It doesn’t make sense. Yesterday was like the first night Iris and I met all over again—laughing, teasing, opening up. The attraction sometimes lurking just beneath the skin of our conversation, sometimes shivering across its surface. And then Muscle Head showed up, and she shut down and rushed from the building without a word.
And today? Still no words. She hasn’t looked at me. Hasn’t spoken or even acknowledged that I exist.
By all rights, I shouldn’t even be here for the community center beautification project. Sylvia told me I wasn’t needed. The students are painting the rec room, and Torrie, Shelia, and Iris are helping. Iris paints a wall across the room and wears dark denim overalls and Chuck Taylors. Her hair is in a messy bun, and the work lends a glow to the soft curve of her cheeks. She looks like a little girl.
She bends, stretching the denim across the fullness of her ass.
Maybe not a little girl.
I’m a guy. I can’t be expected to ignore how good her ass looks in those jeans. But it’s not the most important thing. We only have two days left, and after spending even the little time with her that I’ve had, I know things can’t go back to the way they were. Us having no contact. Her living with Caleb, sleeping with Caleb. Her staying with Caleb is not an option anymore, and I need to hear her say that, promise that. I need her to explain what the problem is, so I can fix it.
How hard can it be to leave him? How complicated can it be to choose me over him? To throw his damn ring in his face and walk away?
She said she wasn’t with him for the money. Or not the way I might think, whatever the hell that means.
And I believe that. I may not know everything about her, but she’s no gold digger.
I know she sees him clearly. She said herself it was a dirty play.
She says she’s not marrying him, but she’s wearing his ring.
What the fuck is going on?
I’m not leaving today without answers. I won’t get them with her avoiding me, so I walk over to the wall the three women are painting.
“Iris, can I talk to you for a minute?” I pitch my voice low so we don’t draw more attention than I already do here.
She jumps like a bullet whizzed past her ear instead of a whisper. A wide, quick glance is all she offers before training her eyes back on the wall.
“I’m really trying to get this wall done,” she says. “I . . . um, maybe later.”
I sneak a look at Torrie and Shelia. They roll their painting pins over the wall, but they’re watching us.
“It’ll only take a few minutes.” I cover her hand to stop the rolling motion, and she looks at me with a frown. “Please.”
Her eyes dart from Shelia and Torrie to Sylvia in the corner before she sighs and places the paint roller in the pan at her feet. Wordlessly, she heads toward the door, not checking to see if I’m behind her. Of course, I am.
In the hall, she leans against the wall and folds her arms, still not looking at me. “What do you need to talk abo—”
Her words disintegrate when I grab her hand and pull her behind me down the hall and around the corner.
“What are you doing?” Her voice climbs an octave, and she tries to wriggle free. “I can’t do this. I need to get back in there.”
We reach a utility closet. Fortunately, the knob turns easily, and the door swings open. I gently shove her inside and follow, turning on the light. I lean my back against the door and fold my arms across my chest. We aren’t leaving until I get some answers. Not the cryptic ones she’s been giving me, but the straight kind that tell me what the hell is actually going on.
“I need to get back, August.” She reaches around me for the knob, but I shift so my back covers it. Her irritated eyes latch onto mine. “This isn’t funny. You have to let me out.”
“No, you have to talk to me. You’ve been avoiding me ever since that goon showed up yesterday.” I take her arm, extended toward the knob, and pull her into me. The whisper of our bodies together, that simple contact, even through our clothes, is a match lit in gasoline-soaked air. It’s a sweet singe—a rapid-burning brush fire spreading across my whole body, consuming everything in its path—my reservations, my good sense, and my patience.
“You feel that, Iris.” I bend to float my words over her ear, rustling the fine strands of hair escaping around her neck. “Please tell me you feel this, too. Tell me I’m not fooling myself that we’ll be good together.”
A sigh mists her pouty lips. Lashes, thick and midnight-dark, hide her eyes from me. Defeat marks the slumped line of her shoulders.
“You’re not fooling yourself,” she admits, her voice shaking.
“I know I’m not.” My hand slides over her arm, and her skin prickles with goosebumps. I stroke her palm with my fingertips, and she inhales sharply. Her lips tremble. Slowly, I twist the ring, working it off her finger and slipping it into the front pocket of her overalls.
“What are you doing?” She breathes the question, her eyelids heavy over the cloudy passion hazing her eyes.
I frame her face, tracing the striking framework of high, sculpted cheekbones.
“I’ll be damned if you’ll be wearing his ring the first time I kiss you.”
I stroke her lips with my thumbs until her mouth falls open on a needy gasp. I dip so our mouths are mere inches apart, our ragged breaths twining in the tight space. My fingers spear into her hair, my palm cupping the base of her skull.
“I should have done this the night we met,” I whisper into her mouth, my head spinning from breathing her air. “It should have been me, Iris.”
Her eyes squeeze shut and a tear slides over her cheek. “I know.” She bites her lip and nods. “It should’ve been you.”
I outline the bow of her lip with my tongue, and we share our first moan. My hand slides under the overalls, caressing her back through the fitted cotton T-shirt. Tracing the curve of her hip and sliding down to touch the small of her back, I press her into me. She must feel my dick, swollen against her. I can’t hide it. I’ve wanted her too long and too badly.
I capture the fullness of her bottom lip between mine and suck hard and greedily. God, she’s so sweet. My dreams, fantasies, everything I imagined is ashes beside the sweetness of this mouth, the taut, rounded curves of this body. She tilts her head and returns the favor, suckling my bottom lip.
“Fuck, Iris.” I bend my knees, both hands sliding down to her ass. “I haven’t been able to look anywhere else all day. Only at you.”
Her hands map the muscles in my arms and chest, her eyes closed as if she’s reading my body by Braille. She tips up on her toes, her fingers burrowing into my hair. With my arms under her butt, I lift her off the floor, closing the gap between our heights, and nibble around her mouth.
“Open for me,” I rasp over her lips. I won’t take anything from her. Every kiss, every touch, has to be freely given so I know she’s with me and she wants this. I need to know that even with Caleb’s ring nestled in her pocket, she wants me.
She leans in, her mouth open and seeking and eager, but I hold back a little, slowing it down, savoring our first kiss. I lick gently into her mouth, skating my tongue across her teeth, lashing the sweet, slick walls of her jaw.
“August, oh God.” Her arms circle my neck and she wraps her legs around my waist. “Dammit, kiss me.”
And I lose it. Every scrap of restraint it’s taken for me to stand by and watch her with him evaporates. This kiss is now years past due, and I’m desperate for it. So desperate I turn her against the closet wall and dive into her mouth, a dying man on his last gasp. My hands filter through the silky mass of loosened hair spilling around her shoulders. Our tongues wrap and wrestle, tangled in the wet heat of our mouths. I’m sucking her tongue and licking the roof of her mouth, my teeth biting, my lips begging.
“Oh, God. Oh, God,” she whispers over and over, a prayer between kisses. “Don’t stop. August, don’t stop.”
I run my nose back and forth along her neck, and then my lips ghost the satiny skin. With broad strokes of my tongue and greedy pulls of my mouth, I make love to the delicate tendon in her throat until she whimpers. My lips wander over the fragile slash of her collarbone. I fumble with the buttons on her overalls. Every button I undo, undoes me. The front flap falls, and her nipples show through the tight T-shirt, straining and budded. I step back, and her legs drop from my waist. She stands and, mindful of my leg, I sink to my knees in front of her. My palms flatten at her back, drawing her closer, drawing her down to me. She looks at me, her mouth open, panting her anticipation. I suckle one tight nipple through her T-shirt, through her bra, never releasing our stare. The intimacy of our eyes locked together while I roll her nipple over my tongue is almost unbearable. It hardens my dick, and penetrates my bones, and arrests my heart.
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.”
“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.”
“August.” She clenches her eyes shut and runs a trembling hand over her loosened hair. “I have to. You don’t understand.”
“No, I don’t.” I snap, my forehead crumpling into a frown. “Explain it to me.”
“I can’t. Not right now.” She looks at the door and back to me. “I think I heard him, August. I have to go.”
Anger and frustration burn twin trails of acid in my belly.
“Whatever,” I bite out. “I’m sure you’re being paranoid, but do what you think you need to do.”
I step aside and wrench open the closet door. And outside in the hall, standing there like he just ascended from hell, stands Caleb, his eyes a murderous blue as they slide from me to the woman we both want.
