Chapter 3
IRIS
Julian’s hotel room is cast in shadows, but I can still tell that it is vastly bigger and luxurious than my small room on the hotel’s lower floor.
His hand closes around my wrist like a velvet manacle as he steers me through the darkened space and pushes me through French doors onto a moonlit terrace.
The night air kisses the bare skin of my shoulders, and the silk fabric of my fancy gown whispers against my thighs as he presses me back against the cool stone balustrade.
“I’ve wanted to do this since you walked through those doors,” he murmurs, voice low and clipped with that delicious British accent that makes every syllable feel like a command.
His blue gaze rakes over me, taking in how my shallow breaths push my full breasts against the built-in bra of my dress. “And now I’m going to.”
My pulse hammers in my throat. “You don’t have to tell me flattering lies to get me into bed, I’m a for-sure thing already.” I’m not the girl guys notice making an entrance.
“Iris,” he says. “I’ve not lied to you once this evening and I won’t start now. You’ve fucking monopolized my every thought since you stepped into the ballroom, wearing this incredible dress.”
Before I can answer, his mouth crashes onto mine.
No tentative first kiss, no polite exploration, just raw, possessive hunger.
His tongue pushes past my lips, claiming every inch like he owns it.
I moan into his mouth, fingers curling into the lapels of his tuxedo, and he rewards me by biting my lower lip hard enough to sting.
When he pulls back, his thumb traces the swollen curve of my mouth. “You like that, don’t you? Being taken.”
I nod, breathless. My gaze locks on his. “Yes.”
“Good girl.”
The words hit me like my favorite sugary coffee drink. Hot, energizing, and perfect.
He spins me so my back is to his chest, hands sliding down my arms until he captures both wrists behind me in one large palm. With the other, he yanks the delicate straps of my gown down my shoulders. The silk pools at my elbows, baring my breasts to the warm night of San Isidro.
“No bra,” he notes with dark approval, palming one heavy tit, then the other. His fingers find my nipples, already tight, aching, and he pinches. Hard.
I arch, gasping, pushing my ass back against the unmistakable ridge of his cock straining through his trousers.
“Fuck, you’re responsive,” he growls against my ear. “I’m going to ruin you tonight, Iris. And you’re going to thank me for it.” The thought I had earlier flashes through my mind again. Like I had a premonition about this man.
He releases my wrists only long enough to shove my gown the rest of the way down. It slithers to the stone floor in a puddle of emerald. I stand in nothing but black lace panties and strappy heels, moonlight painting my curves silver.
Julian steps back, drinking me in like I’m the rarest vintage. “Turn around. Hands on the railing.”
I obey instantly, palms flat against the warm stone, ass presented. He kicks my feet wider apart, then hooks two fingers under the lace at my hips and rips. The fabric tears with a sharp, satisfying sound.
The warm air kisses my bare pussy. I’m already soaked.
“Look at you,” he says, voice rough. “Dripping for a stranger who’s barely touched you.”
His palm cracks against my ass, once, twice, three times in quick succession. The sting blooms into heat, and I whimper, pushing back for more. It’s like this guy can read my mind and knows exactly what I want from a partner.
“Say please.”
“Please,” I gasp. “Please touch me.”
He doesn’t. Instead, he sinks to his knees behind me and tilts my hips.
I feel the heat of his breath first, then the flat of his tongue dragging slow and deliberate from my clit to my entrance. I cry out, knees buckling.
He grips me harder, spreading me open, and devours me like a man starved.
He licks in long, filthy strokes, then sucks my clit between his lips, flicking the tip of his tongue over the swollen bud until I’m shaking. When two thick fingers slide inside me, I nearly sob with relief.
“You taste like sin,” he mutters against my pussy. “I could eat this cunt for hours.”
“Please don’t stop,” I beg.
He doesn’t. He adds a third finger, stretching me, fucking me with them, and then he bites my ass cheek. My thighs tremble; my arms shake against the railing. The orgasm builds fast and viciously.
“I’m…Julian, I’m going to…”
“Come,” he orders, voice growly. “Come on my tongue like the good little girl you are.”
I shatter.
My pussy clamps down on his fingers, pulsing, gushing. He keeps licking through every shudder, drawing it out until I’m whimpering, oversensitive, pleading.
When he finally stands, I hear the unmistakable sound of his belt unbuckling, zipper descending.
He pauses. “Fuck, the condoms are inside.”
I’m too impatient, too needy, to wait for protection. “I’m clean and on the pill.”
“I’m clean too,” he says, and then the hot, blunt head of his cock notches at my entrance. “Look at me,” he commands.
I twist my head over my shoulder. His eyes are nearly black with lust, jaw tight. He’s so hot. Tall, muscled, dark hair falling into his face, and terrifyingly in control.
“Tell me you want it,” he growls.
“I want your cock,” I breathe. “I want you to fuck me until I can’t walk.”
He doesn’t ease in. He thrusts deep in one brutal stroke, his balls hitting my ass.
I scream, the stretch burning so good I see stars. He’s thick, long, and filling me completely.
“Fuck, you’re tight,” he snarls, pulling out almost entirely before slamming back in. “This pussy was made for me.”
He pushes my lower back down, spreads me wide and then sets a punishing rhythm, hips snapping against my ass, balls slapping my clit with every thrust.
He leans over and fists my hair, yanking my head back so he can see my face.
“Look at you,” he growls. “Tits bouncing, taking my cock like you were born for it.”
“Yes, fuck…yes.” I’ve forgotten how words work. My mind is on an endless loop of don’t stop, don’t stop.
He reaches around, fingers finding my clit, rubbing fast, merciless circles. The dual sensation of his thick shaft dragging against my sensitive walls and his fingers tormenting my clit pushes me toward the edge again too fast.
“You’re going to come again,” he tells me.
Not a question. A fact. “And you’re going to come screaming my name so every person on the street below knows who owns this cunt tonight.
” I want to look down to see if anyone can see us this high up, but my eyes close because I’m overwhelmed by the multiple pleasures hitting my senses.
And it feels so good I don’t fucking care who’s watching.
I can’t speak. I can only moan, sob, and beg.
My pussy flutters around him, greedy, desperate.
He slaps my ass hard. “Say my name.”
“Julian, please…”
“Louder.”
“Julian,” I cry out. “Own me, fuck, own my pussy.”
He roars, thrusts turning erratic, brutal. His fingers pinch my clit and I explode again, harder than before, vision whiting out. My walls milk him, spasming, dragging him deeper.
“Fuck, you’re such a good girl, taking my cock in your greedy cunt.” He slams into me one last time and stills, cock pulsing, flooding me with his cum. I feel every thick spurt, every twitch, and it sends aftershocks rippling through me.
We stay locked together, panting, his chest pressed to my back, his lips at my ear.
“You’re not done,” he murmurs. “Not even close.”
He pulls out slowly, and I whimper at the loss. Then he spins me, lifts me onto the wide balustrade so my ass sits on the edge, legs dangling. Moonlight bathes us both. His cock, still semi-hard, or maybe becoming hard again, glistens with my release.
“Spread your legs,” he orders. “Show me what’s mine.”
I do, shamelessly, thighs falling open, exposing my wet, flushed pink pussy. He watches, transfixed, then drags two fingers through the mess and lifts them to his mouth, sucking them.
“I love how you taste,” he says. “And I want you dripping for me for rest of the night.”
He steps between my thighs, grips my hips, and slides back in, slower this time, savoring the slick glide.
I wrap my legs around his waist, heels digging into his ass, pulling him deeper.
He fucks me like this, face to face, eyes locked, slow, deliberate rolls of his hips that grind his pelvis against my clit with every stroke. His mouth finds my tits, sucking one nipple deep, then the other, teeth grazing just enough to make me arch.
“You love this,” he murmurs against my skin. “Love being fucked out in the open. Love being filled.”
“Yes,” I gasp. “Fuck, yes.”
He speeds up, thrusts turning sharp again. One hand wraps around my throat, not choking, just holding, possessive. The other grips my hip, bruising.
“Come for me again,” he demands. “Milk my cock. Show me how much you need it.”
I’m already there, teetering on the edge again.
His thumb finds my clit, rubbing fast, rough. I break with a strangled cry, pussy fluttering, gushing around him. He follows seconds later, burying himself to the hilt, groaning my name as he pumps into me until he shutters and stops.
We stay like that, sweaty and trembling, until the night air calms our heated skin.
He finally pulls out, tucks himself away, then kneels to retrieve my ruined panties and gown. He helps me down from the balustrade, fingers lingering on every curve, then presses a surprisingly tender kiss to my swollen mouth.
“The night still young,” he says, British accent thick with satisfaction. “And I’m not finished with you.”
I smile, legs shaky, pussy still throbbing with the memory of him.
“Then take me to bed, Julian,” I whisper. “Because I want every filthy thing you have left to give.”
He takes my hand and leads me back through the doors into his room. And I follow, knowing that I am marked, claimed, and utterly his, even if it’s only for this one night.