Iris (The Wild Side)(5)

“I’ve reread all of your books over the last few months.”
That drew me a bit out of my lust haze.
Her wording . . . It was off.
Reread implied she’d read them before, though I knew she hadn’t read them all before she’d left me.
“Are you saying you’d read my books before that? As in, before you met me?”
She glanced at me, her eyes amused but steady. “Would that bother you, Dair? Do you think I’m some crazy fan that’s been stalking you? Your tone tells me that you’d take that as something sinister. You think you and I are, what, the erotic version of Misery?”
She was too young to be so well referenced, but that was beside the point.
“You said before that you hadn’t read my books. I recall you were working on the first one. For the first time.”
“I never said that. You may have taken it that way, but I never said it. I said I was a hundred pages in, but I never specified that it was my first time reading it.”
“It was implied.”
“Perhaps. Does it matter? Back to my rereads. Something stood out to me. Well, something has always stood out to me, something about the way you write women.”
I tugged her hand to make her stop walking.
She really thought I was going to drop this at a subject change?
I needed some honest answers from her—for once.
“You still haven’t answered. Had you read my books before we met?”
She smirked, moving close. “Dair, I swear you always want to know the least interesting things about me. But I’ll give you the truth on this one. I started reading your books when I was thirteen, and I’ve read them all. Many times. There’s your answer. Now back to what I was saying. This has always, always fascinated me. In your books, the way you write your male/female dynamic, the women always hold all of the power. They always call the shots in the relationships. Why is that?”
My mind was a whirlwind of confused chaos at her revelation, but she’d managed to fascinate me with her question, which was just so Iris.
“Men are ruled by passion,” I told her. It was an easy answer, one I’d thought about before. “Women are more romantic, sure, but men are controlled by our desires, we’re slaves to it. I write women that hold all of the power, because you do. And if you don’t, you either don’t want to, or you’re doing it wrong.”
She seemed pleased by that answer, though I’d be damned if I knew why.
She must have known that already.
If there was any woman alive that could turn a man’s brain to putty with just one look, it was Iris.







CHAPTER THREE

I backed her into the nearest wall, pressing hard against her. She’d grown so quiet, and my need to feel her had been growing with every silent second.
Literally.
I took her mouth, took command, control of the moment, the way I’d needed to since I’d set eyes on her again.
There’d be no pulling back, no stopping now.
All of my questions could be put off, certainly her non-answers could.
My tongue invaded her mouth, and hers melted against it, as she submitted, every part of her softening against me, into me.
I tasted her and she sucked at my driving tongue.
I nestled my hardness against her, forcing her long legs to shift open, until I was rubbing myself unabashedly against her mound.
I fondled her soft tits, first over her clothes, then inside, one unruly hand plunging down her shirt, palming that perfect flesh.
I groaned and ran a hand down to the hem of her skirt, sliding it up the outside of her silky thigh to grip her ass.
I held her in place and rocked against her, mouth still unrelenting on hers, invading her mouth.
She took it, her soft body accepting mine without question or hesitation.
I was on the brink of embarrassing myself when I tore my mouth away.
“Let’s go back to my place,” I finally said. I’d been patient enough, and it seemed appropriate, since I was full on groping her in public, and about a second from coming.
“Please,” I added, playing as nice as I could stand.
I thought briefly about how I wished I’d brought a bigger car, because I wasn’t likely to last the drive home, and I didn’t particularly want to find out how cramped it was to f*ck in the backseat of a Tesla.
Her jaw slack, eyes closed, she shook her head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
I shook my head, my mind too slow, too focused on other things to comprehend her answer. My hand was still in her shirt, stretching her bra to cup one ripe breast while my thumb rubbed back and forth over her hardened nipple. The other was still up her dress, her firm, bare ass cupped in my hand.
I moved my mouth along her jaw, down her neck, and all sense of public decency lost, I nuzzled into her cleavage, her warm, quivering breasts welcoming me as she arched with a moan.
Why wasn’t there a f*cking alley nearby? I wondered.
Fucking Vegas, with its strip malls, all the buildings connected, no alleys in sight.
It was f*cking inconvenient in the extreme.
I nosed her shirt aside, sucking at her crested nipple through the filmy material of her useless bra, nudging my erection insistently against her giving flesh with every draw.
I’d lost it. Lost all sense of place or public decency.
Lost it with all rational thought.
Because I was f*cking out of my mind with lust.
I took my mouth away from her skin again, panting hard, still keeping my hands full of her, hard-on still raging against her, a second away from exploding.
“We need to go somewhere private,” I told her firmly, my tone gone beyond polite and brooking no refusal. “Now.”