“Oh, you are hungry, aren’t you?”
Her fingers dig into my shoulders as she nods, eyes closed, lips slightly parted, my transgressions momentarily forgotten.
“How hungry?” I ask, slipping my hand under her shirt.
I palm her breast through the thin fabric of her bra, forcing another moan from her mouth.
“Cross…” she whines, and I know she’s starving.
“Lean back, baby.”
She angles her hips in my direction, and I prop her up against the bookcase. I take advantage of her cooperation, leaning in to press a kiss at the base of her throat.
“Just relax,” I whisper. “I’ve got it.”
Her heartbeat thumps beneath my lips, quickening as I slip my hand down her front, past the waistband of her pink sweatpants, and beneath the lacy fabric of her underwear, where I find a smooth swath of warm skin.
She’s shaved.
“That’s new,” I say, running my fingers along her seam and finding her wet.
“You don’t like it?” she asks, breathless.
No, not usually. But Iris has the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen. If anyone could convert me, it’s her.
“I’d have to see it to say for certain.”
She smiles, those sultry almond eyes gazing up at me.
“Next time,” she whispers. “If you’re goo?—”
Her breath hitches as I slide a finger through her wet heat, her words cut off by a sharp inhale.
“Oh, I’m sorry, baby, were you saying something?”
She opens her mouth, then promptly shuts it as I stroke her.
Once, and she shudders, then again, and she rocks forward into my hand, whimpering as I reach a steady rhythm.
She doesn’t argue as I claim control. At one point, she may have, back in the beginning. But I know my way around now.
Feeding Iris is like walking through fire.
There’s an initial urge to try to stamp it out, to smother it somehow, or make the pain more manageable. And when that doesn’t work, because trust me, it won’t, the logical reaction is to try and get it over with as quickly as possible. To rush her, so you can be free of the tender, burning sensation that’s eating you from the inside out.
But I happen to like the way it hurts, and I’ve found it’s best to let her go slow.
Ease her into the fire until she burns up.
“Cross…” She moans as I circle her clit. “Please…I need it.”
“I know, princess, I know.”
I can smell her, and that sweet aroma of milk and honey that wafts from between her legs when she hasn’t fed in a few days. It may be torture for her, but for me, it’s my favorite scent.
It pairs nicely with the warm flavor of her arousal, and even better with the scent of my own. But right now, she’s too needy for all the things I want to do to her. She needs relief, and she needs it quickly.
“Don’t worry,” I tell her, pushing inside. “I’m going to take care of it.”
