His frail lips break out into a genuine smile. “You chase.”
Harrison’s words linger at the forefront of my mind as I walk up to my bedroom. I have spent my entire life chasing after anything I want, so while the concept isn’t anything ground-breaking, my desire to do so with Iris is new.
Bullshit. You’ve always been interested in her.
Except my thoughts never went past just that. Interest. Pursuing Iris was never an option before, but there is no way I can continue on the same trajectory. I will drive myself mad fighting the urges threatening to consume me whenever she enters the room. Lately, I seem to be driven by the burning sensation in my gut.
I rip off my tie and dump it on my dresser before making quick work of my button-down. I chuck it in a corner of my bathroom, along with my pants.
I hoped a shower would calm me down, but I was wrong.
My mind wanders, making up an entirely different scenario of what could have happened after our date if Iris was willing to take me up on my offer. To me cornering her and kissing her until she loses the ability to do anything but drag me toward my room.
I try to avoid touching myself. My hand is nothing but a temporary fix for a lifelong problem. One that has plagued me for years, never quite scratching the itch I crave.
My cock lengthens as I imagine Iris exploring all of me with her hands. Of how she would be greedy with my body, raking her nails across my flesh.
I grab my hardened cock with my right hand. I promise myself this is the last time I’ll use my hand, but I know it’s a lie. A hiss escapes me as I pump it once before rubbing the bead of arousal at the tip. My mind conjures up a series of sounds Iris might make when my hands grip her hips. A moan when my tongue strokes against hers. The sharp hiss as I scrape the hollow of her neck with my teeth. Her breathy groan when my fingers embed themselves into her ass like I could brand her skin with the marks of my fingertips.
My hand grips my cock like a vise, each angry tug sending a shot of heat down my spine. It’s easy to fantasize about what could happen between us if I push her to accept her new reality. How Iris would beg me to take her right then and there like a mindless animal.
I picture her touch turning desperate as I memorize her body with my lips. Of her returning the favor, learning every dip and curve of me with the tip of her tongue. My arousal leaks from the tip as I consider her nails digging into my skin with each thrust of my cock. I’d wear her tiny half-moon marks like a proud battle scar, knowing what I did to earn them.
Heat spreads through my veins that has nothing to do with the hot water streaming down my body. I slap my other palm against the tile, trying to support my weight as my legs tremble. The burning sensation becomes unbearable as my yanks become sloppier.
The bedroom fantasy shifts to her catching me in the shower, touching myself like this. Her hand would replace mine as she looks up at me with her big brown eyes. The way she might hesitate as she grips me, learning how to please me the way I like.
Only a taste, she would whisper before getting down on her knees and taking me in her mouth.
It wouldn’t take much to push me over the edge. A few slow licks up my shaft. The hollowing of her cheeks as she sucks on my cock until she chokes. Her moan as I grip onto the back of her head and shove myself down her throat, making her scratch at my thighs for reprieve.
The illusion is shattered as my release hits me. Spots darken my vision, and hot cum shoots out. It splashes against the tile before being washed down the drain. I jerk my cock, taking my anger out on the softening shaft.
My breathing is ragged by the time I’m done. I lay my head against the tile and curse to myself, knowing damn well I will never be satisfied until Iris is mine.
Not even close.
26
IRIS
It takes three days for the reporter to publish a story about us. I had hoped the results would be promising, but she exceeded my wildest expectations.
“I told you!” I slam my phone against Declan’s desk.
He grabs it and reads over the article outlining how an insider learned about a hidden side of Declan Kane. Turns out, the coldest man in Chicago happens to have a soft spot for one person in the whole world.
Me.
The way the reporter describes our relationship is something out of a movie. Whispered secrets by the candlelight. Stolen glances when one of us was looking the other way. A kiss under the stars, with both of us completely oblivious to the world around us.
He frowns. “That never happened.”
“It’s a gossip column, not the Wall Street Journal. They’re not here to present the facts.”
“It’s a wonder they’re still up and running with that mentality.”
“Because articles like ours already have a million reads and counting. The advertisement money alone must keep them afloat.”
His eyes widen. “A million? It was published an hour ago.”
I grin as I drop into the chair across from him. “I told you it would work.”
“I never doubted you to begin with.” He speaks with such sincerity, my chest twinges with a silent reply.
I deflect with humor. “Liar. You totally did.”
“It’s human nature.”
“No, it’s your nature.”
“It’s gotten me this far.”
“No. That’s all thanks to your last name being on the building,” I tease.
“Our name.”
I roll my eyes. “For now.”
“Quick to get rid of me already, wife?”
Somehow, one word seems to cause a rush of warmth from my head to my toes.
Danger. Red alert. DEFCON five activated.
So I do what I always do when Declan stirs up feelings inside of my chest that have no business being there.
I escape.
Turns out I can only avoid Declan for so long when we live in the same house. It doesn’t take him long to find me, struggling to drain a pot of boiling water with only one hand.
“Are you trying to end up in the emergency room again?”
I’m not given a chance to explain as he swoops in and grabs the pot from me.
He glares. “If you wanted my attention, this isn’t the way to get it.”
My mouth drops open. “I am not trying to get your attention.” On the contrary, I was trying to avoid it at all costs—third-degree burns be damned.
“Then what are you doing?” He drains the pasta without me having to ask.
“Cooking.” I grind my teeth together to prevent myself from saying more.
Why is it when I’m the one who doesn’t want to talk, he can’t seem to help himself? The injustice of this all is not lost on me.
He places the empty pot back on the stove. “I can assure you boiling pasta isn’t cooking.”
“Can you go away please? I’m trying to eat in peace.” Dealing with him at work is one thing, but having him in my space, acting holier than thou, is not how I want to spend my night.
You’re just mad because you like having him around.
He lingers like a shadow as I scoop a large helping of noodles onto my plate.
“You should have asked for my help.”
I bristle. “I don’t need your help.”