Chapter 16 #2
But, of course, she was a grown woman. If she didn’t want to be there, she didn’t have to.
She’d chosen land.
He hadn’t stolen her from the ocean.
“Did Monty tell you I was here?” Iris asked, her sea glass eyes glaring at him from the side of the pool.
“He was trying to schmooze my credit card out of me, so you can’t be too mad at him.”
“That’s to be determined,” she said, pushing off the wall of the pool to float on her back.
Finn tried not to notice the way her breasts peeked out from between the wet strands of her hair.
Clearly, he failed.
And this was not a good time to be having desire burning through his veins.
“Why are you here?” Iris asked, gaze still on the ceiling.
“We need to talk.”
“I’d rather not.”
“I’m afraid it’s not optional.”
Iris swam to the edge of the pool, effortlessly hauling herself out onto the cement, her tail glistening. He had an almost overwhelming urge to reach out and feel it for himself.
So he curled his hands into fists.
“Why do you sound like my tutor when I wasn’t paying attention to my lessons?
” she asked, reaching toward her bag to pull out a shell comb and start the process of brushing out her long strands.
The motion made that citrus-salt scent of hers drift over to Finn.
It wasn’t helping the whole desire thing.
“We need to talk about that interview you did.”
“Why would we need to talk about that? I thought that was what you wanted. To go public.”
There it was again.
A tightness and coolness to her tone.
Completely different from the faux enthusiasm in her little news interview.
“Yes,” Finn agreed. He took a steadying breath, his gaze watching as her tail slowly disappeared, leaving perfect legs in its wake.
Finn shifted in his seat, his pants brushing against a part of him that refused to listen to reason, nearly dragging a groan out of him.
“Then what’s the problem?” she asked. Her voice pitched higher. Almost as fake as it had been in the interview.
“We needed to go public in the right way.”
“Oh, yes, optics. How could I forget?”
“It’s important that we project the right image.”
“Triton forbid anything real interrupts the narrative.”
“It’s not that it’s fake. It’s—”
“What did Marsha want?” Iris interrupted.
“I’m sorry?”
“What did Marsha Grand want?”
“It was just … campaign stuff.”
“Campaign stuff,” she repeated. Her voice grew tight. “Was it some big secret?”
“Not especially.”
“Can you ever just … give a real answer?” she snapped, making Finn straighten.
“That was a real answer.”
“It’s always perfectly twisted so you don’t make anyone unhappy. Mr. Electable,” she said, turning onto all fours, then slowly getting to her feet. “Manicured messaging in a suit. All optics. No authenticity. I mean, when’s the last time you felt anything real?”
His hand shot out, closing gently around her wrist, drawing her closer.
“I’m feeling something real right now.”
Could she read the sincerity on his face?
Did she hear the thickness in his voice?
Iris’s gaze cut to his, surprise crossing her pretty face for a moment as he applied pressure. Not exactly pulling her, leaving the ball in her court.
It felt like an eternity before she made the decision. But then she was stepping closer. One foot at a time. Until she was standing at the foot of the chaise.
Given their positions, his face was level with the core of her.
He tried to control himself, to think of all the reasons this was a bad idea.
But he leaned forward, his forehead pressing into her lower belly.
Iris sucked in a breath, and he felt the way she melted against him.
Her free hand rose, lightly resting on the back of his head, her fingers sifting through his hair.
It was all the encouragement he needed.
His head shifted, lips grazing her stomach and dragging a shaky little mewling sound from her.
He moved across her soft, water-cool skin, the barely there touch making her breathing quicken and her fingers tighten in his hair.
His hands drifted up from the sides of her knees, over her thighs, her hips, then shifted back to sink into the curve of her ass.
Finn’s mouth trailed from one hip to the other, lips pressing warm kisses to her skin until Iris was rocking restlessly, silently begging for more.
His hand grazed back down her thigh, sinking in just behind her knee and pulling up.
Her leg lifted until he rested her foot against the chaise beside his leg, the position opening her up to him.
His head shifted, lips pressing a kiss to her inner thigh, tasting the salt on her skin, before his tongue flicked out, tracing the seam of her thigh, then moving greedily between.
The sound she made nearly undid him. It went straight down his spine. Lower.
Her fingers curled in his hair, holding him against her. As if he had any intentions of moving away when he had her like this.
Soft.
Sweet.
Practically vibrating with need.
For him.
His tongue traced upward, finding her clit, and working slow circles around it.
She gasped his name, making heat flood through his chest.
That was his name on her lips.
Those were his whimpers and moans.
Her hips rocked against his face, chasing every flick of his tongue as he drove her higher and higher.
Her body tensed, her thighs starting to shake as she got closer.
Those sharp, breathy little sounds she was making? He wanted to hear them a hundred more times.
But her body had other ideas as she tensed, as her breath caught.
One more flick and she shattered for him, body shaking, voice wrecked—and he never wanted to hear anything but that sound.
He shifted his head, pressing another kiss to her inner thigh, then reaching for her hips, pulling until she lowered down onto his legs.
His arms went around her body—trembling and breathless—holding her together as she fell apart.
Her body shifted closer, and a ragged groan escaped him as the thick press of him met the core of her.
The little whimper that escaped her had his hips rocking up against her.
Iris’s face turned into his neck, her warm breath teasing over his skin as she ground down on him.
His need pulsed against her, hot and impatient, desperate for release.
Iris’s head lifted, and Finn got to watch the depth of desire on her gorgeous face for a moment before her head angled—lowered.
Their mouths collided—not soft, not slow, just heat and teeth and ravenous need.
The kiss was hard and frenzied, like they’d been holding back for too long.
She was trembling with need, and her hands were everywhere, as if she couldn’t decide what part of him she needed the most.
Her fingers slid down his back, slipped under his shirt, her palms flattening on heated skin.
Their bodies moved together like they forgot there were still clothes between them.
Her hips rocked against his, chasing friction like oxygen as he ground against her—pure instinct taking over.
Each roll of her hips made his breath stutter, the pressure building with nowhere to go.
It was an almost humiliating kind of need, and he gave in to it willingly.
They both rocked into the rhythm their bodies demanded, lost in the moment, lost in each other.
It was unrestrained, clumsy, desperate. They were shaky, sweaty, panting.
The shudder moved through Iris, and his lips swallowed her long, deep moan as the orgasm moved through her.
His control snapped, yanking her hips down and rutting against her until he was coming with her.
Neither of them moved. The only sound was the quick, shallow gasps of their breaths.
It wasn’t just his body that felt shaky. It was something deeper, something he wasn’t ready to name.
He felt the shift in her slowly, then all at once.
She hadn’t said anything. Not a word. Her breathing slowed. Her hands went still. Her mouth, moments ago fused to his like she couldn’t get enough, was pressed shut now.
Finn didn’t move, didn’t even blink, like he might spook her if he shifted wrong. But something inside him had already started to crack open, letting in the cold.
The realization started as an ache just under his ribcage.
But before he could decide if it was just insecurity about dry-humping like teenagers, or something darker, uglier—something that looked a lot like regret—there was a slamming on the door.
“There’s a time limit, you know!” a woman’s voice called, loud and annoyed. “I know you’re a mermaid and everything, but we all deserve access to the pool.”
Iris was off his lap before he could even try to reach for her.
She scrambled away, grabbing her clothes and yanking them on.
He reached for her towel, draping it over his arm to hold in front of his body.
But by the time he managed that, she was out of the room, and the woman was moving inside.
“Mr. Westrock,” the woman greeted. “I don’t mean to be rude or anything …”
Just once, he wanted the right to be frustrated or annoyed.
But he didn’t have that luxury.
“No, of course not. You’re absolutely right; it’s your pool too. If you’ll excuse me.”
By the time he made it back to the apartment, Iris was locked up in the bedroom with Monty, leaving him to go into the bathroom, strip, and clean up in the shower.
The taste of her lingered.
But he had the sinking feeling that her sighs, her moans, her shivers, and kisses would be nothing but memories soon.