantly.

I feel her finish with me, both of us wrapped tightly around in each other in more ways than one, clinging desperately as the waves of pleasure rude through our entwined bodies, before we collapse on the bed.

"That – was amazing, " she manages to gasp out.

Amazing doesn't even begin to describe what I just felt. I feel like a brand-new man, like I can conquer the whole god damn world right now.

As long as this heaven-sent woman is by my side, maybe I can finally overcome my demons.

Looking at out sweat covered bodies, an idea pops into my head. While I was taking a shower, the last time she was over, I noticed how spacious and nice the tub actually was, though I have never been one for baths.

Woman always liked baths, or at least a large majority of them at least do. There is a chance, so does Emily. I jump up from the bed and grab a pair of clean boxers from the hamper of clean clothes.

"What are you doing?" she asks, sitting up in the bed, allowing the sheets she covered herself with after to spill down around her waist.

For a few seconds, my mind shuts off and I can't help but stare at the milky skin of her breasts and stomach.

She quickly realizes what I'm staring at, and covers herself with a mischievous smile, snapping me out of my daze.

I try and remember what it is she asked me, and then what it was I was about to do. "I was thinking of drawing you a bath, giving use for once to the spacious bath tub I have here. You are covered in sweat and other things, " I say and wink, a playful attitude overtaking my mind.

I haven't felt this good ever. If this is how it feels to be with Emily every day – I would pledge to fight my inner demons every second I'm alive, if it means living that life with her.

Who ever said a woman couldn't be a man's knight in shining armor, or Charming Princess perhaps? I always thought I needed to be Emily's Prince Charming, her dashing rescuer, but it has always been the other way around.

I walk over to the bathroom and start warming up the water, looking around the shampoo products I have, to see if there is anything I can use as bubble bath, eventually settling on regular shampoo.

Once the bath is full, I turn around to see Emily standing in the doorway, nothing but a towel covering her. She smiles shyly at me, her cheeks a light tint of pink as her eyes roam over me. Just the simple look gives me confidence like I have never known.

I reach my hand out towards her, our fingertips just barely touching, when there is a knock at the door. It sounds heavy and angry, which doesn't sound at all like Parker, unless something bad happened.

"Enjoy the bath, use whatever you want. I'll be right back, " I say and give her a quick kiss on the forehead, missing her warmth the moment it's gone. I rush to the bedroom to throw on a pair of jeans and run to the door, keeping in mind to ask the landlord to install a peep hole.

I swing the door open, and my heart lurches into my throat.

Everett is standing on my doorway.

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