Dair (The Wild Side #3)(9)

It was a kick in the teeth to feel indebted to a guy that you hated on sight.

“Heath, huh,” was all I said,  holding still over her for the longest time as I tried to piece together these rare puzzle pieces I’d been made privy to.

Iris started moving against me, working her back against my front in a way that distracted even me at my most focused.

I didn’t budge, didn’t encourage her, but it made no difference.  I was already right where she wanted me, braced over her, my fists digging into the hard mattress on either side of her.

She arched and writhed until she’d found my throbbing c**k with her slick entrance.

I held perfectly still as she manipulated my hard length inside of her.

She worked me with her swinging hips, until I’d not only forgotten where we were at in our conversation, but also my own name.

Or I would have, if she didn’t keep calling it out, her voice getting more frantic as she got close to the brink.

I was close to the edge myself when she started squeezing me harder and moaning out her release.

With a curse, I reared up, straightening behind her.

I grabbed her h*ps and started slamming my way home roughly.

She’d collapsed onto her stomach, and I’d followed her down, still inside of her, when she spoke.

“I don’t want to sleep.  I don’t want to miss a second of this.  I know Heath won’t let you stay long.”

I’d been about a second away from passing out cold, but her words woke me right up.

“Fuck Heath,” I growled.  “I’m not leaving without you.  You’re coming home with me.”

CHAPTER FIVE

It was some time later.  We’d showered together, then laid back down on the bed, naked, limbs entangled, when I asked, “Why on earth did he bring me here?  It makes no sense.  He’s clearly bothered by us being together.  What is he to you?”

“I can’t tell you that.  Are you upset that he did?”

“No.  Of course not.  That’s about the only thing I’m not upset about.”

“I’m sorry I can’t give you any answers.  I know you don’t understand why.”

“You know what?  You telling me that you can’t answer is better than all of the lies.”

She pulled back to look me in the eye, nodding solemnly.  “I can understand that.  I’ll try my best to level with you from here on out.”

“It’s just that easy, huh?”

“I don’t know.  It’s going to be an adjustment for me.”

“Clearly,” I said wryly.  “Why don’t we give you a little practice?  How about I try asking you a question, and you actually try giving me an honest answer?”

She looked vaguely uncomfortable at the notion, but she replied with, “Okay.  I’ll give you one, if it’s something I can answer.”

The perfect one came to mind instantly.  “How old are you?”

She grimaced.  It was adorable, and alarming.  “You won’t be happy when I tell you.”

“Happier than I am right now, with you saying a thing like that.  Tell me.”

She took a very deep breath.  “Almost nineteen.”

I felt vaguely ill.  It was too young, still legal, but way beyond my comfort zone.

“What does almost mean?  So you’re eighteen?”

“Yes.”

“And when is your birthday?”

“In around six months.”

“That’s not almost.  Wait, do I even want to know . . . how old were you when we first . . . ?”

“Eighteen.  I knew you were going to ask that.”

Why was twenty-four so much more palatable than eighteen?

After I must have been sitting quietly for a while, mind reeling, basically beating myself up, she spoke again, sounding troubled.  “I knew you’d react like this.  That’s why I didn’t tell you.”

“Didn’t tell me?  Is that what you’re going to call it?  You flat out lied about it, even provided proof for the lie.”

She opened her mouth as though to speak, then closed it again, staying silent.  She just stared at me while I stewed about how ridiculously, uncomprehendingly young she was.

“You realize I’m more than twice your age,” I pointed out, finally breaking a long silence.

“Barely.  And this is why I lied about it.  I knew you’d overreact.  You’re already making me rethink this not lying idea.”

“Clearly you need more practice at it.  Let’s try another one.  Am I older than your dad?”

“No.  You’re quite a bit younger.  Does that make you feel any better?”

“Not particularly.”

“You need to go back with Heath in the morning.”  She was blatantly changing the subject.

She knew well how to work me, because it worked.

“No.  I won’t leave you here.  Not possible.”

“Don’t rile him.” She traced the bruise on my jaw, her eyes troubled.  “He’s a very dangerous man.  You have to go back without me.”

I studied her, wondering if she really didn’t understand me that well.  Sometimes it felt like she knew me better than I knew myself, so it was certainly a new (and demoralizing) notion.