Dair (The Wild Side #3)(16)

That done, he nodded again.  “Bruno will be here in a sec to show you to her.”

I’d barely processed that when whom I assumed was Bruno showed up and waved for me to follow him.

He led me straight through the middle of the main room, which was packed with writhing bodies decked out in glow-in-the-dark paint, the dim, black lit room pumping color out as loudly as the DJ was pumping the music.

We made it to a staircase at the back of the room, squeezing through gyrating bodies.  It was even harder to navigate through than that narrow hallway.

I scanned the crowd along the way, but it was no use, and besides that, it had sounded like Bruno was taking me to her.  They must have been talking about Iris, because . . . who else?

Another bouncer guarded the base of the staircase, but he waved us through without speaking.

We went up a rickety set of metal stairs.  I didn’t notice that the room even had an upper balcony until we were on it.

And there she was, decked out in glowing body paint (and hardly anything else), holding onto the rail that overlooked the revelry below, smiling with neon pink lips and shaking her ass.

She squealed when she saw me, rushing to throw her arms around my neck.

Without a word, she started kissing me.

She didn’t need rescuing.  She hadn’t called me here for that.

I filled my hands with her exposed skin, thrusting my tongue into her mouth.

The balcony was much less crowded than the floor below, but we were far from alone.

As I pulled away from her to catch my breath, I glanced around.  Almost everyone was dancing, and they seemed too far gone to notice anything beyond themselves.

I looked down to study Iris, cupping her jaw in my hands, trying to decipher if she was as out of her mind as the rest of them.

“Have you taken anything?” I asked her, having to pitch my voice loud to be heard.

Her eyes were clear, and she shook her head without hesitating.  “I don’t drink or do drugs, Dair.  I’m just here to escape my cage for a bit and do some dancing.”

I processed that as she started to tug me towards the wall.

I noticed something as I stared at the back of her head.  I fingered the tips of her pale hair.  “Is your hair pink?” I asked her.

She looked back at me, grinned and nodded.

I sighed out a breath, thinking that I was way too old for this shit.

Who was I kidding?  I was born too old for the rave scene.

One part of me was still in 100%, and that was my traitorous cock.  He was enjoying the hell out of a barely dressed Iris, painted top to bottom, hair dyed pink and ready to dance.

At the wall, there was a table set up as a neon body painting station.

Iris turned to face me, stepping very close, her hands going to the hem of my shirt.

She started pulling it up.

I stopped her, asking, “What are you doing?”

She pouted at me.  “Just a little bit of paint.  And you don’t even have to dance.  You can just relax somewhere, and watch me dance.”

I shook my head, but it wasn’t to say no.

She was in a mood, too cute and playful to be resisted, but then, she was always too something to be resisted.

I let her pull my shirt off, even let her paint my chest, shoulders, arms and abs up with broad, quick strokes.  I drew the line when she tried to paint my face, but let her work on my back a bit.

I grabbed her around the waist when she came back around to my front, eyes on her neon-striped body in what had to be her tiniest bikini yet.  I thought it was white, but it was hard to tell in the color-splashed dark.

She was wearing those goddamned gladiator heels again.  They brought the top of her head up to my cheekbone, and I knew from experience, with her long legs, they took her ass up to level with my groin.

She twirled with a smile out of my grip, taking my hand again to lead me over to a low-slung couch.

It had two occupants, two girls sitting hip to hip, looking either asleep or straight tripping.

They didn’t even look our way.

Iris pushed on my chest until I was perched on the edge of the empty side of the sofa.

She threw a leg over the side, right along my hip, and started moving.

I slouched low, grabbed her prone leg with one hand, a shaking ass cheek with the other, and watched the show.

For as long as I could stand, anyway.  She dipped low, rubbing her barely covered sex over my rampant c**k solidly just a few too many times.

About the third time she did that, I reached up, plunging a hand into the tiny triangle of her barely there bikini top and palming a shaking tit.

She didn’t balk, leaning forward, bringing her br**sts to my mouth, arching her back to give me perfect access.

I nosed her top to the side and tongued a hard nipple.

She started dipping again, rubbing down my body until we were chest to chest, groin to groin, then back up again, pushing her flesh against my mouth.

I was a goner, mouth-breather in full control, when I tugged my pants down, shoved her bottoms to the side, and plunged into her without warning on a downswing.

She cried out and let me bounce her a few times on my out of control cock, before unseating herself and taking an unsteady step away, pulling her top back over her bared nipple.

I tugged my pants back up, opening my mouth to apologize, when she turned on her heel, and strutted away.