Chapter 37 Iris #3
Instead, he sheathes himself, then leans over me.
His body is heavy with restraint, and his eyes are lit with unspoken tenderness.
He gives me slow, drugging kisses everywhere.
My jaw, my neck, the space between my breasts.
His hands never stop moving either, stroking my sides, cradling my hips, and threading through my hair like he’s savoring the right to touch me again.
His cock presses against my entrance, and I open for him. He settles between my legs, lowering himself inch by inch like I’m something he’s worshipping, not just fucking. My body stretches around him.
“Iris,” he murmurs, letting me feel every inch of him.
He then laces our fingers together and pins them above my head, keeping us face to face and making me watch him watch me.
It’s not just pleasure. It’s freedom.
I see everything—his eyes, the hard lines of his face, and the way his mouth shapes my name again before he drives into me, powerful and deep, leaving no doubt how badly he wants me.
“Marcus…” I moan, the sound splintering under the ache riding my voice.
He holds his breath, caught between control and ruin. “You have no fucking idea how long I’ve waited to hear you say my name like that.”
“That name,” I say, resting my hand on his cheek. “That’s how I know you.”
He pulls out with a ragged breath. He’s impossibly hard, straining the condom as he looks down, then back up at me.
“Can we do it without?” He spaces the words.
I immediately imagine his scent, and the slick mess between my thighs. How can I refuse being marked by him?
“I don’t mind your DNA all over me,” I quip. But he doesn’t laugh.
“No,” he says. “I mean, in you.”
My heart kicks. “You…want to come inside me?”
“Yes, Iris.” His voice is like gravel now. “I want you. All of you.”
Awe steals my breath, but I still manage to rasp, “Yes. I want that too.”
He discards the condom and comes back to me bare. The crown of his cock parts me, and we move like we’re rediscovering each other and rewriting something meant to last.
One arm is behind my neck, the other stroking my breast. His forehead presses to mine, his lips grazing my mouth between gasps. And when he pushes further this time, he reaches somewhere I can’t guard.
I howl.
“Almost there?” he breathes, so close that I feel every word.
I nod, whimpering. “Marcus…”
“Hold it,” he says gently. “I’ll meet you.”
He fine-tunes the angle.
My body clenches around him, and his eyes stay on mine as we both fall over the edge.
Together.
It’s staggering. It’s soul-deep. It’s everything.
Afterward, we lie tangled on the futon, our limbs a slack knot of skin and heat. My cheek rests against his chest, his heartbeat a slow, steady drum beneath my ear. One of his hands strokes lazily along my spine while the other settles over my breast.
“I really missed you,” he murmurs, his voice low against my hair. His palm flexes slightly, like he needs the contact to believe I’m here.
I nuzzle closer. “I miss you too,” I whisper. “Stay.”
He shifts behind me, then pulls me tighter against his front. “Of course.”
I hum, soothed by the feel of his skin. His hand travels up, brushes my collarbone, then down again, dragging goosebumps in its wake.
“You still sleep on this sad excuse for a futon?” he murmurs.
“It has character.”
“It has the spine support of wet cardboard.”
I laugh. “You’re complaining about my bed after wrecking me in it?”
“Not complaining.” His fingers trace the edge of my hip. “Just saying…next time, I’m buying the mattress.”
I twist to look at him. “Next time?”
He grins, lazy and soft. “There had better be a next time.”
There’s a lull, filled only by the sound of our breathing and the warmth between us. He eases into a new angle, brushing a kiss to my shoulder, then another to the space behind my ear.
His hand slides to my waist, and I melt into him. Skin to skin, no secrets, no disguises. Just us inside a peace forged out of everything we burned down.
But the silence doesn’t last as his phone buzzes on the floor nearby.
Marcus curses under his breath as he reaches over and squints at the screen. “I’m sorry,” he says, tension sliding into his voice as he sits up. He’s already pulling on his pants.
“Marcus? Is everything okay?”
He leans back down, cups my jaw, and kisses me slowly. “It’s fine,” he murmurs. “Something at Avelis. It can’t wait.”
I sit up. “Will you call?”
“Soon.” His gaze darkens, yet it excites me. “There’s something waiting for you. A surprise.”
“Really?” I purr, holding his hand against my breast.
“Fuck, don’t do that.” He kisses me again, rougher this time. And then he’s gone.
The futon still smells like him, and I bask in it.
I curl deeper under the sheets, and that’s when I hear the whisper of paper along the floor. An envelope nudges through near the latch side and slides to a stop.
I rise, dragging the sheet with me. The envelope is heavy. Embossed. Opulent.
I crack the seal and unfold the invitation.
My heart somersaults realizing this isn’t just an invitation.
There’s a single card inside with scripted letters gleaming in dark ink.
The writing is fluid but firm, definitely masculine.
So, this is Marcus Lockwood’s hand? A little bold, but who cares. It’s what I’ve been waiting for.
Midnight, let’s not pretend that we should play in the dark.
I exhale a laugh. “Oh, you can’t wait, can you?”
Neither can I. After all, Marcus and Wolf can co-exist. And what better way to test that than an impromptu game?
I dare you. I dare you to outrun the man tasked to watch over you.
Wait, what?
I read it again, slower this time.
I sent him to keep you safe while I’m gone. But he doesn’t know his duty is over. I dare you to escape from him and come to me.
He what?
“You bastard,” I whisper, but I’m delighted.
He planted someone. Someone who’s been watching me, and I didn’t even notice. The man is ten steps ahead. Always.
My fingers tremble around the card. My skin still tingles from where he touched me.
He dares me to outrun his shadow?
Well then…
Challenge accepted.