Mine.
No. I need to erase that thought from my head.
Somehow.
"Walker." She slides her hand under my t-shirt. "I can't do this unless I know what it means."
"I need you."
"But—"
"I don't want to need you. I don't want to think about you. It aches. Like a part of me is missing. I want it back. Tell me how to get it back."
"I don't know."
"You're burnt into my brain."
She stares into my eyes. "Walker—"
"You're all I think about." I press my forehead to hers. "I need it to stop, Iris. I need my thoughts back."
She swallows hard. "But you want to fuck me?"
I want every ounce of her. And I want to destroy every memory of her. "I hate being away from you."
She presses her palm against my torso. Her eyes get soft. Hazy. "Tell me this won't be the last time."
"I can't."
Her eyelids flutter together. She rises to her tiptoes. Presses her lips to mine.
All her need pours into me.
All my need pours into her.
I don't know how to explain this. I wish I did. I wish it made sense.
I need her.
And I need her gone.
My fingers dig into her skin. "I don't want to hurt you. But I don't know what else to do. I need you so badly right now."
She presses her forehead to my chin. "Say it again."
"I need you."
Her nails dig into my skin. "Has there been anyone else?"
"No. You're all I think about."
"Me either. I mean me too. I mean—" She presses her lips to mine. Tugs my t-shirt up my torso.
I help her get it over my head.
My hands go to her hips. Then under her thighs. I lift her into my arms.
She wraps her legs around my waist.
I carry her into my bedroom. Set her on the bed.
She looks up at me.
We've been here a few dozen times. But it's different. It's never been all of her and all of me.
It's never been this desperate. This needy.
She kicks off her flats.
I unbutton and unzip my jeans. Push them to my knees.
She shimmies out of her panties. Motions come here.
I strip out of everything and climb onto the bed.
She wraps her hand around my cock. Kisses me as she strokes me.
Fuck.
I roll her dress up her thighs, her pelvis, her stomach, her chest. She breaks our kiss to toss it over her head.
I do away with her bra.
She drags her hands up my torso.
Her eyes lock with mine as I climb on top of her, nudge her knees apart.
She nods yes, now, please.
But she isn't ready.
I drag my fingertips up her inner thigh.
Her breath hitches as I stroke her. "Walker." Her hand knots in my hair. "Please."
Please forgive me. Please listen. Please love me.
I rub her harder. I want to give her all that. But I don't know how.
I only know how to give her this.
Her eyelids flutter together. She turns her head to one side. Groans my name.
Fuck, she's beautiful like this.
I stroke her with slow circles.
She tugs at my hair.
I watch pleasure spill over her expression as she inches toward the edge. Her brow softens. Her lips part. Her head tilts back.
There.
She groans my name as she comes on my fingers.
She's lost in it for a second. Then she blinks her eyes open. Stares back at me. Nods yes, now, please as she spreads her legs.
I plant my hands at her shoulders.
Slowly, I bring my body onto hers.
One inch at a time, I thrust into her.
Fuck. She feels good.
Mine.
It's like every time before. It sticks in my head. She sticks in my head.
She's—
Fuck.
I wrap my arms around her.
Sink into her as I thrust into her.
She lifts her hips to meet me. Brings her hand to the back of my head. Pulls me into a deep, slow kiss.
We stay locked together, moving together, groaning together.
She's mine and I'm hers.
And there isn't a single layer between us.
No deception. No baggage. No hurt.
Just her need pouring into me.
And my need pouring into her.
Until she's there, groaning against my lips, clawing at my back as she pulses around me.
It pushes me over the edge.
Pleasure spills through my body as I come.
She holds me as I fill her.
We stay locked together. We stay a sweaty, breathy mess.
I stay hers.
And she stays mine.
Chapter Forty-One
Walker
I wake up empty.
She's still burnt into my brain.
No, it's worse. My sheets smell like her. I can still taste her on my lips, feel her under me, hear her groaning my name.
I still want to wipe away every bit of pain in her eyes.
I still need her like I need oxygen.
My morning routine does nothing to wipe Iris from my brain. There's coffee in the carafe, my favorite French Roast.
The present is there, on the counter.
There's a note under it.
The ball's in your court. Call me if you want to talk. Or "not talk."
I don't know how to sign this,
Iris.
It's rambling, nervous, perfect.
I stare at the shiny silver bag for a long time. Eventually, I pick out the tissue paper.
It's a signed copy of Saga.
I hate that it's perfect.
I hate that I want to call her and beg her to come over.
Stay in my bed all day. Let's forget the world. Let's forget everything.
Just be here.
Just be mine.
There.
Almost.
I finish the last line. "You're done."
The girl in the chair sighs with relief.
I turn the gun off. Set it down. Wipe my brow. This is where I say something encouraging. Congratulate her on making it through her first tattoo. Congratulate her on how awesome it looks.
It looks fucking amazing.
But that does nothing to convince me to smile.
"Here." I turn her toward the mirror.
Her eyes go wide as she takes in the words on her ribs. They're lyrics to her favorite song. She's been humming it for the last twenty minutes.
I've never heard it before.
But they're solid lyrics.
The kind of shit that makes you think about love. And losing it. And how far you'll go to get it back.
They might as well scream you miss Iris.
"Oh my God." Her eyes go wide. She looks up at me with a hazy smile. "This is so cool, Walker. Thank you." She throws her arms around me and squeezes tightly.
It's normal. Even if she's only wearing gauze and tape over her tits.
I pat her back. Hug her the way I usually do. It feels weird. Wrong. I don't want intimacy. I don't want gratitude. I don't want anything but Iris.
And Iris eradicated from my thoughts.
"You did great." I clear my throat. "You'll be back to add the chorus in no time."
Her giggle is nervous. She pulls back. Grabs her t-shirt from the chair.
"We have a back room—"