Chapter 18 Iris
IRIS
Blindfolded and wearing nothing but Wolf’s jacket, I’m guided out.
God, my body.
Everything below my waist is still lit up, oversensitive.
I try to walk with dignity, but I fail almost immediately.
My legs stutter, and my knees buckle without warning, a decadent flare racing through me that makes me gasp.
I feel wrecked and ruined. Gloriously so.
A part of me wants to laugh at how little control I have left.
I signed up for a Game, which promised anything but normal, yet here I am, craving something as basic as a bed.
Wolf says nothing.
The next moment, I’m off my feet and hauled up against him, one of his arms firm beneath my bare thighs, the other locked around my back. The movement jolts something loose in me, and I whimper, mortified and thrilled at the same time.
Bed? No. A bed would be a waste of this.
This? This is perfect.
I let my head fall against his chest. Fabric brushes my cheek.
He’s put his shirt back on. The disappointment I feel is immediate and irrational.
The breadth of him, the heat I was pressed against minutes ago, now denied.
Maybe he didn’t want to be half-naked in front of the others, now that we’re moving.
It’s sensible but infuriating. I cling to the idea that he pulled it on carelessly, that he’s still undone under there, just better at pretending otherwise.
He lowers me onto a seat. It’s leather. A car.
Not a police cruiser, I know that much. The drive starts, smooth and quiet, and he stays beside me the entire time.
Every so often, his hand finds mine, his fingers closing.
I’m not restrained, and I don’t test the blindfold.
I’m exactly where I want to be, thrumming, overheated, and balanced on the edge of myself.
When we stop, I’m lifted out again. The air feels enclosed, smelling of concrete. A garage, maybe?
Wolf moves forward, and doors slide shut. We’re going up.
My neck still throbs where his grip constricted my throat, a reminder of that moment with no air, no sound. Just his hand and the certainty that my body wasn’t mine for those seconds.
I check my breathing, counting it, listening for a hitch. Everything is as it should be.
So my darkest fantasy has come true. In capable hands, it never feels reckless. What remains is scrambled, luminous, and deliciously weightless.
And that scares me a little. Because I already know I will crave it again. How little convincing it will take.
He kisses my forehead, and I purr.
Was that on the menu? The tenderness feels misplaced, yet my body absorbs it, adding it to the mess already rattling around in me.
“Almost there,” he murmurs.
The elevator continues its ascent, then eases to a stop. Though I hear almost nothing, I feel the door sliding open.
A breeze brushes my bare legs, cool, clean, and carrying a scent that doesn’t belong in enclosed spaces. Night air. Open air.
Wolf steps forward, and I cling to him needily.
There are always two sides to people. But him?
He fascinates me more than anyone. All night, he gives commands with potent authority, and yet here, now, I feel protected without being restrained and held without being trapped. How can a man be all that?
Then he lowers me, and I grab for him on instinct, my fingers digging in. But I’m not falling. It’s a bed.
Wolf reaches up and unties the blindfold. Soft light rushes in.
We’re on a rooftop, open to the sky. Manhattan sprawls around us, its roar muted by height and intention.
Above me, the midnight sky stretches wide, scattered with real stars, faint but defiant against the city’s glow.
The darkness is bruised indigo, luminous in its own way, as if the heavens leaned closer just for this moment.
“Wolf…” I breathe, pushing myself upright.
And then I see the rest.
Roses surround us. Hundreds of them. They’re deep red, perhaps even black.
The low light makes it impossible to be certain.
They’re lush, their stems braided into narrow paths that spiral around the platform like a living labyrinth.
Small spotlights are tucked among the petals and leaves.
The scent is everywhere, wrapping around me in a natural and undemanding way.
“You like what you see?” Wolf asks.
I glance around, still half-stunned. “I didn’t ask for this.”
He smiles. Damn, he actually smiles.
“What can I say?” he says easily. “I don’t do modest endings.”
I snort before I can stop myself. “That’s one way of putting it.”
He settles beside me on the bed, close but unhurried, an arm coming around my shoulders. I sink into him, my head resting against his chest. His hand moves in slow circles on my back, not claiming, just there.
My body loosens in response.
Safe.
“You’re quiet,” he says.
“I’m checking for hidden cameras,” I reply.
“If it helps,” he says dryly, “I’ve already destroyed the footage.”
I tilt my head. “Comforting.”
After a moment, his voice lowers. “Whoever gave you the idea to ask for what you asked, promise me you won’t do it with anyone else.”
My first instinct is to scoff. My second instinct is to tell the truth. The truth being that I might never recover enough to even consider it.
Instead, I tilt my head back slightly, just enough to look at the line of his jaw where the mask ends.
“What makes you think I haven’t already?” I challenge.
He lets out a sound that’s half scoff, half affronted sigh. “I wasn’t born yesterday.” He turns his head just enough that I can feel his attention lock onto me. “I read cues, Midnight. All my moves surprised you.”
I stiffen. “They did not.”
He hums. “Behind all your impatience, you were surprised.”
I know he doesn’t mean the choking, but the moment leading up to it. “I—” I stop, then glare at the sky. “That’s not the point.”
“It absolutely is the point,” he says, smugness creeping in. “Admit it.”
Damn him.
Playing it rough isn’t new to me. Bobby Derring saw to that. But Wolf? He was different. With Bobby, pain dominated, and pleasure followed later, if at all. But tonight, everything blurred together so fast that it left me reeling.
“What do you want me to say?” I ask. “That you’re the man?”
“I am the man,” he says without hesitation.
I roll my eyes. And since I’m not sure if he catches it behind my mask, I add lazily, “You were great.”
Even with his expression hidden, I can tell he’s offended, or pretending to be.
“You say that like you’re rating a mediocre restaurant,” he deadpans.
“Oh, don’t get sensitive,” I reply, stretching out as my arms curl around his taut waist. “If you were mediocre, I’d already be planning my escape.”
He repositions me with one smooth movement, gentle enough that I don’t stumble, but deliberate enough that I realize he doesn’t want me facing him. He pivots, placing my back against his chest.
“Tell me something, Midnight,” he murmurs.
“What?”
“Why did you come to my club that night?”
I draw in a slow breath, and the memory surges back—the frantic preparation, the sneaking in, and Wolf.
A tight pang hits my chest.
Thinking about it now, his duality isn’t new. From the first moment I was in his presence, the predatory edge was unmistakable, yet there was something inviting beneath it, something that made me feel safe. And in the end, he was the one who pulled me from the fire.
“It was a dare,” I confess.
“A dare?” His flat tone doesn’t hide his disbelief.
“Yes. I’m an artist, Wolf. But my inspiration had run dry. I needed something,” I say softly. “Something forbidden. Something that would wake me up.”
“I can’t say I know artists well, but if this qualifies as an artistic impulse, then the stereotype starts to make sense.”
I huff a laugh. “You’re welcome to think that.”
“So that’s it?” he asks.
“That’s it,” I say.
He nods. “How did you find it?”
“A friend mentioned an exclusive club in the Hudson Valley. He called it the sexier cousin of the Illuminati.”
A low sound escapes Wolf.
A laugh.
It startles me. Really? This Wolf laughs?
The moment passes quickly, then the air tightens again.
“Who’s your friend?” he probes.
I stiffen. “Why? If someone deserves punishment for breaking into your secret circle, it’s me.”
“You know I’ll find out who they are, with or without your cooperation.”
I sigh, the fight leaking out of me. “My roommate, Reggie Nygaard. He’s an up-and-coming designer.”
“Okay.”
The word sticks in my chest. God, why did I give Reggie’s name up so easily?
“Tell me nothing will happen to him,” I say.
“Nothing will happen to him,” Wolf replies. “You have my word.”
Only then do I let myself breathe out.
I edge closer, my fingers curling around his arm. It’s thick with muscle beneath the sleeve, solid and warm.
“And who was the man?” he asks.
“What man?”
“Tell me straight.”
“I saw your guests showing something on their elbows to get inside,” I say. “I knew that wasn’t happening for me. So when I spotted a figure moving along the side of the building and a window already open, I climbed through. And boom! I was in.”
He groans.
“Hey,” I add, pleased with myself, “don’t blame me because your security has holes.”
“You were caught,” he says flatly. “Try not to sound proud. What about the man on the roof?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “I assume he was the same one. At first, I thought it was you.”
For the first time tonight, I feel him flinch.
I swallow, then add, “You disappeared when I chased you. There was a balcony…then I saw him. I was convinced it was an invitation. To follow.”
His breathing changes. It’s subtle but faster now.
I lift my chin. “I came for a challenge, Wolf. I couldn’t pass it up.”
He doesn’t answer. But the silence is crowded with things he isn’t voicing. Doubt. Calculation. Something else entirely.
“I may be a lady,” I add dryly, “but I know how to climb in heels.”
I expect a laugh or a chuckle. Even a token one. But nothing comes.
“I don’t know who he was. He pushed me, Wolf,” I say. “He wanted me dead.”
The air goes very still.
“You swear you don’t know who he was?” he finally says.
“I swear.”
And just like that, he rolls me to the center of the bed. The silk sighs beneath me before his weight follows.
“Open your legs,” he commands.
I do, with no pride left to defend.
He lowers himself, his hands roaming with intent, his palms warm over my exposed breasts. His mouth is devastatingly focused as his tongue reaches my entrance.
“Wolf—”
His response is a lick on my clit.
“God…” I sigh as the night swallows my voice. The sky disappears, and the roses shrink. I burn, unravel, and lose the ability to measure time or sense. It’s a moonless sky, yet I howl. Because he pulls it out of me. Because he knows exactly how.
“This is why you didn’t want the night to be over?” he says, and I roll my hip up in answer. “Jesus, Midnight. I didn’t know there was more in you.”
I don’t understand how he does it. How easily he dismantles me, and how little effort it takes.
“No…God…oh shit…”
I come over his face before I can stop it.
I’m still shaking when he pulls back. My cheeks burn with embarrassment, but it’s too late to matter. What’s done is done, and I don’t pretend I didn’t want it.
He stays right there, braced over me, his tongue dragging as he licks my cum from his mouth.
We’re inches apart, and I feel his breath and the heat rolling off him, mixing with my own. His mouth is damp, raw, and stretched tight like he’s holding himself back. No woman in her right mind could ever resist.
I lift my chin, my lips already parting. I will die trying. I’ve got to have him.
Now.
But he presses me back down hard enough that the bed rocks.
“Don’t,” he growls.
The word snaps, ruthless and absolute.
I blink, stunned. “Why?” My voice comes out unguarded. “I gave you the one thing I’ve never given anyone. And you won’t even let me kiss you?”
“This is a game, Midnight.” His hands stay planted, pinning me in place. “And there are rules.”
The word game lands wrong now.
“So that’s all this is?” I laugh bitterly. “You can take my breath, but I don’t get to take yours?”
“Don’t,” he warns again.
“Fuck your rules,” I snap. “You want it.”
His grip tightens, like he’s holding the line against something bigger than me. But behind the anger, I see it. I don’t need his eyes.
It’s there.
“You’re afraid,” I say. “Of falling.”
He growls, “Gravity doesn’t apply to me.”
The lie is too clean.
“There’s a space,” I tell him. “Between sex and love. You’re not standing where you think you are.”
His jaw locks. “We’re not here for therapy,” he says, annoyance dripping into his tone.
“No,” I say. “We’re here because you’re terrified of intimacy.”
That does it.
He pulls away like he’s been burned. He gets off the bed, stands, and then turns his back to me as the night rushes in to fill the space he leaves behind.
“This game is over,” he says. “Someone will come for you.”
And then he walks away.
Just like that.
I stay where I am, staring after him, my heart thudding with something far more dangerous than desire.
I got what I asked for. But now that I’ve seen the fracture in him, now that I know he’s not untouchable…
I want more.