His tongue slides into my mouth. Swirls around mine.
He breaks our kiss to drag his lips down my neck. My collarbone. My chest.
He looks up at me as he takes my nipple into his mouth.
The flick of his tongue sends desire racing to my limbs. My sex clenches. My thighs shake.
I need more.
He moves to my other nipple and toys with it. He flicks his tongue against it. Sucks soft. Then hard. Then he's scraping his teeth against my tender bud.
Mmm. My hands knot in his hair.
I let my head fall back.
Let my eyelids flutter together.
He brings his fingers to my sex.
Teases again.
One finger.
Two.
Three.
Again.
Again.
"Please." I spread my legs. "I need you inside me."
"Fuck." His groan is heavy.
In one swift motion, he slides his fingers inside me.
It's intense. Like it's been months and not days. Like it's been an eternity.
It's different than last time.
I know him now. At least, I'm starting to.
I want more of him. Not of the sexy stranger who sets my body on fire. But the guy behind the dark eyes and the cocky smile.
I…
"Fuck." I shift my hips, pushing him deeper.
He moves his hand with a steady rhythm.
He rubs slow circles over my clit as he fucks me with his fingers.
As he sucks on my nipples.
Pressure pools inside me. Every thrust of his hand winds me tighter. Every brush of his thumb pushes me closer to the edge.
It feels so good.
But it's not enough.
I need him inside me.
I tug at his hair, bring his head to mine.
He leans onto his free arm.
Kisses me.
I groan against his mouth. I rock my hips to drive him deeper.
His next thrust pushes me over the edge.
All the tension inside me unravels. Pleasure spills through my torso, my thighs, my chest. It spills all the way to my fingers and toes.
I groan his name against his neck as I come.
It's so much better than my hand—and I fucked myself thinking of him every night this week.
I blink my eyes open. Look up at him.
He brushes my hair behind my ear. It's sweet. Too sweet. I can't handle that kind of intimacy. Not right now.
I reach for his jeans. Undo his button. His zipper. Cup him over his boxers.
I stare into his dark eyes. "Fuck me."
He lets out a low groan. "Spread your legs, sweetness."
I do.
He reaches into his back pocket. Pulls out something. A condom.
He presses it into my palm. Stands to push his jeans off his hips.
Then his boxers.
Fuck. He really is huge. Bigger than I remembered.
I motion come here.
He nudges my thighs apart so one is pressed against the back of the couch.
Then he places his body between my legs.
I tear the wrapper and slide the condom over his cock.
He groans as my fingers brush his skin. "Legs around me."
I nod and wrap my legs around his waist.
He lowers his body onto mine. His lips brush my neck. His chest presses against my breasts. His cock nudges my sex.
One inch at a time, he slides inside me.
Mmm.
He groans into my neck.
I dig my nails into his skin. Pull him closer. Deeper.
It feels so good, his body pressed against mine, him inside me.
Better than anything has felt in a long, long time.
It's sharper. Clearer. Nothing is dulling the experience. Not booze or opiates or nerves.
I feel everything.
And fuck—this is a hell of a case for sobriety.
That's not going to fly at NA, but I don't care.
It's what I want.
Every second of anticipation. Every burst of pleasure. Every ounce of satisfaction.
"Fuck. You feel so good." He nips at my neck as he drives into me. It's hard. Steady.
I rock my hips to meet his movements.
It pushes him deeper.
It makes him groan.
"Fuck. Iris." He wraps his arms around me.
Moves harder.
Faster.
"Walker." I squeeze his waist with my hips. Press my fingers into his back. I need to hold on somehow. To keep my body locked with his.
He drives into me.
I rock against him.
Our groans bounce around the room.
My breath gets heavy.
His too.
Every thrust fills me with deep, pure pleasure. I have to close my eyes. To dig my nails into his skin. To soak in every ounce of it.
I pull him closer.
He drives harder.
Deeper.
Groans my name into my neck.
I do the same with his.
Walker. It sounds good on my lips. And the way it makes his breath hitch—
Fuck.
With his next thrust, I go over the edge. Pleasure spills through my torso. I groan his name as I come.
It makes him hungrier. Needier.
He moves harder. Faster.
His groans get low.
His thighs shake.
"Fuck. Iris." With his next thrust, he comes.
He pulses inside me as he thrusts through his orgasm.
Once he's spilled every drop, he pries his body from mine.
He goes to take care of the condom.
I sit up on the couch.
I may not know a lot about what I want.
But I know I want this.
A lot more of this.
Chapter Ten
Walker
Iris doesn't invite herself to join me in the shower.
She makes a point of waiting until I'm done to move into the bathroom.
It's perfectly reasonable given our arrangement.
Hell—I usually fucking hate it when women step into the shower with me.
But with her, it feels weird. Like I'm being rude. Or she's being evasive. I don't know. I don't get relationship stuff.
I push it aside. It doesn't matter. We're having fun. Stressing about this shit is why I don't date.
Too much agony. Too much baggage. Too much everything.
I dress and move back into the kitchen. The cake is nearly done. The printed recipe is smudged with cocoa powder and sugar.
Like Iris's lips.
Uh-uh.
Not thinking that shit.
Not getting invested.
I'm making frosting.
Thinking about round two.
That's it.
I get out everything I need—coconut oil, powdered sugar, coffee, cocoa powder—and start measuring.
The shower turns off.
I add the last ingredient.
Iris moves into the main room, towel wrapped around her curvy body, wet hair sticking to her forehead.
I want it in my hands.
I want to rip that towel off her and pin her to the wall.
She presses her lips together. "It seems my clothes are on the floor."
"How'd that happen?"
"Curious."
Dry and wet fold together as I stir. I keep one eye on Iris.
She's shy about dropping her towel, donning her bra, stepping into her dress. Then her panties. "I'm not going out without these."
"I can't convince you?"
"You can try."
I want to. But I'm not sure I can stand how badly I'll want to fuck her if I know she's commando.
She brings the towel to her head to dry her hair. "Is the cake done?"