Chapter 15: Addicted
William and Jonathan Lowenstein had moved onto more serious matters by the time the main course arrived. Tristan was only half listening to what the older men were discussing; his eyes kept wandering to the table across the lavish dining room to Rory's table.
Rory and Dean Forester's table.
Unbidden, he clenched the fork in his fingers tighter until his knuckles were white. A million questions ran through his head, the most prominent being: why was Rory Gilmore on a date with that loser boyfriend of hers from high school? He hadn't left Hartford and her behind, so that she could hook up with an old flame, he'd left so that she could mourn in peace, without having to deal with anything romantic or sexual.
So she wouldn't have to deal with him.
But why did it have to be Dean fucking Forester that was taking his place? Why did it have to be the only saintly boyfriend Rory ever had?
Ever loved.
He could handle some loser who she was just going on a pity date with or he could handle her turning to Jess in her time of need. Someone non-threatening. Why did it have to be the one guy she had ever run to, ever picked over him?
He's not my boyfriend. I hate him.
Look, things are really good for me and Dean right now, and I don't want anything to mess that up. Especially not something that meant nothing at all to me and I wished had never happened in the first place.
It occurred to him that he was being irrational and idiotic. That was years ago and his history with her was much more powerful than whatever she had with Dean, ten years ago. So why was Rory laughing so freely, so comfortably, as she listened to the other man regale her with some story, some stupid-ass anecdote from his boring life?
Because you left her, a voice jeered at him, causing him to visibly wince. Because you always leave her. Because you can only make her cry.
"Don't you think so, Tristan?" his father asked, pulling him back into the conversation and out of his own inner pity party.
"Yes, absolutely," Tristan replied, having no idea what his father had just asked him. Both men looked at him warily before moving onto the next subject. Tristan stared down at his untouched food, feeling guilty for not paying attention. The family business was in peril and he couldn't stop being selfish for once second, couldn't stop thinking about anything but Rory.
He dropped the fork next to his plate and took a sip of the wine in front of him, willing himself not to look over at her table. Weak whenever it came to her, he looked up anyway just in time to see her accepting Dean's hand as he gallantly pulled back the chair for her. His fingers grabbed the edge of the table as he set his teeth as he watched the jerk lead Rory to the door, his hand resting comfortably on the small of her back.
The age old internal conflict waged inside him: should he go after her and make a scene or just let her be? The answer seemed simple enough, he thought as he rose. When had he ever done the right thing?
A strong hand circled his wrist and he turned to see his father, looking back at him with a mixture of concern and sympathy. "Let it go, son."
Cursing inwardly – at himself or his father, he wasn't sure – Tristan shook his head and yanked his arm away from William's grip. "I can't."
When could he ever?
~*~ ~*~ ~*~
"Tell Lindsay I'm so sorry she couldn't make it," Rory replied as the valet pulled up Dean's car. "I was really looking forward to it."
Dean ran a hand down the side of her arm. "I'm pretty sure that she'll much prefer if you come over and she can cook dinner for us. She's domestic like that."
"We all know how much that turns you on." Rory grinned and lifted her face as he kissed her cheek. "Thank you, Dean. For the wonderful time."
"Anytime," he replied sincerely and then got into his car. He rolled down the window and smiled. "You haven't changed, Rory Gilmore. I look at you and still see the sixteen year old girl I once knew."
Rory let out a disbelieving chuckle. "Is that supposed to be a compliment?"
"Yes," he replied smiling and then drove off, waving once out of the window as he left the restaurant's parking lot.
The valet asked for her tag but Rory waved him off. Stepping out from under the harsh glare of the lighting in front of the restaurant, she stepped into the dark, shivered as the breeze lifted her coat away from her and closed her eyes. She took a deep breath letting the cool night air into her lungs.
"You looked exactly like this, that night in New York," an achingly familiar voice whispered in her ear. She shivered again, this time not from the cold but from the feeling of his fingertips on the skin of her neck. A soft, sensual caress that wasn't meant to be felt but a multitude of emotions, sensations swept through her anyway. "Pale. Sad. Beautiful."
Although there were many nights she had spent with him in New York, she didn't have to ask which one he was talking about. The night she had left him; when her world had crumbled. "That was a long time ago."
He let out a light scoff, barely audible. His fingers continued to trace patterns on her skin. "I remember it like it was yesterday."
So did she but there was no use in dwelling in the past. Wasn't that the lesson she had tried to learn time and again where he was concerned? But even then, in the span of five minutes, she had two people tell her that she was exactly the same, always standing still. She finally opened her eyes, turned her head slightly to look at him. "I thought you left."
"I did," he replied and glanced back towards the restaurant. "I had to come back."
"Oh." The worry in his voice was hardly traceable but she knew he better, knew something was troubling him. After all, it wasn't every night William DuGrey took his son out for dinner, just for kicks. "Is everything okay?"
"That was going to be my question." A sardonic smile curled his lips and before he spoke, she knew what was coming. "Although it looks like you're doing just fine."
She let out a weary sigh. "Don't do this, Tristan."
But he barreled on as if he hadn't heard her. "I must say, he looks taller than I remember him. Did you call him as soon as I left or did you wait a couple of days, to let your sheets cool down?"
She wasn't a violent person but she could feel the urge to slap him across his face so strongly that she had to curl her fingers into a fist to resist the temptation. She knew that he was aware of her desire and constructively, that only served to quell the fury building inside; she was too old for all this soap operatic drama and causing a scene was the last thing she needed. She looked up at him determinedly. "Goodnight Tristan."
As she turned to walk away, he grabbed her upper arm and pulled her back, reeling her back into his arms. Before she could protest, he pulled her up against him and quickly covered her mouth with his in a bruising kiss.
She knew this tactic well: if she ever walked away all he'd have to do was pull her to him and kiss her into oblivion.
Unfortunately, her body was traitorous and immediately responded to the way his hands roughly traveled under her coat, over the silky material of her dress. Her mind was shutting down rapidly as her body took over command and kicked every sense into overdrive. A low groan tore from Tristan's lips as he broke the demanding kiss but didn't let her go. He stared into her eyes and even in the dimness she could see the anger, jealousy and desire swirling dangerously together in the depths of blue.
Her final resistance crumbled with that look; her wisdom and experience a forgotten memory.
It was remarkable how she could forget everything that had happened with this man when he looked at her like that, with so much passion, so much desire that she felt that if he weren't holding her she'd melt into a puddle at his feet.
Without saying a word, he declared his claim on her and she didn't protest.
She knew the pleasure in his embrace, the release, the mindlessness. She knew the pain. But it didn't deter her lust or change her decision, in that split second, to forget about everything and just fall back into their usual routine of sex...even with their anger bubbling right under the surface.
He kissed her again and then reached into her coat pocket for her car keys. With her blood rushing everywhere but her brain, she followed as he tugged her to the valet and handed him the keys. The valet took one look at her and smirked knowingly before rushing off to get the car.
Tristan turned to her again, jaw set determinedly. "Why were you here with Dean?"
"What?" she asked dumbly, still breathless from their kiss. "Dean and I were having dinner. It was just dinner. For Christ's sake, he's married." It was his turn to look confused. "I was supposed to have dinner with him and his wife but their daughter got sick so he came alone."
He nodded and she could see the guilt flash through his eyes for a second before they traveled to her swollen lips and was replaced with something else much more exciting.
"Here you go sir." The valet drove up in Rory's car and handed the keys over, tipping an invisible hat in Tristan's direction as he passed them. "Have a good night."
When Tristan opened the driver side's door, Rory thought that he was opening it for her and sending her home by herself. But then he slipped behind the wheel and waited for her to get into the passenger side. She hesitated for a moment, bringing her fingertips to her kissed lips.
She thought of Dean going home to Lindsay and their daughter, thought of her mom with Luke in Stars Hollow and her dad with his free-spirit-potential-wife Gwen. She thought of Paris and Jess back in Boston, getting ready for their wedding.
Then she thought of what waited for her back at the Gilmore mansion: an empty bed in a house that seemed like a foreign place since Richard had left it.
Hating herself, she went around to the other side and slipped in next to him, ready to go wherever he planned on taking her.
When had she ever been able to stop herself?
~*~
The fury and jealousy at seeing Rory with another man seemed to have died down, now replaced with resentment towards himself for jumping to the wrong conclusions, for making Rory want to slap him, for not being able to keep his hands off her in an attempt to mark his territory.
He should have stayed away from Hartford, should have never come back. He should have known that if he did, there was no force strong enough to keep him away from her.
Letting go was never easy for him when it came to her but he was beginning to think that maybe it was the only way to make her happy.
The self-loathing came back full force and now the anger seemed to rule him as he fumbled with the zipper of Rory's dress. They stood outside the door of the DuGrey's pool house where he chose to spend his nights while in Hartford. He pushed her against the door, her legs coming around his waist as he groped for the handle behind her.
They tumbled in together, mouths fused and coats hanging from their arms. She worked enthusiastically at clawing his tie off and then managing to scratch at him irately in her annoyance with the buttons of his shirt.
"Forget it," he ordered roughly as he carried her over to the couch. Her zipper finally came undone and he pushed the material off of her, desperately wanting to taste skin. They fell backwards onto the couch. "Rory…"
She kissed him in response, pulling his shirt out of his pants and then fumbling with his belt buckle. As she soon as she rid him of his pants, his lips trailed down her neck, alternating between tiny bites and nips to licking the bruised skin. His mouth closed over her breast and he bit down, hard. She yelped, and scratched her nails across the small of his back. Unconsciously she arched under him pressing her core against him. He grabbed onto her hips with one hand and let the other slip between her legs to push her panties out of the way.
Their fight carried into their lovemaking as he took her with an urgency, roughness and desperation that seemed to leave no room for commonsense or nobility.
He yearned for her every night while he was away. His body ached and remembered the feel of hers, the heat of her skin and the smell of her hair and if this was the only way he could get her to see how he felt, how much she affected him than he wasn't going to let it pass.
Not even if it meant hurting her in the process.
When he entered her, one quick thrust, she clung to him and he didn't miss the tears that pooled in her beautiful eyes. Tenderly, he brought his hands to her face and wiped them away as they fell onto her cheeks. She nodded slowly and moved with him, letting him set the pace. He buried his face in her hair, not wanting to see any more tears or the expression on her face. As the waves of pleasure ebbed off of him, moments later he waited for her to stop shaking under him.
Her chest heaved under him and he was careful not to crush her with his weight.
Rory took in a sharp breath and he felt the first sob wrack her body before he heard it pierce through the quietness of the pool house. He closed his eyes, a knife twisting through his heart and turned his face towards hers, softly kissing the side of her face.
"It's okay sweetheart," he muttered and that only made her cry harder. Her arms came around his neck and he pulled her up with him, cradling her against him. She buried her face in his shoulder as her tears fell on his crumpled shirt. "Rory, baby, don't cry. I'm so sorry."
"I can't stop," she cried, pulling away from him. "Don't you understand?"
"I do," he said, running a hand through her tangled hair. "God, I understand. Just don't cry, baby. I can't handle your tears."
She bit her bottom lips as her eyes welled. She pulled her dress up over her breast and closed her eyes. "I'm so tired."
"I know," he said as she stood up and away from him. He pulled on his pants quickly and reached for her again, pulling her back towards him. "Come to bed with me."
"I should…" she trailed off and rested her head against his chest.
"I know," he whispered in her ear. She sighed against him and wrapped her arms around his neck. He bent down and lifted her off the ground, carrying her over to the bed towards the back of the pool house. "I'll take you home in the morning."