Tristan Tales Novels & Stories

So, he started prying into the secrets that he wanted hidden. “Secrets? What kind of secrets? I mean, you might as well tell us now. You are already in the deepest shit you can get, and besides, Thiago has already ratted you out. I’m just trying to figure out if the stories match up,” Tristan stated releasing just the slightest bit of his royal aura.. He was being very clever, and Brown was believing every word he said.

“That is not true. They are all lying because they are jealous of me.” "They are not. Even my sister warned me about you, but I insisted. My mom stopped calling me because I stood up for you. You always told me you take pills after sex. You said you did not want to get pregnant before marriage. But I know you. You don’t have any pills. You were just hiding the truth from me. You cannot continue to deceive me. You cannot.” “No! Nothing happened to my womb. I am not barren! I just… I didn’t want a child before marriage. That is all. I wanted to wait. You have to believe me. Don't let this separate us." She tried to touch him, and he tapped her hand away.

Across the way, Myra lay still, her body spent, her chest rising and falling in a slow, post-coital rhythm. The shame came then, cold and cloying. He had just violated the trust of a girl he’d known since she was a child. He should feel disgust, self-loathing, yet a treacherous sense of satisfaction hummed. He had been seduced, but he had been a willing participant. He had played with fire and was now branded by the flame. He looked out the window one last time. She was still there, a beautiful, ruined angel sprawled in the aftermath. He made a promise to himself, a weak, whispered vow in the dark.

Ascott smilingly relayed at her. "Did she read my mind? But hey, I think she's really a cool woman because she treats her workers really well..." Kate thought to herself again. "It's up to your conscience if you're going to do something bad while you're inside the Ascott Mansion. Let me tell you a quote from my favorite American painter and writer, Mr. Walter Inglis Anderson: "Trust is like a vase, once it’s broken, though you can fix it, the vase will never be same again..." So, try not to break the trust, so that we can have a long, harmonious relationship. I hope I made myself clear?" the old Madam stated.

He was once a page in Merlin’s court and now he is on all fours, with my collar around his neck, spikes pointing inward, as he moans in pleasure licking the mud and shit from my boots. “Explain,” I speak very slowly so that his addled brain can understand my words. He was once one of Arthur’s most trustworthy knights. Now Tristan shivered, his crossbow surrendered at my feet. He can not meet my gaze as I continue “and leave nothing out. I feel like there is something you are not telling me. What…exactly…happened to Sir Gareth?”

Fingers skimmed along curves and collarbones, and our lips met in a lazy, wet kiss that quickly grew heated. God, she really was an incredible kisser. As our tongues tangled, I felt that magnetic pull between our thighs again, a growing hunger that wouldn’t be satisfied by just touching or kissing. I broke the kiss to whisper against her lips, “Have you ever tried tribbing before?” She blinked, eyes widening slightly. “You mean like… scissoring?” I nodded, brushing a lock of hair from her face. “Yeah. It’s not just for p**n, babe. Done right, it’s fucking amazing.”

Zoriana melted into the lavender aroma of her bath. She had spent over an hour soaking in the bubbles, desperate to scrub away the feeling of the rogue leader’s dirty gaze clinging to her skin. Now, she lay surrounded by foam, her eyes closed as her body finally began to relax. Despite the warmth, she couldn’t escape the cold reality: Tristan had deals with the rogues. How could the same man who told her the truth about her mate—clearing Gael’s name even though he despised him—have arrangements with criminals? This was the man who loved his son, who was brutally honest, and even kind in his own silent way.

“Today was another night for my mission out there, in the human world so I can’t possibly let Eleanor’s flimsy mistake of trying to hide things from me hinder me from focusing, I still had two hours until the exact time to leave so I studied the map thoroughly and luckily I found some things that got my attention. ‘This is serious’ I mumbled as I studied their activities over the time while I wondered what exactly was their breed. They weren’t Lycans neither were they werewolves because they had nothing but their skin and Spells! “Yeah, spells!” I mumbled silently and no one needed to tell me that they were witches. I had no business with them as long as they stayed clear of my pack. They tr

Still, instead of speaking to Samantha immediately, he leaned against one of the substantial pillars on the side of the fence separating the cabin house from the lake that stretched out before them. Tristan remained silent for a while, furthering their uncomfortable silence. Samantha attempted to start a conversation to break the ice, but Tristan instead quizzed her. "Do you believe in folk tales like vampires, werewolves, Dracula, goblins, dragons, and such?" a question that was completely childish and ridiculous to answer.

It’s just that sometimes I feel like she’s the tortoise to my hare. Maybe it’s because in the pageant world, scandals are a no-no, so we’ve had to keep our relationship hush- hush. But I ask you: would anyone really be surprised? I’m surprised there hasn’t already been a sapphic snow- ball effect. I mean, here you have a bevy of beautiful women who grin and bare it backstage, treating each other to flashes of flesh and snippets of skin, and— “You still haven’t answered my question,” Taryn tells me. She lies down on her bed, beside a new pantsuit that wasn’t there a minute ago.