She groans as she rocks against me.
I toy with her again and again.
I wait until she's panting to drag my fingertips up her thigh.
"Walker." Her voice is heavy. Needy.
This makes sense.
Everything else—fuck everything else.
I pull her closer. Hold her tighter. Bring my lips to her neck to suck on her skin.
She reaches back for me. Tugs at my boxers with one hand. Scratches my thigh with the other.
She wants me inside her.
But I need her at the edge.
I need her desperate and panting.
I drag my fingertips up her inner thigh. Her breath hitches as they get closer and closer.
There.
I brush my fingers against her clit.
She groans. Her fingers dig into my skin. "Please."
"Please what?"
"Make me come." She rubs her flesh against me.
Fuck. That feels good. Too good. I want to be inside her. I want her to be my entire fucking universe.
But this first.
Always this first.
I hold her body against mine as I tease her with light brushes of my fingers.
She squirms against me, groaning and panting and tugging at my boxers.
I wait until I can't take it anymore to make my touch harder.
"Fuck." Her thighs shake against my hand. Her nails dig into my skin. "More."
I rub her a little harder.
She groans.
A little higher.
She pants.
There.
"Don't stop," she breathes.
Like hell.
This is where the world makes sense.
This is one thing I always get right.
This is fucking everything.
She tortures me with that lush ass. Her soft flesh is divine against my hard-on. I want to bend her over and claim every inch of her.
"Oh God." She presses her palm against the refrigerator door, knocking off a magnet. Another. Another.
Paper menus and post cards tumble to the floor.
They don't matter.
Nothing matters but Iris coming on my hand.
I rock my hips against her. Fucking boxers are in the way. I hate these damn things, but they're necessary. Otherwise, I'd already be inside her.
The room fills with her groans.
My breath.
Her nails scrape my skin.
My lips brush her neck.
"Walker. Fuck." She tilts her head to give me access.
I suck on her tender skin.
"Bite me," she breathes.
I sink my teeth into her skin. Soft. Then a little harder. Harder.
She groans. "Fuck."
I get lost in the sounds of her pleasure. The way she claws at my skin and rubs against me.
A few more flicks of my hand and she's there.
She moans my name as she comes.
I don't stop until she pulls my hand away.
She turns and presses her lips to mine. Her kiss is hard. Hungry. As desperate as I feel.
No more thinking.
She drags her fingertips over my chest. My stomach. She pushes my boxers off one hip. Then the other.
I kick them off.
Her lips go to my neck. My shoulder. She motions to the wall behind me. "Against that."
My nod is heavy.
I need those pretty pink lips around me. I need to claim her mouth. Mark it as mine.
That isn't what we're doing. Not even close.
But I can't get the thought out of my head.
I move to the wall. Press my back against it.
She plants one more long, deep kiss on my lips then she works her way down my neck, shoulders, chest, stomach.
She lowers herself onto her knees. Looks up at me as she brushes her lips against my cock.
Fuck is this a nice view.
I bring one hand to the back of her head and nudge her forward.
She brushes her lips against me again. It's soft. A merciless tease.
She does it again. Again. Again.
My hand knots in her hair.
Slowly, she takes me into her mouth.
Fuck, she feels good. Soft. Wet. Warm.
I press my back against the wall as I watch her work me.
She teases me with soft flicks of her tongue. Then hard ones. Then she's swirling it around me.
"Iris." I press my hand against the back of her head.
She groans against me as she takes me deeper. Deeper.
Fuck.
She wraps her hand around my cock and she works me up and down.
I keep my hand on the back of her head, guiding her over me. I slide the other over her shoulders, down her chest.
There. I toy with her nipple.
She sucks harder.
I rub her harder.
It's a beautiful fucking cycle.
I let my eyelids press together as pleasure floods my body. She's fucking good at this.
"I'm coming in that pretty mouth," I growl.
She groans against me. Takes me deeper. Works me harder.
I hold her head in place as I rock my hips, thrusting into her mouth.
She looks up at me with a fierce expression. Like she's daring me.
I bring my other hand to her head and rock harder. Faster.
Fuck.
My cock pulses.
I tug at her hair. Groan her name as I come.
She waits until I've spilled every drop and swallows hard.
I offer her my hand.
She takes it and I pull her to her feet. And press my lips against her. And kiss her like it's the only way I can forget the world.
Because it is.
Chapter Nineteen
Iris
We spend the entire day together. Walker leads me through cooking bacon and eggs. It's easy. Easy enough I promise to make lunch.
He talks me into a Star Wars marathon. One including the prequels. But it's actually fun mocking their bad dialogue and ridiculous excess of world building. It feels like it used to—like Star Wars is something I love. Like movies and books and TV are capable of capturing every bit of my attention.
Like there are all sorts of things in the world capable of capturing my attention.
I set off the fire alarm when I attempt to pan fry chicken while sautéing frozen broccoli. Multi-tasking in the kitchen is still beyond my skill set.
We dress, get lunch, spend the day walking around Santa Monica and drinking ridiculous amounts of coffee. It's a beautiful blue day. Warm. Sunny. Bright.
The entire world feels bright.
It's like that all week.
Studying is easier. Classes are more interesting. My research project falls together. I look forward to my yoga sessions. And my attempt at healthier meals. And texting Walker all night.
When he invites me to a party at the shop—and promises to make me come after—I say yes instantly.
Even when he insists he's teaching me to surf the next day at eight a.m.
Eight a.m. on a Sunday.
Ridiculous.
But worth it.
He might actually be worth it.
The shops bell rings.
Someone yells, "Surprise."
Then everyone is yelling it together. I'm yelling it. Even though I think surprise parties are a truly terrible idea.
All the lights flick on at once.
Ryan holds his arm over his eyes like he's a vampire protecting himself from the rays of the sun.
Dean laughs. "Happy twenty-seventh." He hands Ryan a black balloon. There are black balloons and lilies everywhere.
It's funny. But ridiculous and premature. Since when is twenty-seven old?