restored love

37

OLIVIA

"She's going to hate me." I ramble, as I pace around Tristan's apartment.

He watches me amused. "You are totally overreacting," he says, shaking his head with a smile on his face.

"No I am not!" I snap. "Why did I agree to this?" I ask, running a hand through my hair.

Daisy hates me. Why did I think I should invite her over to talk? Tristan brought the idea up last night and I agreed. Why did I agree? Tristan can be very persuasive if he wanted to be.

"Come here." he demands.

I walk towards him but before I could sit beside him he pulls me into his lap. "Tristan." I mutter, trying to roll off his lap.

"Yes baby," he whispers against my ear.

"Can we just cancel on her?" I ask, fiddling with my fingers. "I don't want to see her anymore."

"Nope." he says, popping the p. "It's too late."

I groan, leaning against his chest.

He plays circles on my bare thigh with his finger. Fuck. Maybe I shouldn't have worn a skirt today. I try to shuffle around on his lap to ignore the heat settling in my stomach at his touch.

"I thought you were going to change." he whispers against my ear, his finger trailing higher up my skirt.

We may have had a small disagreement about this skirt in the morning.

"I was," I whisper. I freeze when his finger caresses my inner thigh.  "But then I realised I looked hot so I didn't." I say, when I finally catch my breath.

"I can see your ass in this skirt Olivia." he mutters, his voice full of disapproval.

I look back over my shoulder. His eyes were dark with lust and rage. "Is it a good sight?" I ask innocently.

He laughs against my ear, evoking goosebumps to rise on my skin. "Baby. Everything about you is beautiful. I can't control myself when you're wearing clothes like this."

His finger skims over my underwear and my breathing hitches. "Tristan," I whisper.

"Yes."

"What are you doing?" I ask, my voice is all breathy.

"Convincing you to get changed." he entertains.

He slowly runs his finger against my drenched underwear and I inhale a sharp breath before gritting out his name again.

"Can you do something?"

"Like what?" he asks.

"Touch me," I order. He stops his movements and I frown at myself. "Please." I finally add and he continues his sluggish movements.

He pushes my underwear to the side as he touches my wet core and my head drops against his shoulder. "You're soaked, butterfly."

"Please just do something." I practically beg.

He stays quiet. Before he could act on anything, a loud knock on the door pulled me out of my lust state and I jump out of his lap.

"Oh, God." I frantically say, running to our room to do something. Anything.

"You alright baby?" he asks, casually walking in.

"No. I need to change." I huff, slamming the closet shut as I hold a pair of blue jeans.

"There we go," he says, his voice full of satisfaction.

I turn around and point an accusatory finger at him. "Don't you for a second think that I am getting changed because you told me to. I fucking hate it when you tell me to change." I mutter.