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Iris frowned. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
I shook my head and forced my voice to stay level. I’d loved Priscilla fiercely, loved her still, but I couldn’t be weak around anyone, couldn’t show Iris how many holes my wife’s loss had left in me. No one got to see that side; only Symone suspected how bereft I was, but I could never talk with her about it. I couldn’t bear to add to my daughter’s burdens.
“I keep that close to the vest. The point is that even a few words, lines like, ‘Yes, love indeed is light from heaven; A spark of that immortal fire with angels shared, by Allah given to lift from earth our low desire’ are enough to make a woman feel better for a few precious minutes. That’s worth everything.”
She leaned closer to me, her eyes sincere. “That’s so beautiful to say.”
“It’s true. Don’t let anyone, even your family, silence your voice. It’s the most precious
gift any of us have, luv.”
She sniffled and dabbed her nose with a spare napkin. “Can you maybe take me home? I don’t mean to be a party killer, but I think I need to think, at least a little bit.”
I nodded and gestured for the waiter to bring us the check. “I understand, Iris, and it’s okay. Take all the time you need.”
Chapter Seven
Iris
I’d been a blubbering mess. At least, I felt like I’d become a blubbering mess. Apparently, part of the new, assertive me included the inability to keep myself from telling the truth. It was so dumb. I had long ago accepted my full lot in life, and now Callum was making me feel things I’d never thought I could, making me want things I shouldn’t. I thought it was bad enough to give in to forbidden passion, to this whole Romeo and Juliet thing, as Ally put it. But I never talked about writing. I still scribbled poems in my spare time. I couldn’t keep my muse from doing that. But I knew it was all a lark.
It would never go anywhere.
But there I was with one honest question. It was someone actually caring about what I wanted for the first time in forever. And I’d crumbled. And yet, he was even more romantic than I’d imagined. I hadn’t realized he’d lost his wife in such a terrible way. I hadn’t Googled for that side of his life, but there was something so touching about him reciting the poem—Lord Byron at that—which had helped them bond, gotten them through such dark times.
Callum was a man of sophistication and mystery, hidden layers that made me crave him even more than I already did. Of course, even though he was kind when he dropped me off, and promised enthusiastically he couldn’t wait until we saw each other for more, ahem, “dictation” tomorrow, I couldn’t help but feel I’d blown it. I had, hadn’t I? After all, I’d revealed that I was the girl with way too much baggage, that wounded chick. He wanted someone fun, sexy, and with no strings. I’d given him a crazy amount of family in-fighting, and probably a sobering look at a close friend he didn’t even want.
Luckily, Allison was out. Her note mentioned a second ride on the Goth express. Even in my depressed mood, I had to roll my eyes. It was nice to see someone navigating her love life without too many complications.
Don’t overthink it.
Great advice, except I kept doing exactly that.
I grabbed a cold bottle of water from the fridge and slid into my room. The sadness was leaving me, but the hunger, that burning need that had hit me like a freight train back in the limo, was only getting stronger. Slipping off my dress and underwear, I locked my door. Then I slid beneath my comforter.
My feelings were whiplashing between such extremes. That was my fault. I’d spent three years denying my emotions, pushing everything aside, and now I’d opened up the vault. No, wrong thought. It wasn’t just a small door you could open and shut at will. My feelings were like a volcanic eruption, and now I was feeling everything—sadness, regret, embarrassment, and utter lust.
I hoped that Callum wouldn’t hold my tears and honesty against me tomorrow. Frankly, I hoped he’d hold other things against me.
After all, my freak out had already left me cold and alone tonight. I knew Callum would have taken me back to his penthouse if I’d asked. I should have, but the sadness had been too strong at the restaurant, the hopelessness too. But now?
Now, I still craved him. Needed his touch for the next hit.
Because as upset as I was, I also burned with my lust for him. My clit throbbed between my legs, had since the limo. My belly flared with heat, and my nipples pebbled underneath the satin of my comforter. I needed him.
I just couldn’t have him, at least not tonight.
I’d have to settle for the next best thing—my imagination and my own fingers.
Slim digits wrapped around the rigid peaks of my nipples. I rubbed my fingers over them, twisting delicately and encouraging them to pebble even more. With my left hand, I kept working at both my nipples, working between them. I trailed my left hand down the valley between my cleavage, over the soft—often too ample—skin of my stomach. Soon, I was car
essing the soft down of the pubic hair over my mons.
I stroked through the soft curls before running my left forefinger over my labia. It was already wet, and I was far from surprised. Even thinking about him left me dripping ready for him. I had played with myself before, but I wasn’t adept at it, often fumbled before I came. Tonight, I was energized as if I’d stuck my tongue in a light socket, and I knew it wouldn’t take me long to come.
Even with Callum miles away, the very thought of him set my clit pulsating.
I slipped my fingers through my folds and placed my thumb against my most sensitive bundle of nerves even as two fingers found the depths of my core easily. Moving my hand up and down, I plunged into myself. Closing my eyes as both hands worked over my body, went through all the ministrations, I thought only of Callum.
