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It's a beautiful fucking cycle.
I let my eyelids press together as pleasure floods my body. She's fucking good at this.
"I'm coming in that pretty mouth," I growl.
She groans against me. Takes me deeper. Works me harder.
I hold her head in place as I rock my hips, thrusting into her mouth.
She looks up at me with a fierce expression. Like she's daring me.
I bring my other hand to her head and rock harder. Faster.
Fuck.
My cock pulses.
I tug at her hair. Groan her name as I come.
She waits until I've spilled every drop and swallows hard.
I offer her my hand.
She takes it and I pull her to her feet. And press my lips against her. And kiss her like it's the only way I can forget the world.
Because it is.
Chapter Nineteen
Iris
We spend the entire day together. Walker leads me through cooking bacon and eggs. It's easy. Easy enough I promise to make lunch.
He talks me into a Star Wars marathon. One including the prequels. But it's actually fun mocking their bad dialogue and ridiculous excess of world building. It feels like it used to—like Star Wars is something I love. Like movies and books and TV are capable of capturing every bit of my attention.
Like there are all sorts of things in the world capable of capturing my attention.
I set of
f the fire alarm when I attempt to pan fry chicken while sautéing frozen broccoli. Multi-tasking in the kitchen is still beyond my skill set.
We dress, get lunch, spend the day walking around Santa Monica and drinking ridiculous amounts of coffee. It's a beautiful blue day. Warm. Sunny. Bright.
The entire world feels bright.
It's like that all week.
Studying is easier. Classes are more interesting. My research project falls together. I look forward to my yoga sessions. And my attempt at healthier meals. And texting Walker all night.
When he invites me to a party at the shop—and promises to make me come after—I say yes instantly.
Even when he insists he's teaching me to surf the next day at eight a.m.
Eight a.m. on a Sunday.
Ridiculous.
But worth it.
