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Iris waited. Wondering if he would follow through.
“I’m sorry.”
“For?”
“Every goddamned thing.”
“I think,” she mused, shoving her hands into her hoodie’s front pocket. “I’m going to need specifics.”
“Fuck.” The word emerged on a sigh, and he stepped toward her, crowding her. But Iris refused to back down, standing her ground, and waiting.
“I’m sorry for sending you back out into the storm that first night,” he said. “And I’m so fucking sorry for locking you in that room when I knew full well who you were. I was being a bastard and I had no excuse, other than that I didn’t want to deal with a nosy reporter in my space. And I’m sorry for continuing to do so, even after discovering that I enjoyed your company and that you weren’t what I thought you would be.
“I was wrong. I was a fucking prick. And I’m ashamed of myself for not believing you when you told me about your phobia. I’ll never forget the horror I felt when I realized what I’d driven you to. You scared fucking years off my life and I never want to feel like that again.”
As apologies went it was pretty good and a lot more comprehensive than she’d been expecting.
“I know you said you’d be unable to forgive me for all that I’ve done, but you deserve an apology regardless. I fucked up. I know I did. And if I had it to do all over again, knowing what I now know, I’d change so fucking much.”
“What do you now know?” Her question was a whisper and he shifted infinitesimally closer to her, leaving mere inches between his big body and hers.
“I know that I look at you and I fucking ache to do this,” he admitted hoarsely, lifting his hands to cup her face. She loved it when he did that—it made her feel cared for, cherished… Weak with longing. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and his blazing eyes fell to her lips. “And this…”
The last word was muffled as he lowered his lips to hers, capturing her soft oh in the sweetest, gentlest of kisses.
It was exploratory, uncertain, not at all the type of kiss she would’ve expected from a confident, sexy man like Trystan Abbott, but she appreciated it because she recognized the question in the embrace. He was waiting for her permission to take it further.
And Iris, curious to discover more, parted her lips slightly, and flicked her tongue over the sensual curve of his lower lip.
He groaned, the small gesture from her emboldening him. One of his hands dropped to her waist and he tugged her closer, until she was pressed against him, his erection throbbing against her stomach. His tongue surged into her mouth, a living flame, setting everything in its path on fire.
The bristles of his beard abraded her face, and Iris wasn’t sure if she liked it or not. It wasn’t unpleasant, just unfamiliar, and as he deepened the kiss she forgot about the curious sensation, and went up onto her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck.
He made an urgent, muffled sound against her mouth and, before she knew it, his other hand was at her waist as well and he’d hoisted her off her feet.
She wrapped her legs around his waist and he made a deep sound of satisfaction before carrying her to the bed. He propped a hand on the mattress before planting a knee on the bed and lowering Iris onto her back.
He was braced above her, his weight supported by that one hand and knee, his mouth still devouring hers with the single-minded focus of a man who’d been starving for weeks.
Her legs remained wrapped around his waist and when he brought his other knee up onto the bed, he lowered himself until his hardness was grinding against her aching core.
Iris couldn’t find her breath and her hands moved from where they’d been entangled in the long, silky hair at the nape of his neck, downward toward his hard thrusting behind. Her fingers dug into the taut muscles she found there as she tried to guide his movements, frantically pulling him against her as she pushed her aching pussy up against his hard, hot cock.
She dragged her mouth away from his, uttering wordless, incoherent little pleas.
A small rational part of her brain was reeling in shock. This was too fast. It usually took Iris a while to even get close to an orgasm, but here she was, on the brink of coming after one kiss and some frantic dry humping. And that with a man with whom she was mostly still pissed off. She didn’t understand what was going on with her. This was completely uncharacteristic behavior for her.
If she’d been capable of rational thought perhaps she’d be embarrassed, but right now she didn’t care about how she should feel, not when she was so entirely focused on how she was feeling.
“Fuck… Iris,” Trystan’s voice was breathless and he sounded shaken to his core, as he continued to thrust against her.
It wasn’t satisfying either of them. The position was wrong, they weren’t getting enough traction, and they had way too many layers between them.
He fumbled with his pants, dragging them down past his narrow hips, and she helped him, pushing at them until his cock was free, stiff and throbbing between them.
He went to work on her leggings next, dragging them and her panties down to her knees.
“Is this okay? Are you okay?” he asked urgently. Breathlessly.
