“Yeah, baby. Clamp down on that cock. Milk me dry, baby.” I give her braid a hard tug to punctuate my words. “Come on now.”
Iris pants and moans, but finally she finds her words—and the words she uses take me by surprise.
“Grab my neck, Micah.”
That almost stops me in my tracks. Almost.
“You want me to choke you?”
She tries to shake her head, but my grip on her hair is too tight for much movement. “No. Just grab it.”
Without missing a beat, I release her hip and lean forward to wrap my fingers around the front of her slender neck. I don’t apply pressure, but it seems to be enough for Iris. She shudders and sighs, and I feel her walls tighten around me.
Mental note: Iris likes hand necklaces.
The new angle allows me to dive even deeper, and Iris screams as I buck through my own orgasm. I empty into her with short, hard pumps, and when I pull out a bit of cum drips from her swollen pussy. I let go of her neck and swipe my fingers through the mess, pushing it back inside her. Iris jerks when I brush her clit in the process, and I drop her braid to rub her back.
“It’s okay, baby. I’m just cleaning you up.”
Iris chuckles. “I think I’m going to need a shower, anyway; it feels like there’s mayo on my tit.”
I help her stand, and sure enough a large glob of mayonnaise is smeared onto her breast—probably spilled on the counter when we were fixing our sandwiches, and neither of us noticed. I reach for a paper towel to wipe it off but stop when Iris’s knees start to buckle. I grab her instead to keep her from falling. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” she says, a little breathless. “I think I locked my knees too long there. Now they don’t want to hold me up.”
“I’ve got you.”
Picking Iris up, I carry her upstairs to the master bathroom. It’s late, but she mentioned wanting a shower. By the time I set her down, her legs seem to have regained their function. She wobbles a bit, but she’s able to stand on her own.
Iris finishes removing her clothes and steps into the shower. I move to join her, but she flashes me a sly grin and shuts the door.
“Uh-uh! You made a mess downstairs. Go clean up the kitchen, and I’ll meet you in bed.”
Well, I guess I’ve been dismissed. I grin back and go to get the sandwich makings off the kitchen floor. The last thing I need is an ant infestation or something. Imagine Karen’s face when the exterminators pull up in her fancy neighborhood!
I have to throw out the tomatoes, but the rest of the food stayed in its containers. Only a little bit of mayo was sacrificed to our hormones, and I get it cleaned up pretty quickly. Within minutes, the kitchen sparkles. I pocket my phone and go to turn out the light when I notice Iris’s phone lying on the island. I pick it up for her, and the lock screen flashes to life. I don’t unlock it, but I do notice that the image has changed since I last held the device.
There’s something about the fact that Iris has a photo of me and Hailey napping together that warms my heart. From the looks of it, she snapped it this evening in the living room before waking me up. I still have Hailey in one arm and the picture book in the other.
When I get back to the bedroom, Iris is already tucked in for the night. She has the blankets pulled up to her waist, and I see that she opted to steal one of my shirts to sleep in.
World’s Okayest Dad.
It’s quickly becoming my favorite shirt.
Chapter 29
Iris
The flashbulbs of dozens of cameras blind me, and I squint against the bright lights. Janie stands beside me, with Mr. Jones and Oliver behind us. Micah and Hailey are safe inside the house, though a part of me wishes I had him physically out here to support me.
Janie set the conference up for right outside Micah’s house, an odd choice to me, but she said that portraying Micah as a family man would help matters.
I may have played it off for Micah’s benefit, but in reality press conferences unnerve me. You never know what questions the reporters will come up with. I fight the urge to wring my hands or bite my lip. Though that might make me seem a more believable victim in all this, nervous habits won’t necessarily endear me to the crowd, and they might even backfire. Janie explained this morning that any hesitation or visible anxiety on my part might be construed as lying. Better to be calm, collected, and direct.
A few quiet tears might not be too bad, though, if I can swing it.
Across the street, behind all the media vans, stands a gaggle of neighbors. Karen’s got murder in her eyes, and I wonder what it took on Janie’s part to get her to agree to this circus. I hate that any of these reporters could easily question her about Micah and me, but Janie’s one of the best; she knows what she’s doing, so if she says a home press conference is best, then that’s what I’ll do.
