Chapter 3 His property

Third POV

Andrea couldn't wait to leave this party. As she gathered her things and made her way to the double doors exit.

Dante gave her a curt nod. Not wanting to

make it weird, Andrea bid him goodnight and headed back into the

house, completely through with the night.

What she needed was sleep, good sleep and when she woke up this nightmare would seem

better.

Climbing the stairs, thankfully not

encountering anyone else on the way, she went to her room, unlocking the door. She entered, pushing the door behind her. But

the sound of wood hitting wood never came.

Andrea stilled, turning around to see Tristan Caine holding her door open, leaning against

the doorjamb.

Oh no. No, nopity, nope. She was not in the

mood to deal with him tonight.

Ignoring his ass, she turned again and went

to the dresser, dropping her heels on the side.

The door shut behind her.

Locked.

From the way her body was reacting, she knew he was still in the room. "Nice dress."

Her hands paused over her earring, her eyes

watching as his reflection joined hers in the mirror. "Thanks," she

responded, taking her earring off. "Zayn sent it as a welcome

gift."

His eyes flared in the reflection. Score

one. He took a step closer, his presence almost behind her. "Did you enjoy the buffet?"

Andrea inhaled deeply, keeping her eyes on

him. "I've only seen the dishes so far. But from what I've seen, I'm certain they taste really good."

Before she could blink, she was pressed

against the mirror, her head pulled back with his hand in her hair.

Their eyes collided in the mirror, his breath on her neck, warm,

soft.

His chest pressed against her back, expanding with every breath he took, syncing her own breathing to match. Her heart

started to hammer, blood rushing under her skin, her entire being

thrilled at making him snap, at making him react.

"Look at all the dishes you want, wildcat,"

whiskey and sin poured down her ear and dripped into her body, "but

the only dish filling you up is right here."

Andrea fought back a moan at the way his

teeth grazed her ear, his eyes hot on hers. "I don't share."

His hand tugged her head a bit, his nose

inhaling her. "Neither do I."

Stalemate. They were both breathing heavily.

And then she remembered there were listening devices in the room, the same devices he had his security install and monitor daily.

Stalker.

"They can hear us," she reminded him.

"Let them," he stated, his nose running along

her neck. "Let them also listen to what I'm going to do to anyone who touches you." His hand left her hair, coming to the front

of her neck, holding her as he did, her pulse drumming against his palm. "I'll break every single finger of the hand that touches you," he whispered, writing death over her skin as she looked at them in the mirror, her nipples hard as though his words caressed them, his big form behind her. "Then, I will slit their throat just on the surface, letting them bleed and howl while I skinned them alive,"

he continued, making her shudder both in fear and pleasure, his eyes blazing on her, his hand simply holding her by the throat. "And then I will set them on fire."

She felt owned. "And what if I want them to

touch me?" she asked the same question she'd asked Zayn.

His lips twitched, his hand pressing her

closer to his body. "You won't."

"How do you know?"

"Because," he leaned into her neck, his lips

ghosting over her skin as he spoke, "you come alive only for me."

Andrea shivered, her toes curling into the

carpet as her jaw trembled. He was right.

Not wanting to be left a step behind, Andrea

boldly rubbed her hips against his, feeling him harden against her

back, and declared. "Mine."

And for the first time since she had known

him, she saw a smile crack his face. It was small, just a little curve of lips, but it was genuine and it was there. And it tilted

her world on its axis because he had a dimple.

He.

Had.

A.

Fucking.

Dimple.

She stared at it in surprise, somehow thrown

by such a simple thing, wondering who had been the last person to see that dimple.

Their eyes, still locked together, had an

entire conversation in themselves. His smile dropped slowly by degrees and she shook her head, raising her hand behind her in the

mirror, feeling the scruff brush against her palm for the first time.

That pushed him over the edge. His other hand pulled the dress up and over her ass as she bent forward, giving him room to move, their eyes connected the entire time. She felt

his fingers between her legs, testing her wetness. She was dripping.

"Clean?" She felt the weight of that one word question in his husky whisper. She knew it would change things, knew it was

one step closer together. Wordlessly, she nodded. He nodded his own answer.

Just as wordlessly, she felt the tip of him

behind her. She went on her toes to get level, canting her hips to ease access for him as his fingers left her, going to under her

knee and pulling it up.

She balanced her feet on the edge of the dresser, the other held up on her toes with his strength. His other hand stayed steady on her throat as his eyes stayed steady on hers.

She realized it would be the first time she would actually see him when he entered her, the first time he would enter her naked.

Anticipation built, her heart thudding in her

ears, her skin aware of everywhere they touched and aware of every breath he took.

And then he thrust into her suddenly.

A loud yelp escaped her as the dresser banged

against the wall, her mouth opening on a pant as her walls welcomed

him in.

The fact that there were listening devices all over the

room, the fact that he didn't care, and neither did she, the fact that just the banging of the dresser would have made people in the

house aware of what was going on sent a thrill down her spine. Their eyes on each other, understanding passing between them, he pulled her flush against him, his cock

lodging itself deeper inside her, sending heat through her body.

He pulled out almost completely, her walls quivering with the loss, before he plunged in, harder. The dresser banged into the wall

louder. She moaned, her breaths escalating and his roughened, her muscles clenching around him like a vise. His hand left her knee, going to her throbbing clit, rubbing.

Her eyes fluttered close on the onslaught of

sensation.

"Name," he growled. Her eyes opened slightly,

finding his, confused. "Say my name."

Her heart stopped. She gulped, aware of him

pulsing inside her. His fingers flexed on her throat, so big he encompassed it, the sense of danger and safety mingling together in a heady concoction.

"Mr. Caine," she whispered, her eyes glued to

his.

He took the skin of her neck between his

teeth, tugging. "Name."

"Tristan Caine," she muttered.

He pinched her clit, making her hips rock

involuntarily. "Tristan," she sighed, her hands holding the dresser tightly.

He rolled his hips, almost blacking her out

with the sudden movement, touching her magic spot. "That's the name

you're going to be screaming for a long time, Ms. Vitalio. Remember

it."

"Stop talking and fuck me then, Mr. Caine,"

she challenged.

He complied. He started to fuck her in the

true sense of the word.

The mirror in the dresser started to shake so

much it rattled. The sound of the wood plowing a hold in the wall

matched the rhythm of him plowing into her.

Their eyes remained connected even on that shaky glass as he thrust in and out of her,

rolling his hips, alternating. Her walls squeezed him in sync, weeping and clinging to him, the friction inside her spreading fire

all over her body. Sweat coated her skin, her shuddering gasps turning into loud moans turning into small screams she could not

control anymore.

"Tristan," she panted, urging him on, moving

her hips to his, watching him. It was erotic, watching him like that, watching herself like that, both of them dressed but so, so naked.

"Louder," he ground out between clenched

teeth.

It shook her. "Tristan," she moaned louder,

feeling all the ridges on his cock, could feel those pulsing veins, all naked inside her for the first time. He started to rub her clit

harder, his hips picking up speed, her knees knocking against the wood as she balanced herself on the toes of one feet and the knee

of the other, his hand around her throat holding her up and level.

It wasn't too tight but firm enough to make her feel completely

surrounded, completely owned in that moment. She owned him right

back, keeping him trapped inside her with every push.

Slowly, the fire in her body concentrated on her burning core, her entire body

shaking as she started getting light-headed from the overload of sensation.

And then she felt his teeth on her neck.

Hard.

She exploded, screaming as her knees buckled, her balance forgotten, her walls releasing like never before, her

heartbeats through the roof, so loud she could feel them thundering everywhere in her body.

She could feel her own wetness running down

her thighs, her eyes seeking his magnificent blues as she watched her come, committing everything to memory.

He pulled out all of a sudden, pushing her

down over the dresser, and she saw him stroking his erection in his

fist, his face twisting into agonized pleasure as he exploded over her back, his come pooling on the dress. Andrea watched,

fascinated, still reeling from her own pleasure, listening to that growl leave his chest as he jerked off for a few seconds, milking out every drop, exhaling.

His eyes, which had closed, opened again and

found hers. He tucked himself back in, zipping up.

Andrea straightened slowly, watching as his hands came to her breasts for

the first time. Not to touch, no. He still didn't touch her breasts even as her nipples strained towards his palms, aching with a

hunger only his fingers could satiate. He never did.

He just took the neckline of her dress in both hands and ripped it apart in one

go, the sound of the tearing fabric loud in the room. He stared at her for a long minute, his eyes never wavering down to her bra, now

completely exposed in the dress that hung on her only by the sleeves.

Gently, silently, he took the sleeves down

and pushed the dress to the floor. "Get rid of the dress."

With that growled command, he turned on his heel and walked out, locking the door behind him with a click.

Andrea blinked, all of it too quick for her

to process. What the hell had just happened?

Her gaze drifted down to the discarded green

dress that Zayn had sent her. It was ripped, tattered and had his semen drying on it. A slow smile teased her lips the longer she

stared at it.

A laugh escaped her, the situation suddenly funny.

Picking it up, she walked to the bin in the bathroom and threw it

in.

Humming quietly to herself, she turned to wash her hands and looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes lingered on the red mark

on the side of her neck where he'd hickey-ed her.

She touched the mark gingerly, the smile on her face full-blown now.

She didn't know if he would acknowledge them tomorrow or revert to his usual self.

She might not be hundred percent certain about what the fuck she and Tristan were doing but she mattered. She mattered to someone. And he had started to matter a great deal to her.

And tomorrow, as they said, would be a new day.