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“This isn’t fair,” he groused. “If you get to feast, I should too. Slide that pussy on over here and plant it on my mouth, I’m starving for you.”
She made a little sound of denial and to his utter devastation lifted her lips from his pulsating penis to say the most absurd thing, “I haven’t showered yet.”
“Neither have I. What the fuck does that matter? I guarantee you’ll still taste as sweet as sugar. Now stop saying ridiculous shit and shimmy on over.”
She hesitated for a split second longer, before thankfully complying. Trystan made a deep sound of satisfaction, when he finally had access to the mauve and pink perfection of her pretty little pussy, and immediately went to work. Using his tongue, lips, and teeth to devour her tender, sensitive flesh.
He kept her on the edge, making it last, taking her to the brink and then bringing her back down. He lost track of how long he worked on her. He was so wholly engrossed in giving her pleasure, he almost forgot about his own.
She moaned, her hips pistoning wildly whenever he did something that she really enjoyed and he lingered in those spots longer, driving her to distraction. She gamely tried to keep sucking his painfully hard, throbbing cock, but she kept losing concentration, and Trystan figured if he ever wanted to get off, he’d have to finish her first.
He relentlessly consumed her spasming, delicious flesh, suckling her distended clit while plunging his fingers into her dripping, hot pussy. He felt her clench around him and hooked his fingers upward, finding the spot his cock had discovered last night, and sending her tumbling wildly over the edge.
She was screaming his name, forming incoherent pleas for mercy, while simultaneously begging God to release her. She was wild and beautiful, and he was fucking awed by her.
When she finally came down from what had—to all intents and purposes—looked, and felt, like an epic orgasm to Trystan, she dropped her head on his thigh, her small body shuddering, while her soft flesh quivered gently against his lips. He continued to kiss her and lap at her, loving the taste of her creamy spend, as he eased her out of it.
She lifted her head and looked back at him.
“I think you literally killed me for a few seconds there,” she said breathlessly, and he grinned. Her hand was still possessively curled around his hard shaft, and she murmured a soft oh as if she’d only just remembered what she’d been doing before.
“Did you forget about my poor, neglected cock, baby?” he asked with a laugh. “I don’t know if my ego can stand that.”
“Please, I’m sure your ego will survive,” she said with a scoffing little laugh. “If your insufferable little smirk is anything to go by, you know that you just rocked my world.”
“Only fair, since you’ve been rocking mine from the moment you showed up on my doorstep, so—” She shut him up by taking him deep into her mouth and he groaned in helpless pleasure, his head dropping back on the pillow.
She was as ruthless and relentless as he’d been and by the time she eventually swallowed down every last drop he had to offer, Trystan was a wreck who barely knew his own name. Afterwards, as he gathered her close, he knew he was so far gone for this woman he would never be able to let her go.
Four days later, Iris was writing in the solarium, her feet propped on Trystan’s lap while he read a John Grisham novel. His free hand was idly playing with her toes while he read. Luna was sprawled on the floor next to the couch, contentedly snoring away.
It was a comfortable and domestic routine that they’d fallen into these last few days. They made love every night—Trystan had thankfully found a box of condoms in one of the rooms in the Hollingsworths’ private section—they made breakfast together in the mornings and walked Luna after the meal, exploring their beautiful surroundings. It hadn’t rained since the night she’d fled into the storm, and every day—while still cold, and often blustery—revealed more and more of the beauty and appeal of this place.
After their walk they usually retreated to the solarium where she would write and he would read. They often sat close to each other, petting, touching, stroking… as if it was unbearable to be apart and without physical contact for too long.
Trystan’s phone rang. Sadly they’d never found Iris’s, even though they looked for it every day on their walks. The sound of the ringing phone was so rare—he usually only received texts or emails—and so intrusive that Iris’s head shot up in surprise.
Trystan set the book face down on his lap and picked his device up from the side table. He stared at the screen then his face lit up with a grin as he swiped to answer.
“Dazza, mate! How the fuck have you been?”
“Tryst, nice to see you’re still alive, you wanker.” The voice coming from the speaker had a broad Australian accent. “I thought we’d lost you to the wilds of South Africa. I heard the weather has been fucking dire in your part of the world.”
“Yeah, we’ve had some major storms, been cut off, spotty Wi-Fi, y’know the deal.” Interestingly, Trystan’s accent thickened while he spoke to his friend. He looked up from the screen and noticed Iris’s attentive expression and his grin widened. “Hey, Daz, you wanna meet my girl?”
Iris’s eyes widened and she frantically shook her head and mouthed no. She was wearing one of his hoodies, which was miles too big for her, and her hair was a mess as usual. She self-consciously patted at her curls and shook her head again, more adamantly this time.
“Girl? What fucking girl, Tryst? You went up there alone and you’ve been cut off. Have you lost your marbles out there in the isolated wild, mate?” There was genuine concern in the man’s voice.
“Iris, say hi to Dazza,” Trystan said, his grin huge and beautiful, and Iris narrowed her eyes at him, promising him swift retribution, before plastering a smile onto her own lips just moments before he swung the phone around to face her. She stared into the startled face of an attractive brown haired man about Trystan’s age, his jaw covered in light brown scruff, his blue eyes wide in surprise.
“Oh hey, so you’re an actual woman.”
Iris burst into laughter at the trivial observation.
“Hi, yes, my name’s Iris. I’m happy to meet you.”
“Yeah, I’m Darryl… how the fuck are you there? When I spoke to that wanker last he was all alone, with a storm bearing down on him.”
