Page 17 of Stealing Iris

I pull back, shoving one shoe over the heel of the other until I can drag my clothes the rest of the way off. Meanwhile, the muscles on Dante’s arms are straining as he rips open a condom packet. I’ve rung up hundreds of them, but I never imagined this kind of heat and urgency when they’d be used. Nothing in the world can stop me from staring at his cock. Even in my limited experience, I know his size isn’t typical. There’s a beauty to the thick, hard flesh disappearing under the protective cover. Though he’s ready, he doesn’t move. Searching his face, I’m caught by the hunger in his expression, warning me he’s only held back so I can look my fill—and now I’m done. Meanwhile, I’m still frozen, one leg up on the seat, one off, while I’m supposed to be settling into the back seat.

I’ve missed my chance. In the next breath, he’s stretching out over me, his hips pushing my thighs apart as his thrust sends him deep inside me. A gasp escapes me, and I close my eyes, savoring the moment. There’s nothing like the ripples from his initial entry. I can feel his possession throughout my body.

Dante hasn’t moved, his heart’s pounding against mine, and every muscle is straining to stay still. It’s because of me—he probably thinks he’s hurt me, and he couldn’t be more wrong. I shift, pushing against his weight. He releases the breath he’s been holding and presses his lips to my temple.

No words, from either of us. I bring my legs up around him, and he gets the idea. Bracing himself on the seat, he shifts, thrusting against me, matching the rhythm I’d even felt in my dreams.

There’s never been anything better.

CHAPTER EIGHT

DANTE

With a fantastic lunch in my belly, and an unbelievable orgasm under my belt, we pull into the store parking lot. Their logo jumps out from the floor-to-ceiling window. “I hadn’t realized how those eyes follow you wherever you are.” I stop so a raggedy old work truck can back out of a space.

“It’s my father,” she says absently.

“What?” I glance over in surprise. The colorful drawing has an amazing amount of detail.

The slight hesitation tells me she’s measuring her words. “Well, he didn’t have the beer belly or the weathered hat, but it’s still him.” Her cheeks turn pink. “He caught me on a bad day, and I may have taken some liberties with his appearance.”

My eyes widen. “You drew him?”

She adjusts, nearly squirming in her seat. “It started as a joke. I was getting back at him…” Her voice fades away, so I’ll have to wait to find out what he’d done to earn her wrath. “One of his buddies posted a picture on social media. Another buddy shared, and the post went viral.”

“Social media can make you or break you.” I move up, waiting for the truck to turn.

“We were swamped. After a couple of weeks, we took on part-timers to help. Every time the buzz started to die down, I changed him, and we’d get swamped all over again.”

“What do you mean, you changed him?”

“He’s had several hats, the belly, a piece of grass or a toothpick in his mouth.” The image is so well drawn I can picture every one of the descriptions. “Then I tried holidays.”

I tilt my head in question. What the hell had she done to him for the holidays?

“You know, bunny ears at Easter.” She puts two fingers behind her head. “A kiss on the cheek on Valentine’s day, a box covered in Christmas decorations, overflowing with beer and T-bones.” I chuckle, and her answering smile is incredible. “It was promo when we added the meat market.”

“Of course.”

But her smile dies away. “I should go in.”

The loss weighs on me, yet she’s still in the seat next to me. “Can I see you tonight?”

Her brows meet, and she looks over with regret in her eyes. “I close.”

“Tomorrow?”

She shakes her head, apology in the peak of her brows. “I close all week.”

Damn. Then her words come back to me.You’re going to have a long wait because I don’t have a car.“How do you get home?” I frown, knowing the answer before she can say anything.

She shrugs. “It’s not far, and sometimes—”

I tighten my grip on the steering wheel, hit by a wave of resolution. “No. I’m not hearing this.”

“Dante—”

“I’m picking you up.” I cut her off, annoyed the fucking bastard lets her walk home in the middle of the night, by herself, in this neighborhood.

---