Page 62 of The Games We Play
I cup her ass, hold her wide open to me as we work together, the slow push and pull like the ocean. No rush, because the tide knows it’ll get to where it needs to go. Tides always do.
When I’m fully seated in her, I pause and bury my head against her neck. “God, you feel so good, Iris.”
She turns her face to me as much as she can. “So do you.” Her voice cracks; the emotion in it makes me feel like a king. I can reduce her to this. And she can do the same thing to me. Shatter me, with her words, her touch, and the way she shares the most precious parts of herself with me.
She trusts me.
And I trust her.
And salvation I never thought I’d see seems within reach.
I move, the waves coming faster, deeper.
It’s still making love.
Deeply felt.
Our mouths touch, not so much kissing but breathing each other in between gasps for air. Iris’s eyes are on mine, and for a moment, I feel stripped down to the bones. Bare. It’s like she’s reading every thought in my head.
I can tell the moment she comes, not because her pussy clutches my cock, which it does, but because her eyes take on a sheen somewhere between desperation and love. And it tips me over the edge in a way I’ve never fallen before.
“Iris,” I whisper as my orgasm wrecks me.
We fall to our sides and lie there, sweaty, wrapped in each other’s arms. I pull out of her but don’t rush to deal with the condom, not when it will break a moment this fucking rare.
“I need to tell King,” I say eventually. I hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but it’s fair she knows. “He ordered me not to do this. King is worried about ramifications. With your uncle. And the guy who bothered you at the café? He’s from a group called Righteous Brotherhood. Nasty shit. Scumbags. It could all cause problems.”
Iris strokes her fingertip from my forehead down the side of my jaw. “He’s right about Cillian. That night still causes so much trouble for everyone,” she says, turning in my arms to face me.
“What do you mean?”
“The night that started all the trouble for your club. I don’t know much about it because Cillian would never tell me all the details. Just that the Iron Outlaws and the Ó Ceallaighs had a deal that went wrong. Guns and receipts. My dad ended up getting shot.”
It dawns on me that no one told her what we recently learned, thanks to a tip from her uncle. How Clutch’s father made a deal with her father to rip off the club. And how King’s father Camelot had known and, through a plan with his wife, Gwen’s mom, saved Cue Ball’s life by sending him to prison instead of killing him, as they should have done for double-crossing the club.
A life saved for a life saved.
Cue Ball had rescued King’s father in Iraq when they’d served together.
As a veteran, I understand that kind of loyalty to the man who once saved your life, but Camelot’s decision festered for years until Cue Ball felt he could get his revenge.
I need King’s permission to tell Iris more, but he isn’t going to agree.
So I respond to the simple statement she made. “The club’s relationship with your uncle is at best strained. There’s been a fragile peace. But your uncle isn’t stupid. He now knows the deal went sour because of the Iron Outlaws. And that kind of knowledge can sometimes cause a man to do foolish things. He also told Clutch, our vice-president who came to your house with me that day, to stop me from driving by your home. He doesn’t want me around you. Or you around me.”
Iris looks puzzled. “He wants what?”
“Me to stay away from you.”
“No, that’s ...” She stops and shakes her head, clearly puzzled. “I mean, I’m a grown woman. He doesn’t have a say in who I date or don’t date.”
“We dating, little chick?”
She looks away, but I can’t miss the way the corners of her lips turn up into a smile.
“I certainly hope so.” The words are so clipped and proper, I can’t help but laugh.
“Yeah, Iris. We’re dating. And we’re going to talk to King, and then Cillian. I’m not scared of either one of them. Any sign of trouble, we split.”
