Iris (The Wild Side)(11)

“Shove them to the side, and rub your clit,” I ordered raggedly.
Some gasping on her end told me she was obeying.
“Send me a picture,” I tried.
“I can’t. This isn’t my phone. That would be . . . a very bad idea, but I wish I could. Are you touching yourself?”
I grunted an affirmative, fisting the middle of my shaft, then slowly rubbing up and down.
“I want you inside of me,” she breathed. “Bare. It’s all I can think about.”
I squeezed at my base until fluid beaded out from my tip. “I want that. I’m going to f*ck you bareback the next time I see you. I don’t care where we are.”
I kept jerking my cock, pumping at it hard. I was going to come, and fast.
“I have two fingers inside of me, but it’s not enough. I need that big, thick cock of yours, Dair. And your mouth. God, I miss your mouth all over me. And your hands.” She paused, her breath growing more ragged. “I’m using a dildo on myself now. My fingers weren’t enough.”
I pictured her using a toy on herself, slapping noises filling the room as I yanked hard at my cock
“God, Dair, I can hear that. It’s driving me wild. Tell me what you’re doing with your hands right now.”
“Jerking off,” I said through gritted teeth.
She was clearly better at this than I was.
She didn’t seem to mind, crying out into the phone as she got herself off.
I shot my load into the air, not bothering to try to catch it.
“I need your cunt,” I growled into her ear as I came down.
“Yes,” she gasped, still out of breath. “It’s yours, and you’ll have it soon, baby—” she broke off suddenly, and I heard a muffled voice on her end.
A deep, male voice.
Someone talking to her from outside of the bathroom?
I could only hope. There was no good scenario here, but that was the better one.
“Iris,” I said, voice tight.
“I’ll see you soon,” she whispered back.
The line went dead.
I was so angry that I threw my phone against the wall.

Four more days passed, and each one added to my frustrated rage.
I picked up a new phone, since I’d shattered my old one, and spent a lot of time at home, canceling any plans I had that involved venturing outside.
Foolish as it was, I was hoping she’d come to my house. If I saw her again, I needed it to be private.
It was three in the morning when she finally came.
I came to the door shirtless and sweating from another body punishing workout.
Against all odds, I’d been waiting for her.
She was wearing that little white dress. The one from the stair incident, nearly three months ago.
I didn’t touch her, just took her in as I stepped back and waved her through the door.
She swallowed, and I watched her slender throat work with the action.
My eyes ran down her body like hungry hands.
“Take off your dress,” I told her hoarsely, shutting the door.
She didn’t hesitate.
She toed off her white flip-flops, and tossed her big yellow bag aside, shrugging the dress over her head.
She met my eyes steadily, wearing nothing but little neon pink panties, the up-tilted globes of her breasts swaying with her heavy breaths.
“My room,” I told her, feeling the rough beast of my need take hold of me with an iron grip.
My inner mouth-breather had taken over.
I beat it back, with an effort.
She started walking, me right on her heels, close enough to have my face in biting distance of her ass as she made her way up the steps.
I restrained the urge. I was determined to stay in control here.
I had no intention of rushing this first desperate mating. Oh no, I was far past that.
I’d felt the need to rush two weeks ago.
Now my need had gone into another realm completely.
A realm where what drove me as much as my own desire was a necessity to share it.
She was not as desperate as I was, or she wouldn’t have taken so f*cking long to come back.
But she would be.
I was determined to make it so.
Under my hands, she was going to experience the torment I’d been subjected to these long weeks, these agonizing months of waiting.
I laid her trembling body out on my bed, everything stripped off her but that tiny triangle of neon covering the even tinier thatch of blonde between her thighs.
That I used to tease her, using one blunt nail, starting just above and to the right of her sex, drawing the material over my finger, and agonizingly slowly, dragging it over, exposing her leisurely.
Each of her gasping groans was a sop to my aching body, sinking into me deliciously.
I slid that wisp of mesh to the side, dragging it over her folds, until I’d pushed it aside, and my finger rested at the deep crease where her inner thigh met her groin.
I held it there for a beat, then another, watching her squirm, waiting for her to plead.
I didn’t have to wait long.
I played her body until it coiled so tight with the tension that she vibrated with it.
She pleaded.
She begged.
She cried my name and clawed the sheets before I was through.
I didn’t even need to lay a finger on her at first, just teased her with that scrap of cloth, dragging it back and forth, rubbing it over her clit as she squirmed and begged for my hands, my touch.
“Knead your breasts,” I told her in response. I’d let her have her own hands, but not mine, not yet.
She did, groaning in relief as she felt at her own flesh.
I stopped teasing her to watch.
“Don’t stop,” she pleaded.
I ignored that, watching as her small hands rolled her large breasts in restless circles, pressing them together, rubbing, pinching at her nipples.