Page 42 of The Games We Play

A sound, somewhere between a gasp and a moan, catches in her throat. I push deeper inside her and add another finger, curving them both so they drag against the spot inside that I hope she likes.

Iris begins to fidget, then winces and reaches for her shoulder. “Stay still,” I say firmly. “You hurt yourself more and I’m gonna be mad.”

Her mouth opens, and I can’t resist any longer. I need to know what it feels like to kiss her. With my fingers still inside her, I kneel next to the bath, lean over, and kiss her.

And it’s heaven.

Her lips are soft, and she tastes sweet, her tongue tentative against mine.

But when she yields, when she falls into the kiss with me, when I can barely restrain myself from dragging her out of the tub and taking her on the floor, it’s the sweetest moment in my fucking life.

She has nothing to gain and everything to lose by associating herself with me. The same goes for me. But here we are, real life Romeo and Juliet shit.

Only I’m determined that neither of us will die in the end.

I rub my thumb over her clit, and I feel it the moment she goes over. Her body tenses, and her lips stop moving against mine as she gasps and then moans my name against my lips.

Her pussy flutters around my fingers, and I wait until it stops before pulling my fingers from inside her and slipping them in my mouth to catch the salty taste of her, not washed away by the bathwater.

“You’re so fucking ...” I can’t think of the word. Nothing describes her. “Special,” I say finally.

With her eyes closed and her head resting on the back of the tub, she smiles softly, and I press my lips to hers again.

“Let’s get you into bed,” I say, reaching for her towel.

Once she’s dry, I braid her hair. She’s still quiet. Post-orgasm lull. But she’s happy. Her eyes are bright, and she smiles ruefully, as if a tad embarrassed by what we just did.

“You okay?” I ask, yanking the elastic from my own hair to tie around hers.

She turns to place her hand on my cheek, and I lean into it. It’s the first unsolicited sign of affection from her. “I feel like resisting you is like trying to stand in the path of a hurricane, hoping it changes course.”

Without shoes on her feet, she’s even shorter than I imagined. “Done resisting?” I ask the question casually, but I need to know the answer more than anything else.

“Yes, Spark. I think I am.”

“Good girl. Those are some big steps. Now let’s get you back into bed.”

I grab her shorts and T-shirt and pull them back on carefully. It’s hard to cover up that pussy without another taste. But what I want and what she needs right now are two different things. Once she’s dressed, I lead her back to her bedroom and tuck her into bed.

“You need to get that damp spot fixed, and the black mold in the corner of the bathroom.” I fold back the covers so she can slip inside, and I can’t help but run my fingertips along the smooth length of her thigh before pulling the covers back over her.

Iris shrugs, then winces. “I’ve asked the landlord so many times to take care of it and a bunch of other things, but he never gets back to me. And I refuse to spend a penny of my own money fixing his mess. Will you stay with me?” she asks.

“Not in bed. If I get in there, the chances of me keeping my hands off you are zero. But I’ll be around until you’re asleep.”

She pulls the covers up beneath her chin. “Okay. Your credit card is on the table downstairs.”

“Did you use it?”

Iris looks over at the mold. “Didn’t need to.”

I gently elevate the black splint she’s wearing. “Didn’t need to because your insurance covered everything? Or didn’t need to because you used your own card instead of doing what I asked?”

“I can pay for myself.” Her eyes land back on mine, and I see a flicker of defiance. My dick aches at the idea she defied me.

“When you are back on your feet, you and me are going to have a conversation about following my instructions.”

She glances down at the tent in my jeans. “Oh, goodie.”