I’ll make up for it.
But when I dip down to taste her, my lips meet the back of her hands. Her body jolts at the touch.
“Beau?” Her uncertain voice kills me. No, it makes me want to kill every man who’s come before me.
“Iris.” I glide one hand down the outside of her left thigh, over her hip, and to her soft belly, sliding it just under her shielding arms. “Let me kiss you.”
“I-I’ve never—No one’s ever…”
“Yeah, I get that,” I say, rubbing her belly with slow, gentle sweeps. “Damned shame.”
I lick my lips and press a kiss to the inside of her thigh. The skin is other-worldly soft. It feels angelic. I let a moan leave my throat before I part my lips with my tongue and lick the sweet-salty flesh.
Her breath goes choppy.
“You—I mean, youwantto—”
“Iris.” I make sure my voice is clear and determined. “I’ve wanted my face in your pussy since the first night I danced with you.”
Her gasp is genuine innocence. “Youdid?”
“I would have taken you under the sky at Chicot if you would have let me.” It’s the absolute truth. I lay my other hand on top of hers and hook a finger gently under her thumb. She’s got to uncover herself, but I can encourage. “Let me now.”
I hold my breath, silently begging for her to trust me with this too. Wanting this with a down-to-the bone yearning. If I can’t be the last man to kneel at her feet, at least I can be the first. And she won’t forget it.
Just when I think she’s going to demure, Iris grabs both of my hands, baring her sex, and I am on her like sunlight.
Her scent and taste set my neurons on fire. I moan into her, squeezing her hands hard in my lust.
This time when she gasps, it sounds like fabric ripping. Like the worddoubtwritten on paper and torn in two.
After the first thrill of connection, I rein us in and go slowly. Maddening slowness. Not just for her, but for me too. She writhes underneath me. I know just where to find the spot that aches, but I want to discover every hidden inch of her.
She whimpers. She whispers. She whines. “Whatare you doing to me?”
I squeeze her hands, promising all is well. Promising this is worth the wait. Promising that I fucking love what I’m doing.
By the time the tip of my tongue grazes her crest, her clit is full, and she’s trembling. One, firm lap, and she cries my name. We move like the wild. She arches. I pin. Her heels dig into my back. I release her hands and grab her hips, holding her tight while I chase down her climax.
Iris fists my hair, and my already hard cock throbs and grinds aimlessly into Iris’s sheets, wanting her, dying for her.
When her orgasm breaks over her, I feel it in the muscles of her ass, thighs, hamstrings and calves, and no less so in the tremors on my tongue.
Her cries soften on her way down, and I gentle my kisses, finding her hands with mine again. And smiling because—
Damn, I want to do that again.
But Iris is tugging me up by the hands. “Come here,” she pants, sounding wrecked. Sounding shaken and broken open.
I move and cover her, kissing her chin, her cheeks, her eyes—
I freeze. They’re damp. My breath halts.
“Iris, baby.” I wrap her in my arms, my throat tight, and my own tears threatening.
“Oh my God,” she says hoarsely, hugging my neck.
I want to hold the space for her. Let her know that whatever she’s feeling, it’s okay. But I’ve spent enough time with her to know this kind of exposure isn’t easy for her. When I’ve seen her before at her most vulnerable, Iris usually takes cover behind a joke.
