The Wild Side (The Wild Side #1)(28)

I slipped the thin white material down to her ni**les, rubbing it back and forth over each hard peak, teasing her into a gasp.  She bit her lip, and I moved closer, pushing my erection into her shoulder as I fondled her roughly.

Her hands covered mine as she squirmed in the chair.

She was just so gloriously responsive to my touch.  A few touches and she was ready, trembling for me.  I couldn’t seem to get over just how much I craved that addictive response.

I moved around her, straddling her in the chair.  I jerked my c**k out, gripping her hair as I pushed the tip against her lips.  They opened for me, her tongue sliding along my length as I worked my way to the back of her throat.  I wanted her pu**y, not her mouth, when I came, but I never got over the sight of her deep throating me.

Years without receiving oral would give anyone some sort of fixation, I thought.

I dragged myself out of her mouth just shy of coming, pulling her up and moving behind her, facing the mirror.  It took her like that, watching my hands fondling her as I took her slowly, standing up and braced against the bathroom sink.

Her knees got too weak to hold her up, and I took her to bed, pushing her face down and pulling her h*ps up as my pace quickened and I rutted in her, earnestly now.

She started gripping me harder with her release, and it sent me over.  I didn’t know what I wanted; I wanted everything, because I pulled out still twitching to come on her ass cheeks, moving up to thrust my twitching c**k into that little groove at the bottom of her spine.

I made a huge mess, and neither of us cared.  I fell asleep still on her back, but I was pretty sure she passed out first.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

We developed a pattern, if you could call it that, over the next few weeks.  Sometimes she’d stay over and sometimes not.  But we spent a lot of time together.  Enough time that I barely got any work done.

I tried to work, several times.  I went into my office, put on my thick black editing glasses, and even opened up the writing program on my computer.  If she wasn’t around, I’d just sit there, in a daze, my mind full of her, where she was right then, the things we’d done, the things I wanted to do when I saw her again, where she lived, why she lied, why I let her and never said a word.

If she were around, she’d inevitably end up knocking on my office door.  I’d tell her to come in. (Because who wouldn’t?)  She’d pop her gorgeous blonde head in and smile.  She’d tell me how handsome I looked in my glasses, or ask me if I wanted her to make lunch.

Once she just came and straddled me where I sat, smiling into my face and told me how my eyes made her melt.

That got to me.  I’d never heard anything like it in my life.  “My eyes?” I asked her, blinking slowly, pulling my glasses off to set them on my desk.

She nodded, using her fingertips to rub against the scruff on my jaw in a way that had it going slack.  “Yes.  Sometimes they’re so brown, and sometimes I think they’re more hazel, but they’re always, always, so warm.  They’re by far your most dangerous weapon, Dair.  When I first met you, I’d have sworn it was your body, but no, I changed my mind.  It’s your eyes.”

I just kept staring at her.  I had no words.  I knew I should be saying something sweet back to her, and I felt it, and wanted to say the right thing, but I just had no inkling what it was.

Something was happening inside of me, something directly related to the way this girl was making me feel, something in the way she was helping me to change, but I had no appropriate words for it yet.

Not even one.

I had lots of the wrong ones, though, so I said those.  “You’re silly,” I told her, and immediately wanted to take it back.

Luckily, she didn’t take offense, in fact, laughed instead.

“Yes, I am.  And that I definitely blame on your body.”

She was so much better than I was at finding appropriate words.  Those ones made my day.  I tried hard to return the favor and make hers.

With my tongue.

The sex with Iris was amazing.  Out of this world.  It never slowed down, not for one day of those short weeks.

But nearly every night she went out by herself.

And often, more and more, actually, I followed her.  It was always to a different place, but for the exact same thing.  I was one hundred percent sure she had a gambling problem, but at the moment it seemed to be making her money.

I wasn’t sure what to do about it.

Sometimes I had myself convinced that this thing between us was real, that we had some profound connection that actually reached across age boundaries.  That I was smitten enough, and she was mature enough, to make this work into something permanent.

I couldn’t analyze that thought process for long, though.  It didn’t hold up against my logical brain’s theory that every sad, lonely old man who had found themselves in this position had told themselves the exact same thing.  There was a reason we did this: Because it felt infinitely better than the truth.

And the fact that she still slipped away, lying to me about her whereabouts, nearly every night, was hardly comforting.

As long as I ignored all the little lies, which I told myself firmly they were, things between us were going very smoothly.

Until every insecurity I had about her seemed to come to a head one morning a few weeks later.