13. Intoxicating Blend of Pleasure and Pain #2
Iris couldn't help the sigh of contentment that escaped as he stepped into the vast indoor pool area.
She was held tightly in his arms, and the familiar sights of the room brought back fond memories.
Her gaze swept over the expanse of shimmering water of the large pool.
A wall of glass windows enclosed the space, blurring the line between indoors and the world outside.
It had been her sanctuary, all those years ago.
The windows opened up into a wide patio that led to the beach.
Only a few steps down and she could be walking in the warm sand.
"Looks like a perfect day," Iris remarked, taking in the cerulean sky and the way the sun sat low in the sky. It was later in the day, but not evening yet. A few hours until her favorite time of day, sunset.
Her eyes looked out the windows and watched the way the sun's rays danced across the serene surface of the water. The sea was calm, nothing more than gentle waves crashing on the shore. Her eyes closed, lost in the moment.
Nash crossed the room and dropped her down into a cushioned recliner next to the heated spa.
He stood up, his body a sharp contrast to the tranquil setting—energy buzzed beneath his skin and his eyes swept over the horizon with clinical efficiency.
"Still cold out," he said, his voice a low rumble.
He sounded angry, as if the mere mention of the chill displeased him.
"Yes, but it's March in New York." She said quietly, unsure of the cause of his ire. "Why wouldn't it be cold out?"
He grunted, a noncommittal sound that conveyed little, but spoke volumes of his mood.
Without another word, Nash reached for her, strong hands sliding the sweatpants off her legs.
Then, with surprising gentleness, he guided her body into the warm water of the spa.
The heat welcomed her, soothing and intimate, as he adjusted the settings and activated the gentle purr of bubbles.
Iris let her head fall back and rest against the side of the spa. Her whole body floated gently, taking the pressure off her injuries. Two weeks out and she was healing well, but the pain was still intense. More than anything she had ever experienced before.
As she settled, the door behind them creaked open.
She tilted her head towards the sounds, and was shocked to see a stranger entering her sanctuary.
He avoided looking at Iris at all costs.
Staring intently down at the floor in front of him.
He acted as if someone had warned him against even glancing at her.
With a jolt, she recalled his words from before.
"I don't want to kill any of my own guards, so you're going to need to cover up."
Maybe he had been warned not to even look at her, she thought while she stared at Nash. The man in question never took his eyes off of her, paying no mind to the stranger among them.
He was tall, but that was all Iris noticed about him. He was nondescript in every other way. With no more than a nod to Nash, he placed a wicker basket she hadn't noticed him carrying on the ground and exited as quietly as he had come.
Puzzled, Iris's brown eyes flickered towards Nash, then to the basket, and back to him.
Searching for an explanation in the lines of his face.
Silence hung between them, heavy and unanswered, as Nash remained stoic, revealing nothing.
The basket, an enigma in itself, sat ignored as they stayed locked in one another's gaze.
Then, without warning, he moved. Nash's movements were deliberate.
The fire in his eyes made the air thicken with an intensity that made Iris's pulse race.
With a fluid grace that she wished didn't arouse her, he shrugged off his shirt, the muscles of his back rippling.
He dropped his pants in one swift motion, revealing trunks that clung to him like a second skin, delineating every powerful line of his lower body.
Iris couldn't tear her eyes away. The indoor pool room had been hers before, a place Nash never visited.
No matter how many times she asked him to.
He was always too busy. Now, here he was, turning the space into a stage for his raw masculinity.
She swallowed hard, feeling the heat not just from the spa but radiating off Nash himself.
What happened in the three years she lived in Arizona?
Gone was the workaholic that barely could see her for meals. He still worked, of course he did, but his focus seemed locked on her now. What changed?
"Got a problem with me being here?" His tone was gruff, a challenge in his bright blue gaze that dared her to object.
"Um, no," she stammered, "but you've never—"
"Things change, ma fleur," Nash cut her off, his voice low and controlled. "We're going to be spending a lot of time together. You better get used to it."
Not knowing what else to do, Iris nodded her head in agreement, her wide brown eyes locked on his, shock rendering her silent.
"Good." Nash grunted, satisfaction curling the corner of his mouth as he bent backwards to retrieve the wicker basket. The lid creaked open, revealing an array of food neatly packed within. Her eyes bulged at the sight.
"You packed a lunch?" She whispered, her words faint. Barely audible over the roaring of the bubbles.
"What did you expect to find in the basket?" He asked with an arrogant smirk. She wanted to smack it off of him. Or kiss it. The desire for the latter welled up within her so much that she decided the best course of action was to ignore it.
She shook her head instead. Still marvelling over the fact he planned a picnic for them. It was nothing like anything he had ever done before. She had brought a picnic to him a few times, so desperate to spend time with him, she brought the meal to him. But for him to do it for her?
A smile bloomed across Iris's face, the kind that reached deep into her eyes. She felt warm, and it wasn't from the spa. No, this was all because of him.
The spread before her was a feast for the senses, filled with all her favorite things.
Not the foods she ate when she was with him three years ago.
No, her mother strictly controlled those foods.
Everything he pulled out was the foods she ate by choice.
The ones she snuck in when she could back then and indulged in while living in Arizona.
The fact he knew her real food preferences chipped away at the ice around her heart.
Nash watched her, the corners of his mouth twitching upward with an arrogant smirk, as he picked up a plump grape between his fingers.
"Open," he commanded, and she complied, feeling the cool burst of sweetness as the fruit pressed against her tongue. It was surreal, this tender act from him.
Nash's hand was steady as he offered her cubes of cheese, savory meats, and sweet fruits.
Not to mention soft, warm bread. With each bite, she felt as if she was seeing a new side of him she had never been privy to.
Yet beneath the gentle offering, Iris felt heat rise in her.
Sitting so intimately, with him feeding her, she wanted to burn.
But he maintained tight control; he wouldn't yield easily.
So she decided to throw caution to the wind and play with fire.
The next time he extended his hand toward her lips, she made a swift move, capturing his finger with her teeth, grazing lightly. Her eyes sparkled with mischief, darting up to meet his gaze.
"Behave, ma fleur," he growled, his voice a mix of warning and desire, while his eyes blazed down at her, bright blue and searing. The heat of his glare only stoked the flame within her.
"And what if I don't want to behave?" she challenged softly, her breath hitching as she felt the tension coil tighter around them. "Are you going to punish me?" She smirked at him. Tossing her most seductive wink his way.
Without a word, Nash leaned forward, his eyes never once leaving hers. "I told you to behave." He growled.
"Make me then," she lobbed back at him. Fascinated as she watched his control fracture before her eyes. She did that.
The air charged with an electric current a second before he exploded into action.
His lips claimed hers in a kiss that was both punishment and reward, fierce and possessive.
The water sloshed over the rim of the spa as he covered her body with his own.
His hands were everywhere, frantic yet careful at the same time.
There was no pain, and with a happy sigh, she opened her mouth and sunk into the kiss she had been waiting for two long weeks for.
The bubbling waters of the hot tub lapped against Iris and Nash.
Waves crashed in the distance, a roaring background to their searing kiss.
Iris' hands tangled in Nash's jet-black hair, tugging him closer as if she could meld their bodies into one.
She had missed him so much. Her touch traced fiery lines down his muscular abdomen.
Dropping lower with bold intent until her fingers were inches away from brushing against the hard thickness of his arousal.
But just before she made contact, his hand gripped her wrist tightly. Halting her exploration all together.
"Stop," Nash growled, his voice a mix of firm command and raw need. "Not yet." His eyes dropped to her various cuts and bruises. Tracing them with nothing but his gaze. Iris whimpered, a sound of frustration and desire that vibrated through the steamy air.
"I feel fine," she insisted, brown eyes smoldering with an intensity that mirrored the passion she felt.
This man brought something to life inside of her.
It was always him. He was the one who had shattered her world, only to rebuild it back better than she ever dreamed possible.
Nash stared at her, his blue eyes stormy.
Frustration welled up within her. There was no use hoping for more. His will was too strong.