December 25th, 1996
The stout front doors of Northdawn Manor opened in a scrape of wood on stone; the gallery lay still and silent beyond them, veiled in thick darkness.
"Hello?" Tristan stepped inside. "Anyone home?"
He strained his ears for his siblings' mischievous giggles or his mother's careless laughter, but the dense dark offered neither, and the eerie silence prevailed, grating at Tristan's nerves like sandpaper as the seconds passed by.
'Something's wrong...'
Tristan slipped his wand into his palm and took a few steps into the dark; shards crunched beneath his boots.
"Lumos."
The shattered chandelier threw the light back at him, illuminating smashed furniture and deep gashes in the scorched tapestries along the walls. A slim trickle of red ran down the center of the marble staircase from the upper floors.
'No!' His heart froze and he leaped up the steps, but a great weight hung upon him, dragging him down like his limbs were made of lead.
Tristan forced himself on, crawling over the last step with ragged breath and scrambling to his feet, following the slim trail of crimson past the library and the bathroom to the puddle leaking out of Aurelia's chamber.
He wrung at the doorknob to no avail.
"Alohomora." Tristan poured every ounce of magic through his wand, but the smooth, cold copper didn't give an inch.
"Aurelia!" He kicked at the door, slamming his shoulder into the hardwood, again and again and again, ignoring the sharp throb of pain until the hinges gave in with a crack and he plunged over the threshold, smacking to his knees.
Aurelia stood facing the windows in a plain white dress, watching the crimson sun set on the horizon by the edge of the lake. "Why didn't you come home earlier, Tristan?"
"I-"
She turned around; blood leaked from the corner of her eyes, her nostrils, and her ears like thick ink, trickling down her pale neck into a growing dark patch on her dress. "We needed you home earlier."
Raw pain twisted in his heart. "Who?!" Tristan tried to move but his legs stuck to the floorboard like tar. "Who did this to you?"
Aurelia's lips stretched into a bitter smile, cutting into the corners of her mouth like razor blades.
"You already know who did this, brother." Faint giggles gurgled from her throat, growing into screeching laughter, ringing in his ears like rusty nails drawn down glass, and blood dribbled from her lips. Aurelia's hair shifted turquoise and her irises turned gray as the storm. "You took something from us, Peverell. And now you're all out of time."
A crimson-eyed serpent launched from Aurelia's mouth, fangs ablaze.
Tristan jerked upright into the gloom, his heart racing.
Dim light spilled through a small gap in the curtains, bathing the enchanted little trinkets crowding the tall shelves in a faint glow.
'Just a dream.' He sagged back into soft pillows, cool sweat running down his forehead and chest, and blinked away the image of his little sister, taking deep gulps of air. 'Just another fucking dream...'
Fleur stirred and snuggled against him beneath the covers, all bare, hot skin and soft curves. "Mon Coeur?" She nuzzled her head in the crook of his neck, spilling silky silver-blonde hair down his chest. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing." Tristan took a few seconds for his heart to settle and his breath to even out. "Just go back to sleep."
She huffed a stray curl off her nose and peeked up at him, her eyes tracking a bead of sweat running down his forehead. "You've had another nightmare, non?"
'She knows.' Tristan swallowed. 'Shit.'
"When did they start?" she murmured, cupping his cheek. "What are they about? Why haven't you told me?"
He sighed. "Please, don't worry about me; they'll go away by themselves soon." Tristan pressed a kiss to the tip of her nose. "It's Christmas morning; let's just get a few more hours of sleep, okay?"
"Bon," Fleur hummed, her eyelids fluttering shut as she nestled tight against him. "But you promised to be honest with me, remember?"
"I remember." Tristan brushed his fingers through her long hair and listened to her soft rhythmic breathing, watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest.
'She should be asleep again.'
He slowly drew back the blanket and shifted his weight.
"Non." Fleur curled one warm leg around him and tightened her hold on his waist. "Where are you trying to sneak off to now?"
"Downstairs." Tristan admitted, hunting for words. "I- I just feel like I need to get the day started. Do something..."
Her lips curved into a small smirk and she squirmed on top of him, pressing featherlight kisses along his jawline. "How about you start the day by doing me?"
The thin blanket slipped down the smooth pale curve of her cleavage and her fingertips slid from his chest to his stomach and further south. "I can be your early Christmas present, non?"
Tristan caught her hand in his. "Not now, please."
She tensed and stared at him, a little wrinkle creasing between her slim blonde brows. "What's wrong, Tristan?"
"Nothing." He cupped her smaller hand in his. "I just don't feel like it, okay?"
"Then go." Fleur snatched her hand away and tucked the blanket over her bare breasts, rolling to the opposite end of the bed. "Go and do whatever you'd rather do!"
Tristan wrestling with the thick, hot lump of guilt in his throat, watching the waving, smiling, and kissing magical photograph of the two of them on Fleur's bedside table.
"I'm sorry, Fleur." He fished his wand from beneath the pillows and got dressed, tiptoeing out of the bedroom.
Faint snores chimed through the small gap in Gabby's door; Tristan strode down the hallway, taking the staircase at its end all the way to the basement.
Racks of wine bottles and stout barrels lined the walls beneath a high, vaulted cellar ceiling, and an earthy, musty scent stirred in his nose. He ducked through the low door by the end into a chamber the size of a classroom and swung the door shut behind him.
"Lumos."
Three pulsing orbs of light zipped upward, circling over him like the planets in Professor Sinistra's model of the galaxy.
"A quick warm up first, as always." Tristan rotated his shoulder and did a few stretches, flexing his fingers around his wand. "And some targets."
A foursome of scarecrows cladded in long dark robes and with thick pumpkins as heads materialized along the wall opposite him.
'And now...'
Tristan slashed his wand, burying the leftmost scarecrow in a storm of spells; piercing and cutting curses shredded its robes to tatters like stabs from countless daggers. He forced his arm faster through the motions, a sweet little thrill whispering through his veins.
'More.'
Thrusting his magic into the air, Tristan wrapped it tight around the scarecrow's head in a ripple of heat haze and curled his fingers into a fist, squashing the pumpkin like a grape and showering the walls and floor with sticky specks of pulp.
"I wish you were all better at taking a beating." He smothered a stab of bitter churning guilt. "But Fleur's the charms expert, not me."
'Perhaps I can try to replicate what she did?'
Tristan soaked the remaining three scarecrows in his magic, weaving it through them in little tugs of twists of his wrists until they glowed with faint light.
"Now let's see…"
He flicked his wand at the rightmost, but his spell bounced off its chest into the ceiling, fizzling out in a shimmer of wards.
'That's much better.'
Tristan unleashed every last drop of pent-up frustration on them; crackling arcs of magic raced from the tip of his wand in a storm of color. The thrill trickled through his veins, sharpening into a whisper, sweeter than any melody yet thundering in his ears like war drums.
'More.' He raised his wand and clawed deeper, sweat pouring down his forehead. 'I need to become stronger. More powerful. Until none can stand in my way.'
The air blurred and sizzled from Tristan's magic like the summer sun on concrete, but the fury within him burned hotter still, bright as the blood trickling down his little sister's face and fierce as the crest of crossed golden rapiers seared before the eye of his mind.
Slim tendrils of ink black magic oozed from his wrist, bubbling and whispering like serpents preparing to strike, and the scattered scraps of his shirt smoldered to ashes in the blazing rage of his magic.
'No!' He wrestled his control over it and reigned it all back in. 'I mustn't practice that magic here.'
The mist slithered up his arm like a swarm of black spiders, sinking cold sharp teeth into his skin, and Tristan took a deep breath of scorched air, leveling the smoke and dust with a wave of his wand.
Deep scorch marks and blackened craters scarred the wall where the scarecrows had stood.
Tristan winced. "Oops."
"Oops, indeed..."
He whirled around.
Apolline stood in the small doorway leading back to the wine cellar.
"Uhh, Happy Christmas." Tristan gave her an awkward wave and ran a hand through his sweat-sleek hair. "How long have you…?"
"Long enough to know who'll be cleaning up here later." She floated into the room, her eyes roaming over the scorched walls. "Where did you leave my daughter? Usually, it's the two of you making a mess down here together."
'Not today.' Tristan smothered the stab of cold guilt. "Fleur's still catching up on some beauty sleep."
Apolline raised an eyebrow. "And who was it that kept her up late?"
Tristan blinked. "Uhm..."
A peal of soft laughter burst from her lips. "Désolé, Tristan. Gabrielle's jokes must be slowly rubbing off on me." She crooked her little finger at him. "Now come along; I'd like to have a chat with you."
He caught up with her in tired strides, feeling the weight of fatigue creep through every limb. "Perhaps I should clean myself up first?"
"Nonsense, we finally have some time for ourselves without either of my daughters barging in." Apolline's eyes dipped to his bare arm and shoulder, and she flicked her wand from her waist. "But there you go," she hummed, running her wand over his tattered shirt and knitting the fabric back together. "Now my little flower won't get the wrong impression if she sees us leaving the basement together, non?"
Tristan snorted. "There'd be lots of tiny feathers and huge dark eyes."
"Probably some fire too." A small smile played on Apolline's lips as she led him up the stairs to the grand living room. "Luckily I fire-proofed all the furniture after Fleur scorched my favorite vase in her first fiery tantrum when she was four."
"I'm not sure if that's early or late for a Veela…?"
Apolline laughed. "You're as clueless as my Philippe." She patted the spot next to her on the ample couch. "And just so you know; four is quite early. Both my daughters were ahead of the curve; even for Veela."
Tristan eyed the silver tray with two steaming mugs of coffee and some biscuits on the table next to them. 'She's planned this talk.'
"In my defense, Fleur hid all the good books in the Hogwarts library on Veela from me." He accepted one mug. "Apparently, the drawings in them will create unrealistic expectations…"
"Oh, I very much doubt they will." Apolline's smile widened a tad. "But tell me about Hogwarts, Tristan."
'So that's what this is about.' He drowned a sigh in a long sip of coffee. "What would you like to know?"
"We expected you to join us a few days before Christmas, but then you suddenly arrived more than a week early," she hummed. "Could the disturbing news we've heard from the other side of the Channel be the reason for that?"
Tristan grimaced. "Two students were attacked at Hogwarts last term; they both died." Colin's wide, empty eyes and Justin's twisted snarl as the serpent struck from his jaw flashed before his mind's eye. "The governors shut down the school and sent everyone home early because of it."
Apolline took a few small sips. "You and your family were mentioned quite a few times in all those articles."
"The papers are lying." Tristan shoved down a stab of sour heat. "Like they always have about us."
She raised a slim eyebrow over the rim of her cup. "So your parents never visited the day of the attack?"
"They only visited because they're unhappy with the way Hogwarts was run for some time now, so they decided to teach Valeria and Galahad from home instead."
"But not you?"
"I'm in my final year and have exams soon." He shrugged. "It made little sense to leave."
"I see," Apolline's bright blue eyes bored into his. "So what you're saying is that these attacks have absolutely nothing to do with you or your family?"
'Fuck.' Tristan raised his cup, buying himself time to answer with each small sip, but her stare kept prickling along the nape of his neck. "I can't promise that's true until I know who's behind all of this."
"I wish to be honest with you, Tristan-" Apolline took the cup from his hands and placed it on the silver tray, "-and I hope you'll repay that courtesy."
"Of course."
"My daughters are the most precious thing to me. Do you understand that?"
He nodded. "I do."
"Then perhaps you'll also understand my difficult position," she murmured. "Fleur's happiness is tied to you, but with all these dangerous things you seem to be involved in, so is her well-being. Philippe and I don't want our daughter to become a target."
A stab of worry pierced through Tristan. 'Are they going to separate us?'
"Please don't do this," he whispered. "Fleur's the best thing that ever happened to me; I cannot lose her." The longing rose in his heart and smothered him, hot and soft as Fleur's touch beneath the blanket and sharp and sweet as her vanilla perfume. "She means the world to me. I swear I'll never let anyone hurt her."
Apolline studied him for a few long moments. "I believe you." She sighed. "And even if Philippe refuses to admit it, you're good for my daughter, or at the very least she was very different before she met you."
"How so?"
Her soft, high laughter carried through the living room. "Now, Tristan, questions like that make me doubt the sincerity of your feelings. Can you not tell what's changed?"
Tristan frowned. 'What has changed?'
Snippets of platinum hair and summer-sky blue eyes flashed through his mind, from the moment he first met Fleur in the Great Hall to the memory of their latest date in muggle Paris. "Her allure has changed."
Apolline nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. "Fleur's had the most powerful allure of any Veela I've ever met. Ever since she's hit puberty, she's been leaving trails of drooling and gaping and staring boys in her wake."
"They still stare at her, all of them do," Tristan murmured. "Because she's the most beautiful girl any of them will ever see, not because of the allure."
'But her allure must still be just as strong as before; Avery practically spilled his heart out the moment she let loose, which can only mean-'
"She's got much better control of it now, doesn't she?" Tristan asked. "But what do I have to do with that?"
Apolline's smile curved into a smirk. "That is something you should ask Fleur, not me."
He tracked her eyes over his shoulders and swallowed. "She's standing right behind me, isn't she?"
Hot fingers slipped into his hair, tugging until he met her breathtaking face framed by silver-blonde braids. "Bonjour, mon Coeur."
Fleur's lips brushed his cheek in the faintest kiss, but the cold, reserved gleam in her blue eyes as she drew away from him twisted like a knife in Tristan's heart.
"Fleur, I-"
Silencing him with one warm finger, Fleur swung her long leg over the sofa, her short blue dress riding up her smooth thigh. "Not here, mon Coeur." She slid into his lap, curling his arms around her slim waist. "You'll ask whatever question you and Maman talked about later, yes?"
"I will." Tristan drew her into his chest and breathed in her scent, a great weight vanishing off his shoulder. "I promise."
Gabby scampered into the living room and skidded to a halt in her fluffy pink slippers, hot chocolate trickling from the edge of her mug. "You two are down here already, perfect!" Her eyes shone full of mischief. "Now there's no way I can step in on you while together in the bathroom like I almost did yesterday."
A little pink crept up Fleur's cheek and a long sigh came from the kitchen.
"It's Christmas morning, Gabrielle." Philippe strolled into the living room, dressed in casual dark robes. "Do you think you could drop the quips just for the day?"
Gabby sprawled across the sofa by the Christmas tree. "Depends on how well your presents distract me, Papa."
Apolline rose from the sofa and greeted Philippe with a chaste kiss on the cheek. "Since we're all down here already, we might as well start handing them out, non?"
"Oi, I wanna go first!" Gabby scrambled back to her feet and snatched a small square present from beneath the Christmas tree, twirling around and thrusting it past Fleur at Tristan. "This one's for you, mon cher frère."
"Thanks." Tristan wrestled with the bow and bright blue wrapping paper, revealing a neat black lid depicting a spark-spurting wand. "A wand-polishing kit?"
Gabby beamed. "Fleur told me how precious your wand is to her-" she clasped her hand over her lips, giggling, "-oops, I mean precious to you, of course. Well... and to Fleur. Obviously, your wand is precious to both of you, right?"
Fleur's skin turned hot as boiling water, searing his thighs through the thin cloth of her dress. "I will burn you-"
"-what Fleur meant to say is thank you, Gabby." Tristan drew Fleur back against his chest, pressing a kiss to her cheek, and examined the box. "Wood polish, beeswax, and sandpaper; this is actually a pretty thoughtful gift."
Gabby grinned and licked her lips. "Thoughtful enough for a kiss to the cheek?"
"Make sure to check if the polish is compatible with the wood before using it, Tristan," Philippe advised. "They can leave rather ugly stains if not."
"I already checked all that," Gabby chirped, twirling on her feet. "Fleur told me Tristan's wand is made of elder wood, so I stalked through Rue de Magique in Paris until I found a shop that sold wand polish kits for elder wood." She flapped her lashes at him and closed her eyes, her lower lip creeping out. "Now, all that effort really deserves a kiss, don't you agree, Tristan?"
"Shoo off, Gabby." Fleur flicked her finger against Gabby's forehead. "This one is mine."
"Ouch!" Gabby pouted, rubbing the red spot.
"Was it elderwood you said, Gabby?" Philippe murmured, catching Tristan's eye. "That is a very rare ingredient for a wand..."
'Does he suspect something?' A shiver crawled down Tristan's spine. 'No. Don't make a scene.' He drowned the flicker of worry in the deep dark dwell of his mind. "Perhaps it runs in the family; my father's got one too."
Philippe studied him with sharp gray eyes, drumming his fingers on his knee. "This must be your new wand then; your original one was destroyed by that Phoenix in the second task, non?"
"Yes."
"So it was crafted for you some time by the end of February, correct?"
'He knows.' The knot of worry burst free and cold fear trickled through his veins like ice. 'He knows some old piece of elder wood was stolen from the French Unspeakables around that time.'
"I don't really recall the exact date, to be honest."
"You don't?" Philippe blinked in surprise, but triumph flared to life in his eyes. "Getting a new wand is a very personal experience. Surely you-"
"Papa," Fleur murmured, a small wrinkle creasing between her brows. "Why are you interrogating mon beau on Christmas morning?"
Philippe laughed. "I'm terribly sorry, ma Cherie." He presented a small box from within his robes. "Here, Tristan. Let me make it up to you with our present."
Tristan plugged it from his palm and undid the neat red bow and wrapping paper, staring at a slim black wooden cube, barely three inches in diameter; strange patterns of runes stood from each of its six faces, spreading and wriggling around the cube like serpents.
"What is it, papa?" Gabby cocked her head.
"I'm sure Tristan will tell us soon."
Tristan brought the cube closer to his eyes; tiny serpents crawled within the dark runes, coiling and uncoiling, and the faint pulse of magic he fed into the wood seeped back at him in familiar soft, distant hissing. "This is parselmagic." He frowned. "It's protecting something hidden within it."
"A riddle!" Gabby broke into a fit of giggles. "But you won't have any issues with it, Tristan; Fleur's told me your parseltongue is very good, isn't it Fleur?"
"Gabrielle." Apolline threw a sharp look at her, but Fleur remained still as stone in Tristan's lap, eyes flickering between her father and Tristan, her frown deepening.
'She's suspecting something.' Tristan clenched his sweat-slick fists.
Philippe's razor-thin smile met him from the opposite sofa. "No one in my entire office managed to crack it, but I suppose speaking the language it was enchanted in will help." His fingers picked up their drum on his thigh. "Did you know, Tristan, that when combined with some other... questionable magicks, you can use parselmagic to create very powerful wards? It's almost like they reweave themselves anytime someone other than their creator attempts to break them."
A shiver crawled down his spine, but Tristan forced his features into an impassive mask, catching Fleur's stare in the corner of his eye. "I had no idea."
"Neither had I until a few weeks ago," Philippe murmured. "It's a good thing those wards aren't foolproof; it takes a bit of time, yes, but eventually one does break through..."
'The door.' Tristan's blood froze. 'The door to the time-turners in the French Department of Mysteries." His heart razed, thundering in his breast. 'I locked it with parselmagic...'
"Excusez-nous, Maman et Papa." Fleur rose from his lap, her searing hot fingers tugging him up. "Tristan and I need to collect our presents for you."
The living room lurched sideways and Tristan stumbled against Fleur's desk.
She flicked her wand at the door, muttering under her breath, then whirled around, huge pitch-black eyes boring into him. "Speak. Now."
Tristan swallowed hard, frozen in place, cold fear piercing his stomach like icicles. "Fleur, please I don't-"
"Non. No more lies!" she hissed, tiny white feathers prickling along her arms. "Do you even remember what I told you last summer?"
"If you want me in your life, you have to let me in." The words tumbled off his tongue, raw bitter guilt clenching his ribcage in a tight fist. "I remember."
Fleur's chin sharpened. "You remember the words, but you didn't listen; you're still keeping secrets, you're still lying to me. I gave all of myself to you, Tristan; I've killed for you." Her lips trembled and steam rose from her clenched palms. "But no matter how often I beg you, you'll never let me in, and I'm tired of it; I can't do this any longer."
'No.' Tristan staggered, dark spots swirling in his vision as the fear crushed the breath from his lungs. 'She'll leave. She'll leave me.'
"It was me!" he blurted out, the truth ripping all the air from him.
Fleur cocked her head. "What was you?"
Tristan's heart raced. "Your father's latest case with Weasley," he whispered. "It was me. I'm the one they're looking for."
She crossed her arms over her chest and stared at him, lips tight and thin. "Explain. Everything there is to it."
"I needed a new wand for the second task and Ollivander couldn't help me." Tristan slipped his wand from his sleeve, rolling it between his fingers. "Gregorovitch told me the only wood that might work is elder wood and the oldest piece he knew of is with the French Unspeakables, so I broke in and stole it."
A flicker of surprise spasmed over her sharp face. "You broke into the Bureau D'enigma?"
"I thought I had no choice," he swallowed. "That wood was the only-"
She silenced him with a hot, steaming fingertip. "I know." Some of the darkness drained from her eyes. "But why didn't you tell me sooner?"
Tristan blinked. "Because we only just got together after our fight. I didn't want to ruin things between us again."
The feathers slipped back beneath her skin, but her eyes remained huge and narrowed. "Why would I let something silly like that ruin what we found in each other?"
"What?" Tristan gaped at her. "I thought you'd be furious that I-"
"Broke into my Ministry?" She let out a little snort. "Would you care if I broke into yours?"
"No, but-"
"Non. There are no buts," Fleur snapped. "You needed that wood. I do not care if you break in anywhere for it or if you killed anyone because they were in your way; I only care about you!"
A little hope flared in Tristan's breast.
"You really don't mind?" He dropped his wand and reached out, wincing from the searing heat of her fingers. "You understand?"
"Of course I do," Fleur murmured, taking a small step toward him. "I would've done the same."
Tristan sighed, relief flooding him in a ripple of warmth.
"And you don't need to worry about mon Papa," she whispered, her eyes brightening like the summer sky after the storm. "Even if he had proof against you, which he doesn't, I'll make him drop the case because I love you."
Tristan stared at her, a hot lump in his throat and liquid heat prickling in his eyes. "You'd really do that for me?"
Fleur cupped his face in her warm hands. "There's nothing I wouldn't do for you, mon Coeur. Have I not proven that in these last months?"
"I'm sorry, Fleur. I'm so sorry." Tristan drew her tight against his chest, stopping the world from tearing her away. "I love you so much."
Her lips caught his in a long fierce kiss and she slipped her tongue into his mouth, tasting sweet as sugar and hot as flame. Heat trickled through Tristan's veins, spurned by each soft gasp he coaxed from her.
Fleur pressed all of herself against him. "Don't just tell me; show me, mon Coeur." She moved his hand from the small of her back to the curve of her derrière, guiding the other to her full breasts. "I want to feel how much you love me."
Tristan marveled at their softness, his thumb brushing over her stiffening nipple as he cupped her breast in his palm through the thin fabric of her dress. Heaving her up in his arms, Tristan carried her to the bed, lowering her into the pillows and settling next to her in a long soft kiss. "How do you want to feel it?"
Fleur spread her legs with a small smirk, her blue dress hitching up her smooth pale thighs. "You already know how, mon Coeur."
A shiver followed his fingers' wake from her slim calf to her knee, and Tristan trailed tiny circles over her red underwear with his thumb. "Does this feel good?"
"Oui." Her breath hitched and she raised her hips, pressing the damp fabric into his touch. "S'il te plait, Tristan."
He toyed two fingers beneath her underwear, catching her eye as he tugged the crimson silk aside inch by inch. "You're really wet…"
Fleur bit her lip, color rising from the valley between her breasts to her cheeks. "Only for you," she whispered.
"Yes." Tristan caught her lips with a small smile and slipped one finger inside her slick heat. "Only for me."
She arched against him with a gasp, her eyelids fluttering shut, and he added a second finger, resting his thumb flat on the small hot nub above.
"Don't hold anything back," he whispered against her lips, trailing a path of kisses down the side of her face to her neck, and his fingers sped up, pumping and curling in and out of her to the rhythm of her moans. "Let me feel it."
Fleur clasped onto him tight, arching her back, nails digging into his shoulder, and she let go with a long soft moan, convulsing around his fingers and trapping his arm between her clutched, trembling thighs.
Tristan admired the rise and fall of her breasts and the points of her stiff nipples poking through her dress as she sagged into the pillows, catching her breath. He shifted down the bed to the wet spot darkening the sheets between her thighs.
"What are you doing, mon Coeur?" Hot fingers snaked through his hair, tugging. "It's my turn, non?"
"No." Tristan dragged the damp underwear down her legs and tossed it over his shoulder. "I'm not done."
"Careful." She sucked in a sharp breath as he trailed small kisses up her thigh to her bright pink sex, her legs trembling and her fingers tensing in his hair. "I'm very sensitive now."
Tristan dipped the tip of his tongue through her slick wetness, smiling at the familiar sweet taste of her excitement. He slipped in one finger, then added another, working them alongside his tongue in a slow smooth rhythm that made Fleur's toes curl into the sheets either side of him, her breath quickening.
The fire in his stomach flared with each soft noise he drew from her lips and every shiver rippling through her thighs, but Tristan smothered his own need and focused on the little patterns he drew with his tongue on top of her clit, his fingertips finding the spot deep inside her.
Fleur's grasp on his hair tightened to a sweet little pain, pressing his head against her sex, and she came undone with a soft cry and a wild shudder.
Tristan kept his tongue flat on the slick pulsing bundle of nerves, her arousal trickling down his chin, and let her ride out her pleasure, retrieving his fingers when Fleur tugged on his hair.
"Come up here, mon Coeur."
Her breathless whisper and the burning desire in her bright blue eyes sent the fierce spark of hunger in his stomach bubbling. Settling between Fleur's thighs, he seized two fistfuls of her dress and tore the fabric down the middle.
Fleur's bare breasts spilled out, gleaming in a thin film of sweat.
Tristan tucked his eyes from the stiff pink buds of her nipples up to her flushed face, and met the smoldering heat in her gaze, lowering himself on top of her and crushing his lips to hers.
"Off!" Hot fingers roamed from his hair to his shoulders, scorching his shirt in a flash of azure. "All of it," Fleur moaned, unfastening his belt as their tongues tangled, and drew out his length.
She traced slim circles over his tip with her thumb, spreading glistering beads of arousal until her palm slickened. Fleur twisted her wrist in long slow smooth strokes along his base, coaxing the spark in his belly into a flame that threatened to burst.
"Fleur," Tristan groaned, buckling in her soft fingers. "I'm really worked up already; I'm not going to-"
"I don't care." She silenced him with a kiss, catching his lower lip between her teeth, and lined his hardness up with her bright pink sex, her eyes darkening with a wild gleam of hunger. "Fuck me as hard as you like," Fleur whispered. "You'll last longer after."
Tristan drove into her in a single thrust and Fleur drew in a short gasp as he sheathed himself to the hilt in her tight slick heat. She hooked her legs around him and Tristan sped up in soft wet noises and slaps of skin on skin.
Her nails tore lines of blissful fire down his back, digging into his hips, urging him on. "Today's not a risky day, mon Coeur" she moaned, a wicked little gleam creeping into her eyes. "Go deeper; I want to feel you finish deep inside of me."
Tristan wrapped his hands around her ankles and tugged them over his shoulders, angling the small of her back up towards him and thrusting himself all the way into her, sending her bare breast bouncing.
She stared up at him with wide smoldering blue eyes, red lips parted, eyelashes fluttering. Little spasms rippled through her legs as she took all of him inside her again and again, her moans spurning him to go harder and faster until the muscles in his legs burned.
The knot of heat coiled tight in Tristan's stomach and he fought the feeling, fought for each thrust, but when Fleur threw her head back and tightened around him, her long soft cry ringing in his ears, she took him with her over the edge and all his efforts burst in a jolt of pure bright bliss.
Tristan seized her thighs and spread them wide, driving deep until he bottomed out. "Fleur," he groaned as he spurted inside her, emptying himself in a dizzying swirl of white sparks.
She pressed soft kisses to his jaw, running her fingers through his hair as he panted. "You feel so good inside me, mon Coeur," Fleur whispered in his ear. "Je t'aime."
Tristan wrapped her in his arms and buried his head in soft silver-blonde braids. "I love you."
Her bare skin burned against his with each rise and fall of her breasts, and a surge of hot emotion seized him as he breathed in her scent, listening to the faint drum of her heart against his. "I love you so much."
'More than anything. You are everything.'
He found her lips and poured all the words and promises stuck in the back of his throat into a soft long kiss, then heaved himself up and pulled out of her.
White split from her quivering pink sex, trickling onto the damp bedsheets, and a knowing smirk fluttered across Fleur's face as her eyes flickered to his crotch.
"Is this really all it takes, mon Coeur-" she spread her thighs a tad wider, catching a fresh little gush of his release on her fingertips "-to make you go again so soon?"
Holding his eye, Fleur slipped her fingers past her red lips, sucking them clean one by one and tilting her chin up to swallow.
"You sound eager," Tristan felt himself twitch at the sight and the fire stirred back to live in his veins. "Do you have something fun planned?"
Fleur coaxed him back to hardness in three long gentle strokes. "I want you to be all mine."
He caught her lips with a small smile. "I already am all yours."
"Not quite yet."
She drew him forward, brushing the tip of his length through her slick heat until a shiver rippled through her, then she spread her thighs a little wider and steered him down to the hot, tense ring of muscle.
"To be all mine, you need to have me in every way, mon Coeur."