Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 87078 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87078 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
“I’ve been selfish in that department lately, haven’t I?” The smirk he wears tells me he’s not even sorry about it.
“Hey, I love fucking you, but today … I need all of you.”
“You’ll get it. And …” Iris bites his lip.
“And what?”
“Maybe more than me too?”
My gaze narrows. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know what I’ve been thinking about lately?”
“The way this conversation is going, I’m worried you’re about to say a threesome.”
Iris snorts. “No way. I don’t share.”
“Good to know. Then what do you mean?”
“I’ve been thinking about my toys in my drawer at home and how much I’d love to use them on you.”
“All of them?” I squeak. “I don’t think I have enough orifices for all of them.”
Iris cracks up. “I was thinking one or two, but hey, why don’t we keep going until we reach your limit?”
Arousal simmers in my gut, and I’m regretting bringing sex up so far away from home now. “Drive faster.”
“Stop touching me so I’ll be able to concentrate to get us home safely.”
I pull my hand away from his thigh, but the whole drive home, I can’t take my eyes off him.
There’s an old part of me that can’t believe I’m having sex with Iris regularly, but it’s the same part that’s always astounded by how my life has changed over the last ten years. I’m no longer closeted. I’m no longer searching for acceptance from people who will never give it to me. I’m happy in my skin, even though my body is a broken version of what it once was.
I’m where I’m supposed to be, and I have no doubts about that.
I belong with Mike Bravo.
I belong with Iris.
“You know, staring at me doesn’t really help with my concentration either,” Iris says.
“I can’t help it. You’re so pretty.”
“I’m devastatingly fierce, fuckyouverymuch. I’m a scary motherfucker.”
I pat his head. “So fierce.”
“Oh, look at that. You found the cure for my hard-on.”
“Don’t worry. I can get it back.” This time when I reach for him, I run my hand over the bulge in his pants.
Iris pulls up to the house and doesn’t even bother putting his car away. He parks behind mine and even tries to get out of the car without taking his seat belt off first.
“In a hurry?” I quip.
“Get your ass inside, now,” he growls.
Damn. I almost want to salute him and say, Sir, yes sir. But I don’t. Because I don’t want to open that can of worms.
Calling Iris sir? No way. He would get too many ideas.
Iris undresses as he walks toward the house, and by the time he’s opening the door, his shirt is on the ground, his pants are undone, and his shoes are by the entrance.
I love how worked up he gets, love how much he obviously craves my body—scars and all.
I think I might love him.
But I’m not ready to get into that yet. It might change things, and everything has just started to get back on track for me.
Iris drags me through the house to his bedroom. I stay in here most nights with him, but sometimes he kicks me out for being twitchy in my sleep. At first he was worried I was having nightmares again, but when I told him I’m naturally fidgety in my sleep, he practically pushed me out of bed.
I can’t say I blame him, but some nights I regret telling him that it’s not PTSD related. Maybe then he’d snuggle me.
I guess I could ask for affection after sex, but we’ve yet to have a serious conversation about us, so I don’t want to overstep.
Iris is already naked, and I’ve barely got my shoes and socks off.
He takes matters into his own hands by grabbing my belt buckle and pulling me against him. Then his mouth’s on mine, sucking, licking, tasting, while his hands work open the button and fly on my pants.
They drop to the floor, and then my boxers are the next to go. Iris works his hands under my shirt but doesn’t try to lift it, like he doesn’t want to pull away from kissing me to get rid of it.
We stand there, kissing, holding each other, and while our dicks rut against one another, our upper halves tell a different story. Yes, we want to get off, but the way Iris holds me, I can tell it’s more than just sex.
He’s always been considerate in bed, even back when we first hooked up and he was okay with me not taking off my shirt. Every single time, he has taken care of my needs as well as his own. But this is different.
This isn’t about ten years of pent-up sexual tension. This isn’t about adrenaline or fulfilling fantasies.
This is Iris and me—two souls finding one another again at a time when something can actually grow between us.