He handed her into his car and ensured her seat belt was fastened, tossing his bag into the backseat before getting into the driver’s side. She curled up on the leather and rested her cheek against the seat, her calm, sated blue eyes watching him.
“Are you cold, Iris?”
“No. Although I don’t seem to have any underwear on.”
“I have them. I just couldn’t bear to cover that lovely little pussy.”
“I need panties to go back to my hotel, Georgios.” There was now an assertive note in Iris’s voice, and George recognized that this was one of those limits he wouldn’t be able to push. It was okay. He didn’t want to dominate her in all things, just in the bedroom and at the club, and he certainly wanted to take care of her.
“You will have them.”
“Good.”
He hid a smile and pulled out into traffic. When he next looked over, she was asleep again. He hoped she would rest well because he badly wanted to take her again, if not when they reached his house, then when they rose. The drive went quickly because traffic was sparse at this time, and Iris stirred as soon as he pulled up in front of the house. He never really liked the place, but Jane had, so they’d purchased it. If Iris didn’t like it, he would sell and find somewhere she’d approve of. He planned to indulge her in so many ways.
“We’re here?” Her sleepy voice gave over to a wide yawn barely covered by her little fist.
“I’ll come around and let you out.” George snagged his duffel and went around to open her door. She slipped out and stepped into him. It was awkward, but he embraced her and somehow kicked the door shut and maneuvered the bag to get her up the walkway. She stayed close while he unlocked the door and ushered her inside, dropping his duffel as he did so in order to disarm the security system. He’d need to clean his toys, but Iris was more important. He hurried her through the living area, turning on another light to add to the one on a timer. She was almost sleepwalking by the time he got her into his bedroom, navigating by the transient light from the other room. He snapped on the bedside lamp, threw back the covers on his bed with one hand and divested Iris of her little dress with the other. She slid into place in his bed in one graceful movement and dropped into slumber in the next instant. George stood, transfixed, at the rightness of it. He’d brought his woman home, sated and totally done in, and now he would carefully enjoy the fact. He tucked the coverlet around her shoulders and pulled a tendril of hair from across her lips where every deep breath made it dance in place. He’d clean up his toys and call it a night. He couldn’t remember when he’d felt so perfectly complete, and something else. George searched his mind for something to describe the feeling. Ah, that was it. He was happy.
* * * *
He drifted on the edge of sleep, vaguely aware of it being far later in the day than he would normally remain in bed. The gentle glide of fingertips and what could only be the whisper of long hair coasted over his chest. George opened his eyes to see Iris crouching beside him, gloriously naked, her small, firm breasts with their tight pink nipples first catching his attention. Her legs were folded under her, and he couldn’t see her pussy under the smoothness of her belly, but the curve of one fine buttock was apparent. She leaned over and traced one of his nipples with her tongue, and he reached for her, but she pulled back immediately.
“No. Please, Georgios. I want to touch you.”
His cock, already engorged as morning wood, filled even more and tented the sheets. Her gaze left his to drop to the evidence of his arousal, and she smiled at him sweetly. George dropped his arms to his sides, and she pulled the sheet away, little by little, dragging against his erection. He bit back a groan. She ran her hands over his chest and abdomen before moving lower, skirting his cock to stroke his thighs.
“Do not tease me, wench.”
“Ah, but we aren’t in the club now, Georgios. And surely you don’t want to dominate me all the time?”
He fixed her with a dominant stare, but she looked back at him, serene and confident. He couldn’t deny her.
“All right, sweet one, but you can expect me to remember this. I am in charge in the bedroom.”
She laughed. “Threats, sir?”
Before he could come up with a suitable response, she straddled his hips and began to lick him, starting at his throat, nuzzling and nipping him intermittently. Georgios tried hard not to flinch away and willed his cock under control. The silk of her thighs and damp heat of her core as she slid down his body made him groan, and he willingly gave voice to it. He wouldn’t hide from Iris. He suffered the increasing arousal with as much grace as he could muster as she worked her way down to his cock, making little throaty sounds of satisfaction. He wasn’t prepared for the hot liquid of her mouth as she engulfed him and involuntarily lifted his hips to shove to the back of her throat. She met him thrust for thrust and her cheeks hollowed with her efforts, her tongue making sneaky little forays against the underside and the V at the head. George bit the inside of his cheek to hold off his orgasm. He wanted to spill himself inside of her and reached blindly to the bedside table to snatch up the condom he’d placed there the night before. He wrapped his other hand in her hair and pulled her off his greedy cock, nearly throwing her onto her back. He smiled at her startled shriek as she came to rest with her legs sprawled and her nice little pussy bared to his gaze. He was too far gone to taste her, and his hands trembled in his haste to sheath himself.
Then he was on her, weighing her down, holding her immobile with his superior strength. He stared down in her eyes and notched his cock at her wet opening. He pushed inside slowly, an inch at a time, watching her face as she accepted him. When he was seated as deeply as he could go, she smiled at him and reached up to stroke his cheek. The gentle touch nearly undid him, and he twisted his head to press a kiss onto the palm of her hand.
“Fuck me, Georgios. I need you so badly.”
They moved together in the age-old rhythm of couples from the beginning of time, except this was their beginning. Their bodies slipped and slid against one another, making succulent noises. Georgios concentrated on the textures and sensations of her tight channel as he worked his straining cock hard inside of her. He swiveled his hips to find her G-spot, and the ensuing rush of fluid nearly scalded him through the latex he wore. Her face became taut, and she gasped for air, her sheath trembling around him. He couldn’t last and reached between them to find and pinch her clit. She called his name just as he’d fantasized, and he followed her into release. His accompanying moan filled the room.
George pulled her along with him as he maneuvered to her side and they caught their breath. He could feel his own heartbeat in his temples and knew Iris’s was hammering away in her chest, the pulse in her throat fluttering madly. When he had enough energy, he kissed her, and she responded sweetly. He loved this woman. There, he’d said it. Now he needed to take the risk and say it out loud, to her. Soon.
Iris wiggled from his arms, and his drained cock slipped from her to lie despondent against his thigh. She headed straight into the attached bathroom, and George realized she’d already found it earlier while he slept. He stretched before grabbing a tissue to dispose of the condom. He hesitated as his hand encountered an unusual amount of wetness. Shit. The latex had failed.
George found he wasn’t at all bothered by the idea of Iris growing round with his child. He never thought about children before, certainly not with Jane, but he could see Iris as the mother of his kids. She might not think along the same lines about being pregnant, however, and he straightened his shoulders as he faced that fact. He made his way into the bathroom to tell her about the faulty condom, only to forget about that issue when confronted by the sight of Iris in his large, glassed-in shower stall. She looked like a slender Venus rising from the sea, a nearly perfect rendition of the painting in his parents’ home. Her hair flowed like dark, golden syrup down her back as she turned her face into the spray. She was all slender lines, like a cheetah, long, lean legs and th
ose small, high breasts with their perky nipples. It made the bounty of her round ass all the more wondrous. George felt his cock fill again. Perhaps he could have her in the shower before telling her the news. It might make hearing it less upsetting.
He strode to the vanity and grabbed and opened another condom, first holding it up to the light to examine it for any flaws, then rolled it on over his anxious cock. He pulled the shower door open just enough to slip inside and fit himself against her back, smiling as she jumped at the contact. He reached up to cup her breasts and pinch the nipples.
“No, Georgios. You can’t mean for us to do it again!” Iris wiggled her buttocks against his erection even as she protested.
“Ah, but I do, sweet one.”
He walked her toward the wall under the showerhead where a little lip of tile would put her at just the right height. She stepped up, and her hands flattened against the tile to support herself. George pulled her hips back toward him and pushed into her slick, welcoming heat, the water streaming down around them, cocooning them in its warmth. He powered in and out, his belly slapping against her buttocks. She was tighter in this position, and he thrust harder, reaching to put an arm around her belly to support her back. As his spine heated and his balls boiled, he found her little clit and rubbed hard. She climaxed and raised high on her toes, forcing his cock to drag forward and give up its seed as her snug pussy milked him hard.
He relished the sensation before pulling out. He stepped back and saw her shoulders heaving. His gut clenched. He’d hurt her! “God, sweet one. I’m sorry. I just needed you. Again. I didn’t mean to hurt you!”
She turned into his arms, and behind the droplets of water on her face, he saw unbridled glee. “You didn’t hurt me, Georgios. But enough already.” She laughed again, this time not silently. “You’re like a randy teenager.”
George puffed out his chest and glared at her before giving in and smiling back. “Only with you, sweet one.”
They took turns washing one another once he removed the condom, and he decided to tell her of the failure of the other one at breakfast rather than spoil the moment. He loved the feel of her silky skin under his callused hands as he soaped and rinsed every inch of her, as well as the way her long tresses slipped between his fingers like pulled taffy. She moaned when he rubbed her scalp with his fingertips, and the sound reminded him of how she responded to discipline. When she tenderly cleansed him, his cock made a valiant attempt to rise to the occasion, and they both chuckled at the failed effort. George had never felt so content or secure in his manhood.
Chapter Six
Iris pulled her silk dress over her head and smoothed it down over her hips. Her panties were on the dresser, and she yanked them on in relief. She didn’t feel secure without underwear and was relieved George understood and accepted that particular limit. She stepped into her shoes and gathered up her little bag and her wrap, heading down the hall toward the unmistakable sounds of George working in the kitchen. He might expect her submission sexually, but there was no indication he wanted her to serve him in all aspects. The wonderful smell of bacon permeated the air, and she could hear dishes clattering. She hoped he had coffee ready. The sight of a grand piano had her steps slowing, and she veered in that direction. She hadn’t taken note of the house’s contents the night before, being in some kind of exhausted stupor brought on by more orgasms that any one woman should entertain in an evening.
The piano was tucked in an alcove of the large living room, or tucked as much as such a large, imposing instrument could be. This part of the room was likely a dining area but had been pressed into service as a music room. Iris used to play piano, but her constant traveling didn’t lend itself to having one, and she was instantly intrigued. She crossed to the keyboard, setting her purse and shawl on the bench, and was reaching to drift her fingers over the ivories when she saw it, lying flat on the polished surface. It was a wedding picture. She swivelled her head to scan the room and realized the space was austere. There were no pictures anywhere, no knickknacks, nothing to soften the place and make it a home. George’s bedroom was similar when she thought about it. His bed was huge and comfortable and the bathroom well appointed, but again there were no pictures or ornaments. Iris might have noticed more if she hadn’t been either asleep or being screwed senseless. She supposed his wife had taken everything like that with her, although she’d found the big walk-in closet first while looking for the bathroom earlier. A corner of it was jammed full of boxes and women’s clothing, piled willy-nilly and obviously forgotten if one considered the disregard for the high-end items. She had carefully closed the door on the sight. Nothing would possess her to borrow even a nightgown from that stash. She wondered why Georgios hadn’t bothered to get rid of them and hoped it wasn’t that he couldn’t bear to handle the items because of the memories.
She carefully picked up the picture and focused on the couple frozen in time within its frame. Her breath caught in her chest. Georgios’s handsome face looked back at her, solemn and forbidding somehow, but it was the tall, slender woman in the tight, sheath style wedding gown who took her attention. It was like looking in a mirror. The hair was hers, all different shades of blonde, worn long and swept back to drift behind the bride’s shoulders. The blue eyes might be set a little wider apart than her own, but the short nose over the full upper lip and the heavier bottom one was hers. The smile was cool and composed, and Iris didn’t suppose she often looked like that, but who knew? Put her in that dress and add the pearl necklace and drop earrings and a person would never really tell the difference. So this was Georgios’s deceased wife Jane, and he’d found her replacement.
Iris’s stomach roiled, and she thought she might vomit. A cold sweat broke out over her entire body, and she began to tremble in shock. How could he? Did he think she’d never find out? That someone wouldn’t tell her? She reached out to grasp the rolled edge of the piano for support but missed, and her hand crashed down upon the keys, creating a discordant sound that echoed her thoughts. She couldn’t catch a full breath.
“Iris?”
She turned to face Georgios who’d probably come in response to the sound. He wore a casual cotton shirt in sage green, loose over his jeans, his feet bare. He held a spatula in his hand. Iris had the wild thought he would spank her with it when he divined her thoughts, and a bolt of pain through her heart made her gasp and then throw back her shoulders in a hollow act of defiance.
“I see I’m a dead ringer for your wife. Oh, forgive my terminology. That was callous of me.” The venomous words spilled from her lips in an effort to stave off the horrific sense of betrayal, and worse, loss.
She had the momentary satisfaction of seeing his face pale, and then he was coming to her. She retreated until the piano stopped her backward motion. Georgios pried the picture frame from her grasp, his gentle actions belying the look on his face.
“Come and talk with me, sweet one.”
She shoved at him and used the surprising action to slip around his big body and walk quickly to the front door.
“Iris. You need to listen to me.” Georgios’s tone expected obedience.
She laughed, and the ugly sound ripped at her throat. He flinched, and she threw out a hand, gesturing toward the picture. “I doubt there’s anything you can say to explain that, Georgios. It’s been quite the experience, but I’m not a stand in. I want the real thing, not the leavings of a ghost. You lied to me! You just wanted her back!”
“I didn’t lie to you, Iris,” he gritted.
“You did. Maybe by omission, but you did. And those people in the club, that Casey, they all knew. The way they looked at me! And I thought it was because I was yours. Well, I guess I was, Jane reborn.” She heard her voice climbing into hysteria and struggled against it.
“I won’t tolerate—”
She cut him off. “Leave me alone, Georgios. Alone.”
She sobbed, and he tossed the spatula and the picture onto the piano and stalked toward her, h
is face bleak but determined. She was desperate. She couldn’t let him touch her or she’d be lost. She screamed it at him. “Chocolate! Chocolate!”
It sounded insane, but he halted in his tracks and looked astonished. She threw the door open and winced at the sound of the alarm before running through the opening and down the steps, out onto the driveway. She stumbled toward the street, the tears blurring her vision when his hard hand closed around her upper arm and hauled her back.
“Don’t be foolish, Iris. If you won’t listen, well, I won’t let you come to harm.”
He nearly dragged her back toward the house, ignoring her protests and her ineffectual slaps and shoves. He opened the door of the car and pushed her inside, securing the seat belt. Iris slumped back and tried to calm down, but the tears just wouldn’t stop. George vanished for a moment but then returned. He climbed into the driver’s side and set her little bag and wrap on her lap. Within moments they were rolling toward the city.
“Iris. Will you let me explain?”
She shook her head and turned her face away. She wanted to crawl into a hole and lick her wounds like a dying animal. Being in the same space as him was becoming unbearable, and she thought she might scream.
“When you want to know the truth, I want you to call me.”
Truth. Iris would probably never know any kind of truth again. Her world was off its axis, skewed, and she didn’t know what she was going to do. The car finally stopped, and she realized they were at Haley and Warren and Gordon’s home. She dully registered the slam of Georgios’s door, then he opened hers. He unlatched the seat belt and stood back while she forced her legs to first swivel out of the car and carry her up the walk toward the house. She refused his help, and he was wise enough not to touch her. She probably looked as wild as she felt and he thought she might bite his proffered hand.
Young, Allyson - Absolute Perfection [Aspire 3] (Siren Publishing Classic) Page 6