The unmistakable chorus of violins and horns interrupted him. Four notes sang out in C Minor.
Beethoven, 5th symphony.
Oh no.
Those blue eyes opened wide in shock and horror, his head turning towards the glowing and buzzing phone. He gritted his teeth, his hips hitting the couch as the awful cruelty of that timing punched him in the gut.
"Ignore it," Ira whispered, her fingers trailing over the waistband of his pants back and forth, toying with the zipper.
He wanted to. He desperately wanted to. When the song seemed to end, he relaxed and nodded, his lips parting to continue-
Four notes. C Minor.
Fuck you, Beethoven.
He groaned loudly, "Fuck! Ira, I have to take this."
She blinked, her lips curling to the side, her brow furrowing, "Are you serious? Now?"
He bit his lip hard, as hard as he could before he nodded, "Yes. When sh- they call it's usually a problem. I'm really sorry…"
Ira scoffed, jumping back to lie against the other arm of the couch, her tongue hitting the room of her mouth to release a loud click of annoyance, "Fine. Answer your fucking phone."
His brow furrowed, hearing that anger and annoyance. They both had a right to the irritation that prickled at their skin.
Why now? Tristan fumbled a bit with his shirt, hearing a rip for his efforts as he finally got it off his arms. He rolled ungracefully off the couch, his long fingers gripping his phone. His fingers scratched the back of his hair causing his hair to stick on ends. After a few seconds of incoherent grumbles, he took a long deep breath, finding some ounce of serenity, before he answered the siren song of being cock-blocked.
"Hey. Yeah, now is not a good time." He glowered at the screen, listening to the voice, trying extraordinarily hard to ignore the glare of burning holes at the back of his head, "I had a really long day so no I'm not planning to-" He paused, taking a sharp intake of breath, "Work. I wasn't planning on working tonight." He looked over to Ira, his blue eyes narrowed before softening, an apology written all over his gaze.
Ira gave a derisive snort, turning her head up and looking haughtily away from him. However, she didn't seem pissed at him; frustrated, yet not enraged.
For that, he should be grateful.
He pursed his lips together, both listening to the phone and keeping his eyes on the beautiful woman impatiently waiting for him. He grunted, his other hand running through his hair, "Can it wait? Seriously, can we just…" He released a puff of air, "… wait till tomorrow? Yes, I'm downtown. Uhmm I don't know…" He looked towards the large window facing the city, trying not to be awestruck with the view as he gathered his bearings on a location, "Near the Center Arts District…" He pressed his head against the bottom of the couch cushion, rubbing his forehead back and forth as he nodded, "Fuck… Northport is where you are…? Okay. Okay. Give me 20-25 minutes. Yeah, I'll be there. Bye."
Another click tumbled out of Ira's mouth, her thick lips pursed together, "25 minutes; Northport is 10 minutes away. Great. A whopping 15 minutes. I was hoping for a sleepless night."
"I'm sorry…" Tristan mumbled, his voice muffled by the couch, "I'm really, really sorry."
"You could've ignored it." She exhaled, shaking her head, "Who was that, your boss?"
"You can say that…"
Ira gave another snort, "Just quit." She turned to look down at him, smirking slightly, "I'll take care of you."
Tristan looked up at her, his eyes widening slowly before they softened, taking in her words. He groaned softly at the thought, "You're so sexy, and I would lay if the idea of just being your sugar baby is not oh so tempting b-but this job isn't something I can quit…"
"Why? I think being my 'sugar baby' is a better idea."
He lifted a hand to scratch at his cheek, shuddering as he felt the air on the marks she left on his skin, "its important work. At-at least to me, it is."
A bright, bold eye twitched. She pursed her lips together, tempted to force him to concede. However, she wanted him willing, wanted… something normal with him. She sighed, looking away with an overly dramatic forlorn gaze, "You're like water… I'm dripping wet." She released a loud groan, her head leaning back, "And DROWNING in disappointment…"
Tristan whimpered at those words, cursing his absolutely shitty luck. He looked down at the phone, checking the time, before getting an idea, "… Let me touch you."
"Really? No."
"Oh, don't be like that." He grinned, licking his lips, "I can be a little late, and you don't need to do a thing for me. I'll take it as a fitting punishment." He moved back onto the couch, crawling over her before he leaned down against her. He noted that slight moan from her supple lips, along with a raised eyebrow. His face tilted down closer to hers, his voice husky, "I don't want you to be disappointed. I want you to feel good."
She parted her lips hearing that low tone in his voice, that soft rasp. Her angel had a dark side that came out with that deep voice. She leaned her head up, her lips running along with his, "Do you think you have enough time?"
He grinned, his hand moving down to test that flame, his fingers moving that skirt up slightly, before sliding underneath," A worthy challenge to please you."
She closed her eyes at that touch, panting as his hand caressed upwards, his mouth parting against hers.
Yet his fingers stopped, teasing her inner thigh. She didn't feel his lips on hers.
She gave a little growl, opening her eyes.
He had a little smirk on his lips, long lashes fluttered over those storming, midnight blue depths. "I think you need to give me permission."
Oh, that dirty bastard.
That sexy, devilish, lustful bastard.
She growled again before she laid her head back, wild curls cascading over the couch, her breath hot as she commanded, "Yes. Touch me."
"As you wish."
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