Deceitfully Yours

35.

Heat.

That was all I felt when my heavy eyelids opened slowly to the dimly lit room, and it took me only two seconds to realize that I wasn't in my room, or on my bed, and the hot breath filtering through my hair and tinkling my neck didn't come from my comforter. It was Tristan. I was in his bed, pinned against his chest, his long legs tangled around mine like roots, and his strong arms draped over both my breasts, tight and inflexible, holding me with a vise grip.

My heart pounded so loud I feared he would hear it. I shifted slowly, eager to get out of here as fast as I could but he moaned wantonly, tightening his grip and jutting his hip forward so the thick ridge of his morning erection pressed into my back.

I stilled and closed my eyes whilst holding my breath and praying to whoever listened that he didn't wake.

After a few agonizing minutes of holding perfectly still while he stirred and moaned, I finally managed to untangle myself and climb to my feet.

With shaky legs, I tiptoed to his door. I opened it slowly and paused in the doorway to chance one last look at him. He was lying on his back, his groin covered by the sheets. His beautiful black hair was tousled across his forehead and he was sleeping with his mouth partially opened as he snored softly. It was a bit relieving to see the pain lines on his forehead had smoothed out. Good job, Sienna. I let myself drag a lungful of air before turning to leave and closing the door.

Inside my room, I closed the door and leaned against it.

Thank Jesus.

I glanced at the clock and saw that it was just a few minutes past the hour of five. Pleased, I got on my bed, crawled under my covers, and slept off. When I woke up a few hours later, I felt slightly better, except for the pain in my shoulder and hips and back, and head.

I sat up and massaged my shoulders. The soft morning light filtered through the drapes. Rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, I got out of bed and stalked towards the bathroom.

The cold floor tickled my feet. In front of the mirror, I pulled my shirt over my head and haunted for damage control. Immediately, I was faced with a bright red bruise sitting on my left shoulder. I touched it and winced. He'd sunk his teeth into me last night. I remembered how painful it had been and how badly I'd wanted to scream out but I'd settled for silently crying instead, which was why I currently had bags under my eyes.

I turned to the side and lifted my hand, the prints of his fingers digging into my skin were visible and red and I just knew they were going to turn into bruises. Way to go Sienna. I felt like crying for myself but I decided against it. The important thing was that I was able to help him, and all be it, this was more bearable than a dent in the head.

Dismissing the pain, I took off my panties and went through my routine of brushing, washing my hair, and showering. In the shower, my eyes burned with tears a few times but I didn't cry. After drying my hair and lathering my skin with oil, I rubbed ointment on my bruise and tossed a black oversized Fanny sweater over my cargo skirt to conceal the bruise sitting on my shoulder. It was loose around the neck but it was the only one I had.