My mouth finds hers, and we kiss while gusts batter the house. We’ve got to be nearing the worst of it, but as soon as Iris’s hands roam down my back and under the towel, I forget about the hurricane.
When she grabs my ass, I let loose a growl. “No, ma’am. You led last time,” I argue. “It’s my turn.”
“Ho-hold on there.” She laughs, not letting go of my behind. “Ma’am? I don’t think anyone’s ever called me ma’am. I don’t look thirty like some people.”
Laughing, I take my vengeance, digging fingers into her side to tickle her.
“Aah!” she shrieks. “I’m kidding! I’m kidding!” We laugh, tussling. Hugging. Kissing.
I have never known happiness like this. I have never laughed this way or felt this light. I’ve never devoured all this joy.
My towel gives up the fight, and, naked, I cover Iris. Our play shifts to touches that explore and inflame. I’ve got one hand under her top when she tries to slip hers down between us to wrap around me.
But before she can, I catch her fingers and drag them to my mouth. “I wasn’t kidding,” I say, kissing her knuckles, my voice steeling with determination. “I’m leading this time.”
She doesn’t respond right away. “And that means I don’t get to touch you?” I can hear a challenge in the question.
“Not there. Not yet.” Does she have any idea what she does to me? Does she know I was milliseconds away from beating her to the finish the last time? My lack of control was embarrassing. And it’s not happening again.
“Beau.” Her free hand finds my face in the darkness, and she traces my jaw with her thumb. I love the intimacy of it so much, I miss the dry tone of her voice. “I have no problem with you leading—cute dance metaphor, by the way, professor—but there’s just one thing you’re forgetting.”
Caution edges my words. “What’s that?”
“It takes two to tango.”
I chuckle at her pun, but then her hand glides down my neck to my chest where she drags her nails over one nipple. My breath goes jagged.
My God, this woman.
Her fingers trace over my pec and down my ribs, and I moan like an animal.
“You feel amazing,” she whispers, all humor gone. “I love touching you.”
My heart seizes. She sounds awed. Spellbound. She sounds like I feel.
“Iris—” I shift my hands to the hem of her top, and she lifts to help me peel it from her. Her arms lock around me as I bury my face in the sweet valley of her breasts, completely fucking gone for this girl.
I kiss and suckle one soft peak and then the other, my hands beneath Iris’s shoulder blades, feeling her arch and writhe under my mouth. When I feel her heart beating between my mouth and my hands, I want to howl.
Love me back.
It’s wrong. I know it’s wrong to want her to be all in with me. It’s not fair and it’s not kind. Because this is going to hurt so bad when she leaves. I’ve already said yes to a broken heart. I’ll even be grateful for it because I’ll get to keep the heart she breaks when I lose her.
But, God, I don’t want to hurt Iris. And at the same time, I don’t want to be in this love alone.
“Beau—Oh, God, Beau—”
The way she says my name makes me wonder if it’s too late. She’s so young. She has no experience guarding her heart. Guilt stirs in me until one galvanizing thought lands solid in my gut.
Do I really want someone else to be her first love?
I clamp down on a roar. Of protest. Of pain.
Hell, no.
This is my purpose in her life. To be her first love. To raise the bar so high, my Iris will never settle for anyone who doesn’t deserve her. My love will be the scaffold for her future happiness. And it will stay with her long after she’s gone.
My eyes sting, but I’m grateful for this new goal. To love her completely. The way she deserves. To show her how a worthy man should treat her.
All of it aligns with my desires.
Shifting beside her, my hands meet at her fly. I undo the button and unzip her shorts. Her shallow breathing stutters when I drag shorts and panties down her legs. I toss the garments aside and part her thighs.
When I sink between her knees, her startled breath tells me no one’s ever given this to her. I kick myself for not taking her this way the first time.
I’ll make up for it.
But when I dip down to taste her, my lips meet the back of her hands. Her body jolts at the touch.
“Beau?” Her uncertain voice kills me. No, it makes me want to kill every man who’s come before me.
“Iris.” I glide one hand down the outside of her left thigh, over her hip, and to her soft belly, sliding it just under her shielding arms. “Let me kiss you.”
“I-I’ve never—No one’s ever…”
“Yeah, I get that,” I say, rubbing her belly with slow, gentle sweeps. “Damned shame.”
I lick my lips and press a kiss to the inside of her thigh. The skin is other-worldly soft. It feels angelic. I let a moan leave my throat before I part my lips with my tongue and lick the sweet-salty flesh.
Her breath goes choppy.
“You—I mean, you want to—”
“Iris.” I make sure my voice is clear and determined. “I’ve wanted my face in your pussy since the first night I danced with you.”
Her gasp is genuine innocence. “You did?”
“I would have taken you under the sky at Chicot if you would have let me.” It’s the absolute truth. I lay my other hand on top of hers and hook a finger gently under her thumb. She’s got to uncover herself, but I can encourage. “Let me now.”
I hold my breath, silently begging for her to trust me with this too. Wanting this with a down-to-the bone yearning. If I can’t be the last man to kneel at her feet, at least I can be the first. And she won’t forget it.
Just when I think she’s going to demure, Iris grabs both of my hands, baring her sex, and I am on her like sunlight.
Her scent and taste set my neurons on fire. I moan into her, squeezing her hands hard in my lust.
This time when she gasps, it sounds like fabric ripping. Like the word doubt written on paper and torn in two.
After the first thrill of connection, I rein us in and go slowly. Maddening slowness. Not just for her, but for me too. She writhes underneath me. I know just where to find the spot that aches, but I want to discover every hidden inch of her.
She whimpers. She whispers. She whines. “What are you doing to me?”
I squeeze her hands, promising all is well. Promising this is worth the wait. Promising that I fucking love what I’m doing.
By the time the tip of my tongue grazes her crest, her clit is full, and she’s trembling. One, firm lap, and she cries my name. We move like the wild. She arches. I pin. Her heels dig into my back. I release her hands and grab her hips, holding her tight while I chase down her climax.
Iris fists my hair, and my already hard cock throbs and grinds aimlessly into Iris’s sheets, wanting her, dying for her.
When her orgasm breaks over her, I feel it in the muscles of her ass, thighs, hamstrings and calves, and no less so in the tremors on my tongue.
Her cries soften on her way down, and I gentle my kisses, finding her hands with mine again. And smiling because—
Damn, I want to do that again.
But Iris is tugging me up by the hands. “Come here,” she pants, sounding wrecked. Sounding shaken and broken open.
I move and cover her, kissing her chin, her cheeks, her eyes—
I freeze. They’re damp. My breath halts.
“Iris, baby.” I wrap her in my arms, my throat tight, and my own tears threatening.
“Oh my God,” she says hoarsely, hugging my neck.
I want to hold the space for her. Let her know that whatever she’s feeling, it’s okay. But I’ve spent enough time with her to know this kind of exposure isn’t easy for her. When I’ve seen her before at her most vulnerable, Iris usually takes cover behi
nd a joke.
A flash of lightning catches Iris dashing her wrist against her eyes. I follow her hands with more kisses, welcoming a woman’s tears for once.
What could be better? They’re coming straight from her heart.
“What have I been doing all my life?”
Here it is. The anticipated joke. And damn if it still doesn’t make me chuckle.
“No, I mean it,” she says wetly, taking me off guard. “I’ve been missing out. Not on orgasms.” She presses a hand to my cheek, and I know if I could see her better, she’d be staring into my eyes. “I mean, yes, I’ve been missing out on orgasms—as you’ve so deftly illustrated—but I’ve also been missing out on—on connection.”
A sob squeezes the last word, and I tighten my hold around her. “Iris.” I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone so worthy of love.
“I think—I think I haven’t let myself look for it because I’ve been afraid.”
Her words land inside me, and even though the world outside continues to toss and turn with the storm, my inner world falls still.
No sound but the echo of her words.
“I’ve never been this close to anyone—not like this—but I think I’ve always wanted it.” Her admission takes courage, and even though I feel a thrill of fear at what I’m about to say, I’m not letting her courage go unanswered.
“It’s the same for me.” I press my lips to hers, kissing her once, hard. “I’ve always wanted this, but I told myself it didn’t exist.”
That belief made the anger at my father easier to stomach. It justified my failure to love Rebecca the way she wanted me to. It gave me the detachment to walk away from her when she asked for more than I could give.
But all that buffering distance is gone now. With Iris, love and loss stare me right in the face. And I refuse to deny myself the love just to avoid the loss.
Even if I had the choice.
“Yes.” Iris's voice goes soft. She runs her hand through my hair and down my neck. “I’m glad I’m not the only one.”
I capture her mouth with mine, kissing, merging. “You’re not the only one,” I promise.
We kiss until we are breathless and writhing, hands caressing, legs entwining. My fingers stroke Iris again until her little cries are nearly enough to send me out of my mind.
“Beau, I want you inside me.”
When I thrust inside her, stoking her pleasure a third time, hearing her call my name, feeling the clutch of her legs around my hips, her arms around my back, the pounding of her welcoming heart, my eyes are the ones that go damp. This fleeting moment—this union of body and soul—is one I know I’ll never get enough of.
So as the storm rails, I make love to Iris. I make love to her as the world stills when the eye passes overhead. I make love to her when the winds shift and finally blow themselves out. It’s only when the barest pink of dawn shows herself that we collapse in sleep above the covers, our bodies slick with sweat, slumber the only relief from all this heat.
Chapter Twenty-Six
BEAU
“I want to ask you something.”
Iris is bouncing in the passenger seat of my truck. Mica rides behind us, just like he did when we went hiking. But that’s where the similarity to that day ends. My fingers are threaded through hers as we ride, and I’ve already been inside her twice this morning. Once when we woke up around ten and again in the shower—a cool shower thanks to the power still being out—but in this heat not even the cold water is really cold.
We’ve sought refuge in my truck. In the wake of the storm, the humidity is throwing a frat party, and it’s as though the wind has a hangover. It refuses to lift even the mildest breeze.
We had to open Iris’s garage door by hand, but it was worth it to get to the truck and drive—if for nothing else but the air conditioner. But there’s a dusk-to-dawn curfew, and it’s already mid-afternoon, so our joyride won’t last long.
We’re headed to St. Martinville to see if we can check on the tiny house, but with trees down and traffic lights out, we might have to turn back before we get to Lake Martin Road.
“Ask me anything,” I say, squeezing her hand.
Iris hesitates until I look at her. She’s biting her bottom lip.
“What’s wrong?” I nudge.
Even with the heat and the hassle of no electricity, it’s been an awesome day. What could possibly be wrong?
She shifts in her seat, seeming to steel herself. “What do you think about being my dance partner for the movie?”
Out of all of the possible questions she could ask me, this one I don’t see coming.
“What do you mean? Don’t they already have someone cast for that?”
Iris nods with a shrug. “Probably, but I’m way more comfortable dancing with you than I would be with anyone else.”
My chest warms, and I stroke the back of her hand with my thumb. “You can do the routine with another dancer. You know that, right?” Iris’s lack of confidence was one of our biggest challenges in the beginning. I know she can do this without me, but she needs to believe that too.
“Maybe,” she concedes, her voice edged with uncertainty, “but I’d rather do it with you. Would you be willing?”
A quick glance shows me her open, unguarded expression. I’d do damn near anything for her.
“If it would make you feel better, I’ll do it. If the studio goes for it, I mean.”
She claps her hands and stomps her feet on the floor of the cab, giddy. “Yay! It can’t hurt to ask. If they understand it’ll be better for the movie, I don’t see why they wouldn’t—unless they think you’re too good looking.”
When I glance from the road to her, I see she’s not teasing. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.” She gives a decisive nod. “Raven Blackwell is supposed to have the hots for Anmyr, the elven prince. My co-star—Eric—is not bad, but you’re way hotter.”
I burst out laughing. “Poor Eric. Is he even in the dance scene?”
I look back to catch her shaking her head. “No. It’s supposed to be just some local. But if I were in the audience, and I saw Raven dancing with you, I’d wonder why she’d even look twice at the heir to the elven throne.”
Heir to the elven throne. I crack up. “I love just hearing you talk.”
Iris beams, surprise in her eyes. “Well, that puts you in a very selective minority. Most people think I talk too much.”
I brake to make the turn onto Lake Martin Road. I shouldn’t take my eyes off the highway, so I wait until I straighten out to glance at her.
“I want to hear everything you have to say.” I don’t add for the rest of my life, but that’s what I wish. I suddenly hate everyone who’s ever made her feel like she’s too much.
She’s just right. And she’s mine. At least for now.
A thought hits me, spurring laughter. “If I’m in a Raven Blackwell movie, my students will lose their minds.”
Iris laughs. “You mean you aren’t already the coolest French teacher at school.”
I scoff. “I have the reputation of the hardest.”
“Why am I not surprised?” she mutters. “That’ll all change when they see your dance moves.”
I cringe just a little. I wonder how many of them have seen the Instagram post. Thank goodness school doesn’t start for another six weeks.
“Anyway, it’s worth getting my new manager—whoever that’ll be—to try.” Her voice dips lower. “It’s something I never would’ve asked Moira to do.”
I squeeze her hand. When we got a clear signal today around noon, she was able to call Ramon. He’s put together a short but promising list of managers for Iris. He’s also already retained an attorney, and Iris has a conference call scheduled with her on Monday.
Iris warned me that there was a decent chance Moira would show up at her house this morning, demanding to talk to her, but she didn’t. So far, so good.
I slow before a dip in the road. Local flooding has turned some of the
fields to swamps, and this one has spilled onto the highway, but I can see through it, so I know my truck can cross. But I wonder what it means for my neighbors and if we’ll even be able to reach my house.
We approach the bridge that crosses the Vermillion. The radio said the river crested one foot over flood stage, and even though the bridge here is clear, the river has overrun her banks. I hope we can at least get close enough to put eyes on the house.
“Wow.” Iris ogles the rushing water as we cross.
“Yeah. It happens.”
This whole drive, she has gasped and groaned over fallen trees, blown-out billboards, and tumbled trash bins, but I know the storm could have really been a lot worse.
“You checked on Mr. Hebert?” she asks. Her sweet concern makes me grin.
“Yeah, Nonc is fine.” The fact that my Aunt Lorraine answered his phone this morning let me know he’s more than fine. Either that, or he’s certifiable.
“What about your mom? Should we go see if she needs help at her place?”
I wince. I still haven’t told Iris about Mom’s condition. I didn’t see the point before now, and, if I’m being honest, I didn’t want to. But Iris has shared her burdens with me, so keeping this to myself doesn’t seem fair.
“My mom lives in assisted living. I called her this morning.” I waited until Iris took Mica out for a walk to do just that. “She’s fine. They have back-up power, so she’s not even sweating like the rest of us.”
“She’s in assisted living?” I glance over to find Iris’s eyes sharp with concern.
“Yeah.” I nod, a humbling feeling crowding my insides. “Mom has Alzheimer’s.”
Her brows shoot up. “Oh, Beau.” Her expression softens into a frown, and her hand goes tight around mine. “That must be hard.”
I’d hesitated to tell her before because I didn’t want her pity. Because that’s what everyone else offers. But what I’m getting from Iris doesn’t feel like pity. She doesn’t tell me how sorry she is. She doesn’t press for more information.
I don’t see how she could, but it’s like she gets it. Before I know it, I’m the one going on about it.
“It’s not easy,” I admit, turning onto the gravel road that leads to the house. “In fact, it sucks ass.”
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