Her lips curve as she tilts her head. “Thepleasurewas all mine.” And then she winks.
Fucking winks.Like our time in bed was nothing but the casual thing I told her I wanted it to be.
“Right,” I say, not knowing what to do, so I just nod and walk out, fuming, for reasons I don’t want to examine too closely.
I stab the lift button three times, and then when the fucking thing takes forever to get there, I stab it three times again.
It doesn’t make the lift get there any faster, and my temper has not calmed the slightest when Iris joins me, standing slightly behind me.
Even though I can’t see her, I know it’s her because of how my body, especially my cock, stands at instant attention, and because of that light floral scent in the air.
I’m going to need housekeeping to change my sheets or I’m going to go fucking bonkers having to smell that on the pillow next to me tonight.
“So,” she says slowly, stretching the word into three syllables. “Elevator not cooperating?”
“Lift,” I sullenly mumble, like a pouty five-year-old.
“Pardon?”
“It’s called a lift,” I say, louder, still not turning around.
“Oh, okay,” she says, and then repeats, “lift,” in a fake British accent that’s so ludicrously posh I bark out an involuntary laugh.
I turn around and the sweet smile she gives me stabs my chest. “Hey,” I say.
“Hey, right back at you.”
And that’s when the fucking lift arrives, so I grab her hand and we walk into it together.
The elevator doors slide shut with a soft, final hiss, sealing us inside the mirrored cage. Her linen dress has a deep v-plunge in front, and a lone drop of sweat glides down her cleavage. Iris notices me watching it. Her green eyes widen and her chest lifts as she draws in a deep breath. Under the fabric, her nipples pucker.
I don’t ask permission. I just pull her closer and claim her lips, pushing my tongue deep into her mouth. Wanting to punishher for…I don’t know what…or maybe I just need to put my mark on her again. To claim her.
Her tongue dances with mine, meeting me thrust for thrust, as she groans deep in her throat.
I press her back against the mirrored wall. The cold glass makes her gasp, makes those perfect tits rise and fall faster. The sweet floral scent grows stronger, and underneath that is the unmistakable scent of her arousal.
“I can’t get enough of you,” I tell her, voice low. “I need my cock in your cunt, again. Tell me that’s what you want, too.”
She nods, lips parted. “Yes.”
I trace her jaw with a knuckle, down her throat, and encircle her neck with my fingers. “Tell me,” I demand.
“I want your dick in my pussy,” she whispers.
I smile at her deliberate choice of American terms, a dig at my earlier sullenness, but I’ll let her get away with it. This time. “Good girl.”
The words land like a spark on dry tinder. Her pupils blow wide. I don’t waste time. I crush my mouth to hers again. My tongue pushes past soft lips to taste heat and a lingering of the coffee she had with breakfast. She moans into me, fingers clutching my shirt, and I bite her lower lip until she whimpers, just like last night. My girl likes a bit of pain with her pleasure. Another sign that she’s perfect for me.
I spin her so she faces the mirrored wall, her palms slapping flat against the glass. Her reflection stares back at us both. Her flushed cheeks, swollen mouth, and eyes glassy with want. I yank her short dress up past her tits and pull her bra cups down. Her full tits are on display and those delicious dusky nipples stand at attention, peaked and begging.
I palm them roughly, thumbs flicking those tight buds. She arches, pushing her ass back against my cock, which is already straining painfully against my jeans.
“I don’t like you wearing knickers.” I murmur, sliding one hand down the curve of her waist, over the flare of her hips where I grab the fabric and tear. The sharp sound is loud against the quiet hum of the elevator.
Her knickers fall to the floor.
“You’re hard on my underwear supply,” she whispers.
