Creatures

TWENTY-EIGHT

She whipped around and looked at him with a very embarrassed expression. Yes. Don't like.

"That was fucking hot," he told her, lowering his voice. Her embarrassment turned into surprise, then into a powerful kiss. He gripped his cock and gave it a pump or two. "Goddess. I'm still fucken hard as steel for you."

He took her by the hips and sat on the couch normally, sitting her on top of him. Tristan got off her shirt and bra, tearing off the bra at the weakest juncture in the middle once it became too irritating for him. She protested, and he happily started sucking on her breasts, ignoring her.

They screwed until they were exhausted and couldn't move. Even then, Tristan crawled between her thighs and fell asleep there, resting his head on her lower belly.

*

Chrissy was harshly pulled awake.

She felt another presence in the room and backed up against the headboard.

A man with longish blond hair stood at the end of the bed. A woman stood to his left and a man to his right. He was dressed to the nines in a gray pinstripe suit, topping off the obnoxious getup with a hat, cane, and revolver. The revolver in question was pointed at Chrissy, though Tristan had mostly shoved her behind him.

"How cute." The blonde said. "This was the wrong time to ditch the safety of the pack, Tris."

Chrissy felt the need to wrap her hand around the pendant that hung from her neck.

"I gave you leeway, James." Tristan told him. "You've raised your hand to me once, if you do it again I will call for war. I let your faction grow unbridled and that's a mistake I won't make again."

He grinned. "No need. I'll have your crown before you can even say the word."

"I am not an enemy you wish to make." He warned. Tristan, protecting both Chrissy and the pendant, pulled her further behind him and pinned her naked front to his back. She was not typically one to run from a fight but a gun pointed at her head was nothing she could fight.

"Just for clarification, these are indeed silver." James shook the gun a little back and forth.

He slowly paced around to the side of the bed, keeping his gun trained on them. Tristan, of course, pulled her away, but he could still press his gun to Tristan's forehead.

"What do you want?" Christine demanded.

"I want the medallion. I want to be king." He said simply.

"Then take the damn thing and leave." He sneered. "Chris, give it to him."

She was hesitant.

"Christine, give it to him. He's successfully ambushed me and wins the medallion. I want no violence in my house. I can still beat his scrawny ass in combat."

Christine broke the necklace from her neck and threw it so it smacked him in the forehead.

"Thank you," he gave her a sardonic smile, picking up the necklace. He tipped his hat and holstered his gun. "I'll see you in Denmark."

The three filed out of the bedroom, and Christine and Tristan listened as they slammed the apartment door behind them.

Tristan turned to face her. "You okay?"

She nodded. "Scared, but none the worse for wear."

He seized her in a tight hug, kissed her.