Her head falls back, and her fingers slide through my hair in rhythm with my mouth drawing on her breast. Her tiny gasps punctuate the air grown sultry with our kisses.
“Iris.” My fingers wait on the last button at her hips holding the denim in place. “Can I?”
“August, you’re gonna get me …” She doesn’t finish that thought but traps her bottom lip between her teeth and nods.
When the overalls slide to the floor, I realize I’ve only seen her legs once, in that short skirt the night of the NCAA Championship. She’s thicker now, after having Sarai. God, I love it. Her legs are long and toned and shapely, and her hips and ass curve dramatically from the narrowness of her waist.
“You’re perfect.” I nudge her T-shirt up with my nose, dipping my tongue into her belly button and leaving kisses above the waistband of her panties.
There’s a mark, almost like a smudge on the otherwise unblemished skin. I thumb it gently and look up at her.
“What happened here?” I ask, concern pulling my brows together.
“Nothing.” Her gaze drifts to the side before meeting mine again, and I must have imagined the flash of panic, because she’s composed when she looks back to me. “I was just moving a few heavy things and got nicked by one. It was over a week ago, so it’s fading. No big deal.”
I caress the mark again and place my lips there, brushing my tongue back and forth over the stretch of silky skin at her waist. God, how many nights did I wonder how she would taste? How her skin would feel under my lips? Now I know she tastes like heaven and feels likes satin.
“What are you doing?” she asks, her breath growing ragged.
I look up to catch her heavy-lidded stare and smile. “Kissing it better.”
Something flickers over her expression. I can’t identify it, but it looks like longing. Like the longing that wracks me right now also tears at her.
Her fingers dig into my scalp. She bends to kiss along my hairline, angling my head and trailing her lips over my eyelashes, my nose, my cheekbones.
“I’m tired of resisting you,” she whispers.
“Then stop.” I slip my thumbs into the waistband of her panties, tugging until the curve of her hipbones and the arch of her ass are visible. “Don’t.”
I slide her panties down. They pool inside the overalls around her ankles. Her pussy is bare, the lips plump and wet. I smell how much she wants me. I’m drunk on this scent, reeling with this sensation, mesmerized by the sight of her. I run my nose along her pubic bone and slide lower. I separate the lips, open her up to reveal her clit, glistening and plump like a cherry. “Jesus, Iris.”
I pull it between my lips and feel her response like a shock wave running from her core and through her limbs. My fingers stretch her open wider, my whole mouth gaped wide and covering as much of her pussy as I can, and I’m consumed with the taste and texture of her most intimate parts. She steps fully out of the overalls and panties, leaving only her T-shirt, and I pull her legs onto my shoulders, leaning her back into the wall for support so I can feast sloppily, my chin, lips, and nose dampened with the nectar dripping from her body.
Urgently, I grip her ass and press her legs as wide as they’ll go on my shoulders. Thoroughly, my tongue sweeps from bottom to top, not missing a drop. I suck the lips, bite her clit, eat her out like a man devouring his first meal. And all the while, she rocks into my face, her hips a metronome for our lust, her hands caging my skull, timing her grunts with the bobbing of my head between her legs.
“August.” My name rides her breath. “Oh, God. So good. So good.”
Her legs tighten around my head and tremble on my shoulders. I glance up to see her go stiff, her back arching, her mouth open on a silent scream, tears trickling down her face. And if I never see another woman come, that’s fine with me. If I could just watch this one in the eye of her storm, in this crisis of her pleasure, it would be enough. God, for the rest of my life, it would be enough. The look on her face is wondrous, as if she’s suspended between realities, has wandered into a fantasy and is drowning in this rapture.
She’s coming down, the frantic thrusts melting into a languorous roll of her hips. Her eyes heavy-lidded, her limbs limp, her smile slow and sated. Her fingers comb through my messy curls, and she rubs her thumbs over my lips with the casual possessiveness of a lover even though I haven’t been inside her yet. Sex is a formality. One I want very badly, but true intimacy we already have. It shimmers in the air around us, and I’ve never felt more content.
Heavy footsteps stomp down the hall outside the door, and a deep voice, tight with anger, rumbles beyond the closet. Iris jerks at the sound, one leg sliding off my shoulder.
“What was … who …?” Her panic-stretched eyes lock with mine. “I think I heard Caleb.”
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“Nah, he’s still in China, right?”
I roll my palm over the tight curve of her thigh. Even hearing his name after what we shared feels wrong. She can’t go back to him. She needs to explain all the mystery and walk away from him. I know it has something to do with Sarai, but no judge would award him full custody. He’s an asshole, but I guess even he’s entitled to see his child. We can work out the details, but Iris can’t be part of that package anymore.
“Iris, can we talk about what just happened?”
“I have to go.” She stands, scrambling to pull up her panties and fasten the overalls. She hastily pulls the ring from the front pocket and slips it back onto her finger.
Hell, no.
“Wait.” I pull myself up, wincing at the sharp pain in my knee and taking her carefully by the shoulders. “Are you going back to him? After that? You … you can’t.”