“Yes, sir.”
I’m buzzing. This is so fucking hot. “That’s it,” I whisper, gripping Iris’s hips and guiding her into perfect position aboard my face. With a soft sigh, she settles onto me, and what follows is a tongue-fucking so voracious and uninhibited, it quickly slingshots Iris to the very brink of ecstasy. In short order, she lets out a whimper that’s so tortured, in fact, I know it’s time to level up and shove her over the edge. I squeeze her ass cheek twice, and a few seconds later, the low purr of the vibe melds with the sounds of Iris’s delicious torture.
Soon, I’m so blissed out underneath Iris, the entire bungalow could burn to the ground around me and I’m sure I wouldn’t notice. Finally, when I’m hurtling toward the limits of my ownself-control, Iris shrieks and shudders above me, and her body lets loose a squirting, writhing, screaming climax atop my face.
Practically hyperventilating, I guide her off me and onto her back. And when I’ve got her splayed out deliciously before me like a buffet meal, I voraciously lick up every sweet drop of my trophy from her pussy and thighs. Before this week is done, I’m going to make Iris squirt again—and even more forcefully than this. Only, next time, while my cock is buried deep inside her.
“Get on your hands and knees,” I bark out, after Iris’s groans have subsided and I’ve licked every inch of sweetness off her most intimate flesh. As she complies, I cover my length faster than I’ve ever performed the feat and plunge myself all the way inside her warm, wet tightness with one beastly thrust that makes both of us growl with relief and excitement.
I don’t take her gently this time. I’m not gyrating with finesse. No, I’m railing this woman. Scrambling her insides, exactly like she said she wanted while dressed in pretty, perfect white. And Iris is reacting with primal sounds that tell me she’s enjoying the ride as much as I am.
“Harder,” Iris chokes out. “Harder, Roman.”
There’s no such thing. This is as hard as it gets. But I certainly appreciate the sentiment.
I’m seeing stars from pleasure, but I keep fucking her mercilessly. When I’m done with her, she won’t be able to imagine fucking someone else. Not in Hawaii. Not in Denver. Not anywhere, ever again. It’s not fair of me to want to ruin this poor girl for anyone else, given that I don’t intend to see her again after we leave this temporary paradise, but in this moment, I don’t give a shit about fairness. My body is taking what it wants and acting on instinct.
I reach around and fondle her swollen bud as I fuck her into oblivion, and pretty soon, I get what I’m after: Iris’s orgasm, accompanied by a scream of ecstasy that’s so unhinged, itsounds like she’s birthing a demon. Is this what they call seeing God? Because I think I finally understand the expression.
As my body releases, I crumple over Iris’s sweaty body, quaking and gasping for air, before eventually turning her over onto her back. When I see her face, she looks euphoric, in the true sense of the word. She looks physically high.
“That was better than any drug,” she purrs softly. “Not that I’d know, honestly.”
She makes me feel like a god among men. Invincible. Powerful. Immortal.And without knowing my name.Is this what Marco was talking about when he said Nicola makes him feel like he can do anything? I feel this way after playing a particularly good game, of course. On those rare occasions when I’ve gained monstrous passing yards and delivered an epic beatdown. But I’ve never once felt this particular sensation in a situation like this. Truly, the high Iris gives me feels like a once-in-a-lifetime sort of thing—the same kind Marco always talks about having with Nicola.
Jesus, Roman.Stop it.You’ve known this woman for a day, and this is a simple vacation fling with no possibility of becoming more. It’s batshit crazy to even think about comparing your chemistry with Iris to whatever Marco feels with Nicola. Hiswife.
“I’d sure love a cocktail about now,” Iris says flirtatiously.
I grimace. “I left the ice bucket on the beach.”
“What? How?”
“I took it out there while I was talking to my business partner and forgot it.”
Iris makes a joke comparing the “poor ice bucket” to Wilson, the volleyball fromCastaway,and I can’t help laughing along with her. It’s not all that funny a joke, objectively, but whenever Iris gets going, I can’t help losing it, too.
“I was gonna find an ice machine after my call,” I try to explain, still laughing. “But then I forgot all about it.”
Iris lays her palm on my bare chest. “It’s okay. It just means you’re not perfect after all. What a relief.”
With a huge grin, I kiss the top of her head. I can’t believe this is all happening withoutIris knowing who I am. I feel like a kid on Christmas. “Hey, when’s your flight home?”
She cocks her head. “Sunday morning.”
“Mine, too.” My heart flutters. Iris has said multiple times she’s here for the whole week, but it’s a relief to get confirmation her timing precisely matches mine. I would have been bummed to have to say goodbye to her a single day earlier than my own flight to LA. “I’m having a blast with you,” I admit, looking into her earnest blue eyes.
“I’m having a blast with you, too. The best time ever.”
My stomach tightens as I suppress the ridiculous urge to ask Iris about her work schedule back home. Would she feel open to traveling on weekends now and again if her expenses were fully covered by me?
No, Roman. What the fuck? You can’t ask her that without admitting you’re not a gym owner in Delaware, remember? And you don’t have time for her, regardless. So, stop.
I slide my finger over that gorgeous curve in Iris’s hip again. “I feel like I should mention ... I’ve got some major moving parts in my life right now, so this week in paradise is all I can possibly offer to you.”
Iris looks incredulous. “I thought you said people flinging don’t talk about the fling.”
“Well, yeah.” I clear my throat. “Things are going really well, though, so I figured maybe I should clarify things anyway. Just, you know, to keep things crystal clear. For both of us. So nobody gets hurt.”
