Hate to Love You - Chapter 50: Chapter 50

Hannah
"This sucks," Tristan muttered.
"Oh, you poor baby," I cooed, adding a bit of force as I dabbed the inner corner of his left eye with a damp cloth. He winced, trying to lean away from my touch.
I was attempting to get the last of the dried blood we'd missed earlier, but he insisted on making this a difficult process for both of us. Not to mention, he was pouting because I kept swatting his hands away from my body. It was tough to focus with him doing that. At least he wasn't swaying anymore — the water and two Snickers bars I forced him to consume seemed to have helped. He had even brushed his teeth after I refused to kiss him, citing that his breath could get me tipsy.
"This wasn't what I had in mind when you said we should head back to the tent. You tricked me."
I scoffed. "I didn't do anything. It was getting late and we have to drive back tomorrow. You need sleep — I need sleep. And you're in no condition to do anything to me right now."
He opened his mouth to protest, but I cut him off with a stern look. "And you smell like a bar. You're lucky I'm not making you sleep outside tonight. As it is, I'm tempted to dunk your head in water again."
As I resumed wiping at the corner of his eye, he grimaced, jerking his head away from my hand again. "I think I'm clean now." A grin tugged at his lips. "Unless you want me to take off my clothes too? Maybe I have some blood on my—"
"Am I just a body to you? Is having sex with me all you can think about?" I interrupted, my frustration bubbling over.
His eyes rounded and he rushed to reassure me, "Fuck no!"
Pulling me closer so that I was forced to spread my thighs and saddle him, he buried his face in my hair and mumbled, "It isn't, I promise. I think about other things when I'm with you. It's just that ... whenever I'm with you, I have this need to get as close to you as possible — and sex is the best way I can do that," he squeezed me, pulling me tighter against him, "But I think about your smile, your laugh, your voice. I like talking to you. You're so fucking smart and I could listen to you for hours — even when you're shitting me out for something I did or said... and I don't know how else to show you I like you other than by having sex with you. You're the first girl I actually want to connect with. You know — outside of just the physical act of release and the distraction it gives me."
I sighed, running my fingers through his soft hair. He melted under my touch, exhaling a small moan into my shoulder. It made me never want to let go of him.
A thought occurred to me, and my brows furrowed. "Why would sex be a distraction for you? I thought the whole point was to avoid that."
He froze, going rigid under me. "It's nothing. I meant nothing by that. Sex was just a way to feel good — that's it, that's what I meant."
I pulled away from him. "I don't want to leave it at that. Your reaction tells me something happened, and you don't want to tell me. Why not?"
Silence fell between us, thick and uncomfortable. He wouldn't look at me, and my heart sank. The flame of hope in my chest flickered out painfully.
I was so tired of him telling me nothing. I wanted to know everything about him, even the parts he didn't think were important — because I loved every part of him. "Tristan—"
"Hannah, leave it. It's nothing." His hands curled around my waist and he lifted me off him and deposited me on the bed next to him, refusing to meet my gaze.
I stared at him, frustrated and hurt. "Okay, then tell me this — does it have something to do with why you don't drink?" I paused, thinking about it. "You don't drink and it's not because of football. You acted weird when I gave you a water bottle today. You fuck girls for a distraction when usually you're adamant about not having any — which means you're trying to forget about something. You've had stalkers — or one bad stalker, and you were really weird about those Instagram messages..."
He still wouldn't meet my gaze, silence stretching between us.
Softening, I placed a hand on his shoulder. "Something happened. I know a good person would leave it alone and wait for you to tell them, but I'm tired of waiting." I swallowed hard. "You don't have to tell me everything... just talk to me."
He kept his head turned away from me, looking out of the tent, and said nothing. His continued silence told me how little he trusted me. Dropping both my hand and my gaze, I tried to push away the flood of emotions that threatened to overwhelm me.
Biting the inside of my cheek, I forced myself to sound calm. "Okay... I'm going to bed then. You should too — you're going to have a bad hangover tomorrow."
I reached for my bag, fighting back tears that threatened to spill as I blinked rapidly.
"Hannah."
I grabbed my bag, pulling it closer to me. And then I unzipped it, ruffling around for a change of clothes. But I was unable to focus; the things inside were blurry through my angry tears.
"Hannah."
Fuck it. I was wearing the first thing I pulled out. Gritting my teeth, my fingers went to grab something and brushed against the string of beads. Clenching my fist, I yanked my hand out of my bag. How much would I hate myself if I just slept in today's clothes?
"Hannah, would you fucking listen to me!"
"What?" I snarled, turning to glare at him.
He returned my glare with one of his own. "Stop that. Stop acting like this."
"Acting like what?" I retorted sarcastically, "I'm getting ready for bed. Am I not allowed to do that? Or do you now have a say over everything I do?"
"Jesus Christ, woman," he muttered, raking a hand through his hair as he squeezed his eyes shut. Like I was annoying him, like I was the nuisance and just another one of his rambunctious teammates that he needed to reprimand.
Anger quickly bubbled up inside me and I narrowed my eyes at him. "Move out of the way."
"What?" He looked at me, brows knitting in confusion.
"I said get out of the way. I'm going to sleep with Bailey. I can't be around you right now."
Not waiting for him to move, I started crawling out of the tent, going around his back. But I was quickly stopped when he twisted around to grab me and then before I could blink or comprehend what had happened, I was on my back, looking up at Tristan as he loomed over me like a dark, imposing figure, large enough to block out all of the light from the open tent flap.
"Did you know that your first instinct when we argue is to run? Every time things get tense, you run. Always," he sneered, staring down at me with hard, angry eyes.
He had me pinned down securely, legs tucked tight under his and my arms stretched over my head where he held my wrists firmly. His large body immediately covered mine in warmth, protecting me from the cool air.
I pulled at my wrists, giving him a venomous scowl. "Let go. And I'm not running away — I'm just removing myself from situations I don't want to be in."
"No, you're running away. Because you're a coward, Hannah Walker."
"Fuck you," I hissed, intensifying my struggles, but he just pressed his weight into me, forcing all of the air out of my body.
"Gonna call me fat again?" he asked, a hint of dark amusement coloring his tone.
"Why would I state the obvious?" I seethed, stopping my movements to glare up at him, and because, well, I couldn't move.
"Are you done?" He simply asked.
"I'm going to strangle you in your sleep tonight," I declared, baring my teeth at him. "And I'm going to enjoy it."
Dark promise clouded his gaze and he slowly leaned down until his face was inches from mine. He was a lot more sober now. And angry. "So will I."
I let out a frustrated growl and pushed my hips into his, trying to buck him off me, but it was useless. He was taller than most and built like a pro athlete — and the only exercise my arms got was when I was lifting my fork to my mouth. The only reason I wasn't a hundred pounds heavier was because I'd inherited my dad's metabolism.
"You motherfuc—"
"Let's give that filthy mouth something better to do, yeah?"
He captured my lips in a rough, punishing kiss, stealing my breath. I hummed unhappily at first, but soon those protests melted into soft moans, and my body betrayed me, giving in to him. It was like he'd Pavlov'd my body into immediately giving in every time he kissed me.
I pulled back slightly, nipping his lower lip before murmuring against his mouth, "I'm still angry with you. And I haven't forgotten what we were fighting about. This changes nothing."
"Good." He bit my throat, hard enough to draw a cry from me. "I want all of your anger."
My eyes flickered to the open entrance. "Close the tent. I don't feel like putting on a show for all your fans."
"Don't worry — no one's allowed to see that part of you. Only me." He kissed me one last time before rising to close the tent.
Rubbing my wrists to bring back the circulation, I watched him. His hair was a sexy mess, and the dark ambiance gave him a larger, more imposing appearance. It made my heart race as he turned back to me, wicked intent in his predatory gaze.
"What's with the wide-eyed look?" He grinned devilishly. "Scared?"
I glared at him. "Of you? Never. We all know who wears the pants in this relationship."
Chuckling, he replied, "I prefer it when neither of us are wearing pants."
I gasped as he suddenly flipped me onto my stomach, nearly sending me rolling off the mattress. before his hand caught my hip, anchoring me firmly beneath him. I tried to look behind me, but his hand fisted my hair, preventing any movement of my head. A soft whine escaped my lips as he tightened his hold around my locks, the tug sending a thrill through me.
"Ah, ah, ah," he taunted. "No moving."
His other hand spread one of my ass cheeks and he rocked his erection against my ass, moaning under his breath. Through the denim, I could feel how hard he was and it made me squeeze my thighs together, trying to alleviate the ache. He did this several more times before moving his legs to saddle my thighs and sit upright. I was pinned beneath his thighs on my stomach, my own thighs pressed shut.
He slapped my ass. Hard.
"Nothing to say?"
"Fuck you."
"There she is."
In the dark, I could feel his eyes on me, on my ass as his other hand left my hip to cup and squeeze the flesh, thumbs sliding into my leg holes, under my panties, and down to stroke my wet folds. I gasped, shivering as his thumbs teased and stroked me.
He touched me like I was his to touch, with a sense of familiarity and possession.
"Fuck — you're soaking wet. Must not be that mad at me."
God, he really knew how to push my buttons...
Turning my head, I scowled at him. "Shut up before I change my mind and kick you out."
Laughing, he slid a hand around my front to undo the button and pull down my zipper. And then he hooked two fingers into the sides of my shorts and panties, and peeled them down my hips, leaving them to rest at mid-thigh. I then heard his zipper and the sound of his pants ruffling before the head of his cock tapped my ass. I shivered as he took hold of it and rubbed it against my sensitive skin, teasing the crevice between my cheeks, and trailing precum everywhere.
His fingers pressed into the flesh on my hips, hard enough to make me moan and wiggle against him. Keeping my thighs pressed together between his, he wedged the tip of his cock against my entrance.
"Condom," I gasped, my eyes fluttering shut as I clenched my fists. I could already tell it was going to be a tight fit in this position, despite how wet I was.
"I don't know where they are. You're on the pill, right?" he rasped, his hips rocking against me. "Just this once."
I hesitated for a moment, but the overwhelming need to have him inside me won out. As soon as I nodded, he began to press into me. I felt a twinge of discomfort when the broad head of his cock eased its way inside. He was barely in me and already it was too much. But not enough. I needed all of him.
I stopped breathing altogether as he slowly sank into me, forcing my inner walls to spread for the entire length of his cock. The pressure was intense, but so was the pleasure. I could only focus on how he felt entering me, on how good it felt.
He groaned painfully. "I'm trying not to cum too soon, but you feel too damn good."
Panting, I shot back, "If you finish quickly, I'm going to make so much fun of you, so don't."
I yelped when he slapped my ass, rocking into me and massaging my insides with the head of his cock — but I wanted more, so I started pushing my hips back into his.
"Always with backtalk," he tsked, pulling back from me.
I was about to retort when he suddenly forced his entire length into me. My scream erupted, sharp and unexpected, a sound that resembled a sob yet was anything but.
So full, too full.
Quickly reaching back, I splayed a hand over his hip to stop him from pushing in any further, but he remained so deep I could feel him in my stomach. He slid most of the way out and then slammed back inside of me, and I whimpered — not from pain, but from pure pleasure because nothing ever felt as good as Tristan.
He then took hold of my hips with both hands and began taking me so unbelievably hard, I could do nothing but lie there and take it, fists clenched around the blankets and lips parted in a permanent gasp. The sound of our skin slapping filled the small tent, my moans muffled to the best of my ability. Yet, I couldn't suppress the soft "uh, uh, uh" sounds that slipped from my lips — each thrust forcing them from me.
"I fucking love the noises you make." He circled his hips, grinding deep. "I think I could cum from nothing more than the sound of your voice when I'm fucking you."
God, me too. But I didn't have the energy to voice my thoughts, so I just clenched around him, drawing a guttural groan from him.
"Gonna cum soon," he grunted, fingers squeezing my flesh.
"Yes," I hissed through my teeth, rocking back into him, "Cum, Tristan. Cum in me. Please."
He exhaled roughly above me, hips jerking against my ass, as he came as soon as I said that. His breath was ragged with exertion, and that, hearing him come inside of me, feeling his cock throb and pulse as he spilled all of himself into me, was something I would never forget. It felt different. Warmer, wetter — more intimate.
My orgasm was immediate and so violent it sent my body into overdrive. I stopped thinking because that required too much concentration, and gave myself over to the intensity of it. Waves and waves of pleasure coursed through me, wreaking havoc on every single nerve in my body. The feeling of cuming stretched around his cock was like nothing I could describe.
And when I finally stopped, the two of us breathless and in no state to talk, I opened my eyes and shifted to get more comfortable. Only that drew a pained groan from my lips because I felt tender, and full and stretched beyond limit. It made me shiver as I tethered on that fine line of pain and pleasure.
He stayed inside of me even as he lowered his body over mine, pressing a kiss against my shoulder blade and then my shoulder. His warm breath tickled my skin and I finally opened my eyes, looking back at him.
Our eyes met and held for a long while, holding a silent conversation. There was so much unsaid between us that it hung in the air like a third companion. But saying nothing, he got off the bed and went to retrieve the wet wipes from the front of my bag. He cleaned us both before rolling us into our sides. Because of his size, it was always a tight squeeze, however, accustomed to his nighttime closeness, I allowed myself to relax as he enveloped me in his arms, our legs entwining. I settled into my role as the little spoon, snuggling back into him and resting my head on his arm as he stroked my hip and squeezed me to his chest.
"Whatever happens, I care about you. I want you to always be happy," he murmured against my neck.
"Then why won't you talk to me?" I whispered into the darkness, my heart heavy. "Don't you trust me?"
He sighed, a sound filled with reluctance. "...it's not you. I don't share what happened to me with anyone. I'd rather just forget about it, okay? There's no reason to bring it up."
Disappointment washed over me, but I respected his boundaries. I raised my hand to find his, intertwining our fingers. "Okay. But if you ever need someone to talk to, I'm here. Keeping everything inside isn't good for you. When you're ready, you should reach out to someone, even if it's not me."
His voice was strained when he replied, "It's not about being ready or not. I'm over it — I just don't want to talk about it. Ever."
"It doesn't sound like you're over it," I countered softly.
"Quit it, Hannah. We're done talking about this," he growled, yanking his hand away. "Go to sleep — weren't you the one who said we need to rest for the drive back?"
I frowned at his tone but chose to ignore it. "You're clearly not over what happened if this is how you're reacting. I'm not trying to make you tell me what happened — I'm only trying to help you admit that you're not okay. The drinking, the way you're shutting me out... something's wrong. I'm only trying to help because I also care about you and want you to be happy. Don't you think it'll hurt you more in the long run if you keep—"
"Shut up," he snapped, sitting up abruptly, his breath coming in ragged bursts. "I told you to stop talking about this."
His words cut deeper than I expected, and shock stilled my response. Hurt settled like a stone in my chest. I'd pushed too far. Quietly, I turned away, pressing my cheek into my palm as I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the tears to stay at bay. If this was how he reacted, I wouldn't bring it up again. If he wanted to stay hurt, then fine — he could.
The minutes that followed felt like an eternity as his breathing slowly returned to normal. A tired sigh broke the silence, and I could feel his gaze on me as he shifted. I knew he regretted snapping, but I wasn't about to comfort him or pretend it was okay. He was lucky I chose to let his words slide rather than fight back.
I tensed when his hand found me, and for a moment, he hesitated. But he didn't pull away. I opened my mouth to tell him to take his hand off me, when he finally spoke.
"I don't drink because... a girl drugged me and tried to rape me at a party last year."