Page 86 of Iris
“Icy,” I murmur, close to her lips, “I know it.”
“Then you go.”
“And spoil your fun?”
The flash in her eyes turns to something else, a call, a need, desire. “I just think you know you can’t do it.”
I remove my hand from the wall and take her chin, lifting her face, our lips now moments away.
“You might be able to with your connections.” Laughter flares from passersby but she doesn’t react, her attention caught on me and it strokes against my libido. “Don’t mistake that for skills.”
“You’re a rude, nasty guy, hiding under a layer of empty charm.”
Her words wrap around my cock. “And yet you’d give anything to have me ravish you wouldn’t you?”
“In your perverted dreams.”
“That can be arranged.”
I kiss her, a soft kiss, nothing more than lips on lips because I need to hold on to that fucking urge that drives through me like a drumbeat.
Soft. Hot in a way that has nothing to do with temperature and everything to do with her.
I step back. “We’ll take you back to the party.”
But it seems the brat can’t help herself. Because even the sheltered know a dismissal when they hear one and I see it on her face, the double take. But the brat takes control. Her eyes narrow and she grabs my shirt and pushes me against the wall.
“What, Icy? Don’t like being dismissed? I don’t kiss brats.”
I fuck them.
After punishing them.
I taunt them, toy with them, tie them up in knots until they’re drooling, begging, crawling to me.
A flash of Iris doing that, Xavier watching, bursts into my mind.
“I don’t like being toyed with.”
This time I spin her so she hits the wall. I run my thigh between her legs, jamming it up against her cunt, though I doubt she can feel it through those fucking layers.
“Really?” I ask her, “then don’t toy with me.”
She tries to kiss me but I capture her chin once again, stopping her and the excitement surges through me. “You don’t have it in you.”
I laugh and take the gauntlet, I lick her throat, sucking on her skin a moment, but the need to mark her rips through me like avicious storm and I don’t. I’m never marking anyone again in my life.
This time, when I kiss her, I take her mouth hard. My tongue strokes and twirls with hers, the taste of her is sex, pure essence and sweet, so fucking sweet, tempered with whiskey and the rot gut she drank. A spicy kick that might not be from the booze, but her.
This close is like diving into her flower garden, a million irises against me, and want to rip them out to get to their truth. I bite and suck her lip, her groan music and I need more than just her mouth.
I kiss my way down, over her bare expanse of chest, that sliver of nothing and I grab the front of the dress, ripping it, her breast spilling from her push-up bra beneath, like she tried to bring something to the table of sexy when dressing, but the red that cups her tits is pure lace and it takes nothing to pop out her creamy tit and its rosy, hard nipple.
She moans, fingers digging into my skin as I suck that nub into my mouth, latching with my teeth as I bite.
Iris cries out and, shaking, presses hard to me, like she needs more.
I’m losing my mind. She tastes even better than she looks.
