Chapter 16: Love You Much Better
The first thing Rory was aware of when she woke up was the distinct, familiar soreness between her legs. She had felt this particular ache on several occasions in the last ten years and she knew, without having to open her eyes or gather her sleep-filled thoughts that she was in Tristan's bed. Only one man could ever make her so pleasantly numb and sore after a night of passion.
Wild, animalistic, unbridled sex.
After the first time when they had clawed off each other's clothes and went at it on the couch, Tristan had carried her to the bedroom in the back of the DuGrey pool house and while she was still crying silent tears, made love to her all over again – just as passionately as before but with much more control over his primal urges. And while any sex with Tristan DuGrey was amazing, she had wanted it rough and hard; no tender kisses or lazy foreplay.
"Fuck me," she had whispered in his ear as he took too long to plunge inside her. "I need you inside me, now."
Although he was surprised at first by her sudden demand, she could see his fragile grip on his restraint snap with the twitch of a muscle in his jaw and the lustful darkness in his eyes. She shuddered at the memory of him moving inside her, knuckles digging into her hips and she scratched her nails down the already bruised skin of his back, all the while whispering incoherently, feverishly into his ear as mindless pleasure shook her body.
"A fantastic fuck," Louise would say approvingly, as crude as it was. "No flowery poetry and soft gazes or whatever other shit those romance novels blather about. Emotions should have no place when it comes to fucking."
Rory wasn't sure when exactly she, the sweet, unassuming, small-town girl: apple of her parent's eye had become such a nymphomaniac. Correction: she was plenty sure. When she had finally given in to Tristan DuGrey's charming smile and bedroom eyes. It was when everything in her life had gone from simple to complicated. And if she was honest with herself, it was when her life had gotten so goddamned interesting.
She finally opened her eyes and it was then she felt the body beside her stir in sleep. Slowly she turned to face him, his eyes still closed as he rested on the pillow next to hers. On impulse, Rory reached up and traced the contours of his cheeks and jaw line with her index finger, like she had always done in the past whenever she woke up next to him.
Tristan opened his eyes, then, very slowly, very blue and took her breath away, like always.
"Hey." His voice came out in a sexy, sleepy whisper. He was probably surprised to see that she was still in his bed. She couldn't move if she wanted to, her body felt like it had survived a tumultuous battle. "Have you been up long?"
"No," she replied hoarsely, her throat still sore from her crying jag. He shifted a little, bringing his body closer to hers and reminding it of the pleasure of last night, already making it yearn for a repeat performance. When would it be enough? she wondered, amazed. Would she ever tire of him? His finger traced up her ribcage and the shiver that went up her spine answered the question decisively: not likely.
"Last night…" he started tentatively.
"Was just what I needed," she finished for him, firmly. There was no use in letting him take the responsibility for what had happened or to make him feel guilty for taking advantage of her weakened state. For starters it was ridiculous to say that she was vulnerable in the first place. How passive could she have been if she has scratched away layers of skin on his back and forearms? She knew exactly what she was getting into. However unhealthy it was for them. "I haven't been feeling much of...of anything lately. After Grandpa."
"I know," he said softly, his fingers at her lips now, tracing them with the pad of his thumb. Of course he knew. Probably before she was aware of it herself. Bastard.
"I hadn't cried. Not really."
"People have different ways of dealing with grief," he stated wisely. "It's not wrong."
No, not wrong.
And wasn't that what had scared her the most? She closed her eyes, sighed softly and on impulse, leaned forward to kiss him. As always, the kiss escalated beyond simple and she found herself pressed up against him, hands exploring and mouths tasting. So, so right.
Frighteningly never wrong.
As she drew him closer, Tristan pulled away. His hands settled on her hips and his eyes widened in surprised. He propped up on one elbow and stared at her body, as if he was noticing it for the first time. "Jesus, Rory, have you been eating at all?"
Her face flushed; embarrassed by the way his hands were running over her hipbone and then up to her ribcage, gently prodding with his fingers. "I eat."
"Clearly not enough," he replied as he sat up straighter. "Come on. We'll freshen up and I'm taking you to the house. I'm sure there's a lot of leftover breakfast."
"Tristan -"
He slipped out of bed, completely comfortable in his own skin, and walked over to the bathroom, calling out over his shoulder. "Don't even bother arguing with me, Rory."
She picked up his pillow, lying innocently beside her, and buried her face in it. She refrained from screaming into it – she didn't think her throat was quite up for that yet – and just groaned.
After a couple of calming breaths, she sat up, wrapped herself in the bedspread and walked over to the couch to find her dress. It was lying in a crumpled heap following the trail of her lingerie and Tristan's shirt and trousers. She slipped into her clothes and tied the broken spaghetti straps of her dress behind her neck to keep it in place.
"How very Jerry Macguire of me," she murmured dryly.
Rory heard the water still running in the bathroom and sighed. Her stomach grumbled a little and she realized that it had been a very long time since she had had a proper meal. Even during last night's five-star quality dinner, she only had a salad and picked her way through the pasta.
She wandered over to the bed again when she caught her reflection in the window pane. Her eyes widened a little as they zeroed in on the angry purple gashes on her upper arms. She couldn't go to the main house looking like that and she definitely couldn't go back to her grandmother's with the bruises, either. She spotted her coat lying innocently in front of the door and quickly bent over to pick it up. She'd just have to keep it on until she got home.
The jarring ring of Tristan's phone made Rory jump and she had to steady herself before she concentrated on finding the source of the sound. She located his cell phone on the couch, between the cushions and quickly answered it. "Hello?"
"Uh hi." The woman sounded unsure. "Is this Tristan's cell phone?"
Rory lowered herself onto the couch. The woman sounded pretty young. An ex-girlfriend, maybe? "Yeah, it is. He's um, in the bathroom right now. Can I take a message?"
"Thanks. I'll just call him back later," the other woman said, panting slightly; it sounded like she was walking. There was a pause, a soft intake of breath and then she said, "Is this Rory?"
Her brows drew together. "Yes, this is she. I'm sorry, do I know you?"
The woman let out a nervous chuckle. "Uh no. I'm Susan. I'm a friend of Tristan's. He's told me a lot about you."
Rory's eyes widened, wondering how well Susan knew Tristan and what information about her he had divulged. He was a private man and he only opened up to a few people. I used to be one of those people, Rory thought a little sadly. "Oh, um, that's nice. Especially considering he's never mentioned you."
"Well, I'm not surprised," Susan said and Rory could hear the affection in her tone. "I'm pretty forgettable to him."
"I'm sure you're not," she returned wondering why she felt at ease talking to a virtual stranger. "After all, Tristan rarely keeps in touch with ex-girlfriends."
The other woman laughed. "This is true. I guess we're the exceptions."
Before Rory could say anything else, Tristan strolled out of the bathroom, a fluffy white towel riding low on his hips and he ran a smaller one through his hair. "Who is that?"
Rory walked over to him and handed him the phone. "It's Susan." He took the phone from her, eyes locked on hers as if he were trying to assess her reaction but she dropped her gaze and mumbled, "I'll wait for you outside."
-&-
"Susan?" Tristan said as he lifted the phone to his ear and watched Rory close the door behind her. "Hey."
"Hey yourself," she responded softly. "I got your message. How've you been?"
"Oh you know me," he replied, tossing the small towel in his hand on to the bed.
"All too well," she said with a sigh. "I was worried about you last night. I called a couple of times but I guess you didn't hear the phone."
"No, I guess not," he lied. He had been a little too occupied when she had called. In fact, in frustration, he had stuffed the phone between the couch cushions instead of just turning it off. "How have you been?"
"Oh pretty good," she replied, with a long-suffering sigh. "Long hours. Rotation. No one to pat you on the back or to say thank you. Thus is the life of a resident med student. And I love every minute of it."
He smiled widely. "Now that's the Susan I know and love."
She chuckled and then cleared her throat. "So that was Rory, huh?"
"Yeah," he answered wearily, looking through the glass doors to see the brunette perched on a patio chair, tapping her fingers against the plastic covered table. "That was her. Were you two talking long?"
"You mean long enough to share the ups and downs of our relationship with you?" she teased lightly and clucked her tongue. "No, not that long so you're safe. We haven't swapped secrets yet. Of course, I don't have much to say."
He sighed and went to the dresser to look for old clothes that he usually kept there. "Susan."
"Sorry, couldn't resist." There was a pause, some shuffling and then she said, "Are the two of you together now? What's going on? I thought you were going back to help your father with the business or something."
"That was the plan." He pulled out a pair of boxers and old, gray sweats. "She and I kind bumped into each other and it got complicated."
"Why am I not surprised?" She sighed. "Tristan, I really don't think it's my place to be telling you this, especially since you have the habit of not really listening anyway, but you have to do something about this…this cycle. End it with her or be with her, don't put yourselves through all that pain again just because you can't make up your damn mind."
He dropped the towel and slid into his boxers and sweats. "You think I don't know this? I've tried. Believe me. Something always goes wrong."
"Well then don't let it," she replied urgently. "How much more do you think you can take, Tristan? You love her. You know you do."
He glanced outside again and studied her face before closing his eyes. "I know."
"So either hold onto her for dear life or let her go."
-&-
"G'morning Claire. I hope you have leftovers."
The chef, who had been working for the DuGreys for thirty years turned and smiled brightly at them, her soft blue eyes twinkling with affection as she hugged them both. "Tristan! Rory! Sit, sit. I'll whip you up some pancakes."
"Thank you," Rory said softly as she sat down on a stool, resting her elbows on the black marble countertop. It had been years since she'd set foot in the DuGrey kitchen and even longer since she had had Claire's famous pancakes and coffee. "How've you been, Claire?"
Claire, while expertly flipping pancakes on the skillet, launched into a colorful play-by-play of the last couple of years, including the marriage of her oldest son and how her daughter was about to start law school. Rory tried listening politely, sipping her orange juice but her mind wandered.
It was odd being in the DuGrey house again, nothing seemed to change.
The kitchen brought back memories of one particular rainy night when Rory had been visiting Hartford. Tristan's parents were away and the staff had left for the night and the two of them, hungry from their exertions, had come to the kitchen in search of food.
They ended up having sex on the countertop.
Rory felt a blush stain her cheeks as Claire placed a plate of pancakes in front of her on that very same black marble. She stole a glance at Tristan who was staring at her, a smirk on his lips indicating that he was thinking about it too.
The sound of heels clicking on tiles drew Rory's attention to the doorway as Arabella DuGrey breezed in, wrapped in a silky blue gown. "Claire, have you seen my…oh, Tristan darling, good morning. Hello Rory."
"Good morning, Arabella," she returned as the older woman kissed her cheek. Tristan's mother smiled brightly and Rory could tell she looked very happy. "How are you?"
"Just fine, dear," she replied as she kissed her son's forehead. "Darling, you look so pale. Both of you do. Eat, eat! Oh and Tristan your father is looking for you. Be careful."
He nodded and took a sip of his orange juice. "On a scale of one to ten, how mad is he?"
Arabella gave him a wry smile. "I'd say nine and a half."
Rory felt guilt and embarrassment course through her as she locked gazes with him. She knew that whatever the reason Tristan was back in Hartford it was an important one. His father had obviously been counting on him and because of what had happened last night, he had disappointed William once again. Rory didn't have to be told that she was partly to blame and something coiled tightly in her stomach and squeezed hard.
"Tristan," a stern voice called from the doorway and now, William entered looking grave. His eyes softened when he saw Rory and he smiled. "Good morning, Lorelai."
She smiled, unable to look him in the eye and Tristan finished his breakfast and stood up, the stool scraping against the floor. "Dad, should we go into the library?"
"Alright," William agreed and as both men passed by Arabella, Rory saw her grab her husband's arm and give him an imploring look. In return, he patted her hand soothingly and then, uncharacteristically, he leaned in to kiss her.
Rory had never seen the DuGreys be intimate with one another. In the beginning of her relationship with Tristan, his parents' marriage had been going through a rough patch and they had never fully recovered from it. Most of the time, it felt as if they simply tolerated each other's presence for the sake of appearances and Rory often wondered why they just hadn't divorced. There was a subtle yet very obvious shift between them today and Rory wondered if Tristan knew his parents were reconciling after so many years.
When William was gone, Claire excused herself and then Arabella turned to Rory and smiled somewhat sheepishly. "I hope they don't bite each other's heads off."
Her eyes widened. "Is it that bad?"
"Last night they had an important meeting. William won't tell me what it is but he's pretty angry right now." She sat down on the stool Tristan had vacated. "I thought that they were trying to close the gap between them. This business stuff has finally brought them to a place where they can really just…understand each other, you know?"
Rory wanted the world to open up and swallow her. How could they have been so stupid? Why hadn't she just gone home? She knew how strained Tristan's relationship with William was, how much Tristan wanted his approval and respect even though he vehemently denied it. Closing her eyes and hating herself, she whispered, "I know."
Arabella must've caught the staggering self-recrimination in her voice because she reached out and placed a hand on Rory's cheek. "Darling, don't. If it wasn't last night something else could have just as easily come in between them again. It's been like this for years."
"But it wasn't something else," Rory stated harshly, feeling herself flush. "I made it worse. I should have stayed away."
Arabella took both her hands. "Listen to me. The DuGrey men love very rarely and when they do, very passionately. So no matter how hard you try to break free or stay away. Or how much you curse them and hate for it…they can't let go. It's forever."
Rory felt tears pool in her eyes and her voice came out thick, "Is that a good thing or bad?"
"That depends," she said, smiling softly, "on how much you love them in return."