Disclaimer: Again, don't own them.
Author's Note: To all who reviewed, your opinions were very heart-warming and greatly appreciated. Thank you so much for taking the time to share your thoughts with me.
I'm all for slow build-ups, as witnessed in some of my other fics, but like I said before, this isn't going to be an epic. Much like "If Only…," the characters are forced to obey my every whim. *slightly evil chuckle* If you didn't have a problem with that fic, you probably won't mind this one. Remember, it is an AU, and Rory isn't quite as oblivious as she was on the show. Plus, who am I to deny the two kids a little lovin'? ;)
*****
"How do you know I won't?"
"You can't resist me."
"Care to bet?"
"You'll lose."
"Twenty bucks."
"Only twenty? Not very confident, are you?"
"Fine. Fifty."
"Don't get ahead of yourself."
"I'm not."
"And I haven't even kissed you yet."
"Take it or leave it."
"It's irrelevant."
"Your arrogance has ceased to amaze."
"Your stubbornness is such an exasperating obstacle."
"The bet stands, and you don't tell a soul."
"A date, and I show everyone."
"What could you possibly show them?"
"Us."
"Us?"
"Yes."
"There is no us. There's a you, and there's a me."
"Soon to be joined."
"Separate now."
"For about five minutes. More or less."
"Definitely more."
"Right. Foreplay is key."
"Prolonged agony."
"You haven't felt pure pleasure."
"I have."
"Not initiated by me."
"One of life's many virtues."
"Then you haven't lived."
"I hate you."
"I dare you."
"Accepted."
And he had every intention of showing her how truly wrong she was.
His fingertips gracefully trailed a path across her right jawbone and stilled there, but the lack of movement was lost on her for his eyes, stormy with attraction and gentle with precise care, had now resumed the caress. The warmth of it swept over her full lips, lingering there a moment too long for the motion to be accidental.
She glanced up at him through lowered lashes and was surprised to see that his pupils were rather dilated, tumultuous black surrounded by a tiny rim of cobalt blue. Flecks of gold, too, she mused, shimmering and sinking in the sea. Herself reflected. Almost beautiful. To him, completely.
His own cheeks were tinged a light pink, making his tan skin appear smooth as silk. It was the closest she had ever seen Tristan DuGrey come to a blush. The beginning of a tingle tugged at her stomach. Startling.
"You don't wear much make-up, do you?"
She narrowed her eyes at him, a bit insulted. "No, I've never really cared for it." God, he was probably comparing her to his endless string of girlfriends who looked like Picasso had had a field day with their faces.
His fingers danced over soft porcelain. "You don't need it." Every nuance of her skin was highlighted, nothing to mask any imperfection. And to him, there were none. "I like this tiny mole." His thumb tenderly grazed her right cheek.
She quirked an eyebrow at him, cautiously curious. "Most people don't even see it."
His reply was a husky whisper. "I told you before, Rory. I notice you."
The tingle in her stomach became a dozen wild butterflies. Indisputable and still fighting.
His forefinger tilted her chin up so her gaze was directly joined with his, and she lost all ability to breathe. She had never read many romance novels, her tastes tended toward the classics, but once she had "borrowed" one of her mother's. The cover boasted the usual image of a sparsely clad woman wrapped in the embrace of a shirtless hero, while the pages waxed poetic about the two lovers' simmering passion. She had always secretly wondered what it would feel like to have a guy look at her in that way. Any guy. Well, she had to wonder no longer. And when the source was an extraordinarily handsome, albeit annoyingly confident, guy, the results were paralyzing.
It was as if he were desperately trying to commit her every feature to memory in fear of never being in such close proximity to her again. While his eyes never left hers, serving as their only stream of contact, it was still akin to sampling a delicate, expensive wine as he drank her in. Savoring the taste. She felt entirely exposed to him and realized that didn't bother her in the slightest. But, unconsciously, she bit her lip, aware that she was fully out of her element. She had no doubt he was very experienced in these matters. Her fear and apprehension were beginning to outweigh her instincts.
He saw her shrink back, the barest movement of her head ducking away from his touch. "It's okay." Hushed, rhythmic, lulling. His free hand smoothed the material of her khakis, as his lips curved into a slow smile meant to placate and ease. "Let me kiss you, Rory."
God, help her, but for some inexplicable reason, she trusted him. Yes, she was scared half out of her mind, but she trusted him. And this trust, one in the million other feelings bouncing off the walls of Tristan's bedroom, was a very powerful thing. "Could I stop you?" she quipped wryly. Futile question. His darkening eyes had already given her the undeniable answer.
A deep chuckle. "Not a chance." The quintessential smirk.
Blushing, she was fiddling nervously with her fingers. Unsure what to do, she kept them tucked in her lap, hoping he hadn't sensed her insecurity. Resisting the impulse to close her eyes, she locked them onto his once more and remained motionless. Watching him. This was just fine, for he preferred to be in control. He was accustomed to it. Even now, when it seemed his heart would beat right out of his chest. However, this sensation was all too unfamiliar. Rory Gilmore meant something to him, and he wasn't exactly sure how to deal with that revelation.
Except to act on it.
His jean clad knee brushed her own as he scooted closer to her on the bed. If the array of goose bumps peppering her flesh were any indication, there might as well have not been any material daring to separate them. Her neck arched slightly to the left at the gentle tug of his finger under her chin, the simple touch sending her stomach spinning. His attention flitted from her eyes to her lips and then back, as his face dipped toward her own. It was only when she felt the lenient pressure of his mouth against hers did she allow her eyelids to flutter closed.
His lips brushed hers. Once. Twice. Each time more delicately than the last. Feather light. And he wrestled with the urge to take more. He won, for now.
Only a matter of seconds had passed, and he was pulling away from her. His absence leaving her lips cold, amid fields of flushed, heated skin. She blinked rapidly, dazed, and once the fog cleared, was immediately treated to a glimpse of his satisfied smirk. Her throat was dry, the syllables cracking harshly in her ears. "That…." A squeak. "Was nice."
He laughed, thoroughly amused. "If you react that way to a simple kiss, we could be here a while." At their current pace, this intriguing experiment could go on for quite some time. Brilliant.
If he could live that long.
"Wasn't that it?" A beat. "You're done."
He merely stared at her before shaking his head once, from side to side. Almost as an afterthought, he rubbed his lips together, the taste of strawberry gloss and pure Rory lingering much longer than he had anticipated.
"Oh," she managed dryly, her pulse thumping madly at the thought that he might kiss her again.
And how he wanted to. Needed to. He hadn't expected this either. He had known, of course, that he had always been drawn to her, like a moth to a flame. The moth would either be scalded from the heat or the fire would die as quickly as it had formed. There was no chance in hell of that happening here, for this went above and beyond the simple laws of attraction. For her, it was a risk he was willing to take.
Dimly, she was aware of a growing numbness in her hands. She had twisted her fingers into pretzels, and now red blotches had broken out across her skin as a result of the tightness. His own hands moved to the pale blue collar of her shirt as his thumb and forefinger deftly worked at the button, slipping the round obstruction from its confines. Her eyes shot up to his, her mouth suddenly agape.
He winked at her, deliberately teasing. "Relax. I'm not trying to seduce you." He expertly undid the second button. "Yet."
"What are you trying to do?" she demanded quietly.
"Help you relax." His answer was immediate and nonchalant as he removed the clip holding back the sides of her hair, causing the silky wisps to cascade around her face.
Help her relax? If he only knew, and chances were he probably did, his very touch was having the extremely opposite effect.
He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, opening her face to him. Uninhibited. "Close your eyes."
She did so, surrendering to his request, her lean fingers forming a perfect circle around his wrist. The rapid throbbing of the blood roaring triple time through his veins astounded her. It was a quick, jerking motion, and she could've sworn she felt it skip a beat as his lips swept over the dimple in her cheek.
And, only for an instant, she felt him hesitate. Heard his sharp intake of air, as she leaned into him, her nose brushing his. Centimeters, then mere millimeters, separated them. His every breath fluttered her hair, a brush of cinnamon and unadulterated male. Her free hand crept around his neck, fingers threading through his spiky strands. She had figured he used copious amounts of gel to achieve such perfection, but the golden locks were baby soft.
He opened his eyes then, and they melted into hers. "For someone new to this, you're very, very good." It was a low, guttural growl deep in his throat as her fingers in his hair sent him dangerously close to the precipice. He wanted to lose himself in her, hear her murmur his name.
"I'm not doing anything." As she spoke, her lips drifted intimately nearer.
And her innocence made him want to protect, to cherish. God, he cared. "You have no idea."
Throwing every bit of caution and rationality remaining to the wind, his mouth melded with hers. She gasped as the tip of his tongue flicked against her bottom lip, and he paused, knowing she would need to control the pace. As much as he ached not to take each and every bit of her into him. Her lips parted slightly, unknowingly, and he needed no further encouragement. Leisurely, methodically, he embraced it, exploring the deep, magnificent recesses of her. Giving her anything and everything in him.
She hadn't thought it was possible to actually feel on fire. Trembles wracked her body with every wondrous touch as his hands cupped her waist, easing her back onto the bed. This glorious assault was foreign and familiar, realizing she recognized his need for what it was. Knowing that buried deep inside, she felt it, too. She responded in kind, reveling in his accelerated heart beat, the fervor of it coursing through her own blood.
So strong, yet so gentle. The weight of him covered every inch of her, his spicy cologne and a luscious scent, uniquely him, dousing her entire being. Any other guy probably would have taken advantage of their precarious position, and his hands were everywhere, but only in those places made available to him. They stroked tenderly through her hair, making her scalp tingle. On her face, thumbs treasuring her cheek bones, captivated. Guiding her when she was lost. Respecting her always.
And she was swiftly falling.
Simple to let go. To let him take her to that special place, soon to be solely theirs. No consequences, no mistakes. Only each other in existence. Full blown desire meeting an implausible sweetness.
The complexity of feelings being explored. Some welcome, others overwhelming. Drowning but never smothering. Hearts awakening. For every second that passed, she wished for a minute to take its place.
For him, the absence of time all together would be a blessing.
Never too fast, but almost too far. Achingly knowing if he didn't pull away now, in another thirty seconds he never would. The contact slipped gradually between them, and as if the diminutive separation was unbearable, his mouth lingered tantalizingly against her bottom lip before giving away to empty space.
"Still hating?"
"Forgetting." Breathlessly so.
He hovered above her, anchored with his left elbow bearing down into the comforter, his right fingers tracing a heavenly pattern across her jaw and coming to a stop at her flushed, now thoroughly spent, lips. Their eyes met, a jolting soul to soul gaze. Neither smiled, utterly lost in the other.
He only stared at her. Mesmerized. Forever unwavering.
Even if she had been a frozen glacier in Antarctica, the sheer passion of it would have melted her. Never once did his eyes break from hers, telling her with no words. Searching and asking all in a single, never ending glance. She watched as a range of emotions played out in him, his face stoic, revealing nothing and everything. It felt as if she were being kissed all over again.
Slowly, as if pulled by an invisible string which he wished would break, he stood, offering a hand to help her sit up on the bed. She took it, lacing her fingers through his. She reached up to try and smooth her tangled hair, but in a movement almost innate, he did it for her. Standing in the space between her knees, he tucked the chocolate strands behind her ears, bending down to press his lips against her forehead. Remaining that way, his face resting against hers, she wrapped her arms around his waist, feeling the muscles in his back shudder under the cover of his thin shirt. The only sound was their still labored breathing.
Finally, he spoke. "If you say that was just nice…" His voice was hoarse, shaky. Affected.
"I don't know what that was." It took extreme effort for her to even form each word.
"We'll have to talk about it."
"I know. But not right now." At that moment, they were both content to just be.
Minutes passing, they held each other, his eyes drifting closed as she rested her head against his chest, lulled by its rise and fall. It was hypnotizing. A whisper. His. You're beautiful. A tighter embrace.
Anchoring and falling. Deeper and deeper.
The grandfather clock rudely struck the hour. Her gaze shot to the glaring red numbers turning over on the face of his bedside alarm. 6:00 P.M. Time did exist.
Reluctantly, she began to remove herself from their pleasant tangle of limbs. "Tristan, I have to go," she said quietly, apologetically.
"I say you don't," he joked roughly, wishing it were true.
"I do." Standing, she began to gather her things, papers slipping out of her fumbling hands. He stooped to help her, shoving the sheets into her bag. She zipped it up, tugging the straps over her shoulders.
He ran a hand through his unusually messy hair, knowing he shouldn't keep her from leaving. There would be time. Later. "I'll see you."
She was halfway out the door, when suddenly, she stopped. Her back still to him, she expressed the simple words that brought his heart to his knees. "Tristan." She glanced over her shoulder. "I never did. Hate you, I mean." Her eyes told him so even as she mouthed the words.
"I think you made that pretty obvious." She took a few steps, their gazes still locked, before exiting the room and jogging down the opulent staircase.
She hurried to her car, an early graduation gift from her grandparents, which was parked in the top arch of the circular driveway. Even as she pushed the button to activate the keyless entry and opened the door, she couldn't resist a final look back towards the house. The window of his bedroom, which overlooked the front lawn, shone yellow, a tall shadow disappearing from view, the small gap in the curtain sliding back into place.
She knew she would have to break every speeding law imaginable to make it to her grandparents' home for dinner by the designated time. She had a lot of things to sort out, and she couldn't prolong them any more. Already, there was an emptiness in her stomach. An unbearable hunger.
And there was only one person who could satiate her.
To be continued…
