13. Intoxicating Blend of Pleasure and Pain #3
He might want her, but not enough. The story of her life. Never enough. Fed up with denial, Iris scooted back, putting space between them—a chasm filled with electric anticipation.
"Fine," she spat bitterly, "If you won't give me what I want, I'll just have to take matters into my own hands.
" She said with her best impression of a seductive wink.
With deliberate slowness, she let her hands drift downwards, cupping the soft curve of her breasts.
She'd tried to do this before, and it never felt like when he did it.
But now, under his heated gaze, her skin felt sensitive, responsive in a way it never had been before.
She reveled in the power she wielded over her own body for the first time.
Taking in his molten gaze, she could admit she also relished the power she had over Nash.
He might be the alpha male in every other scenario, but, right here and now, she was the one who held him transfixed.
Heat throbbed between her legs at the realization.
Power really was addictive. She gave her nipples a slight pinch, gasping more at the way his nostrils flared that the sensation itself.
Nash watched, mesmerized, as Iris' slender fingers danced over her creamy skin, teasing the peaks of her breasts into hard points.
She saw a shudder wrack through his body as the last threads of his self-control unraveled.
His eyes closed briefly. She knew he was trying to reign in his lust.
Why was he holding back? She clearly wanted him, and not touching him for the last two weeks was agony.
"I never told you that you could touch yourself, ma fleur," he rasped, voice thick with the dark promises. She smiled triumphantly.
"Well, what are you going to do about it?" She asked, while leaning forward and biting his ear.
Nash's hands, large and commanding, moved suddenly.
Coming up with unexpected tenderness as they found the knotted strings at Iris's back with unerring accuracy.
With a deft pull, the fabric fell away, her bikini top falling away, allowing the cool night air to kiss her heated skin.
She arched her back, a silent invitation to his burning gaze, feeling the weight of her breasts sway gently in the bubbling water of the hot tub.
"Look at you," Nash murmured, his voice a dark caress that sent shivers down her spine.
His eyes, those bright blue orbs of raw intensity, smoldered as they took in every inch of her exposed flesh.
Iris could almost feel the heat radiating from him, scorching yet somehow soothing all at once.Then, his mouth was on her, warm and soft against the hardened peaks of her nipples, drawing them into the heat of his mouth one by one.
A kaleidoscope of sensations spiraled through Iris, her cries echoing off the walls as pleasure rippled across her body like waves crashing upon the shore.
"Fuck, Nash..." Her hands tangled in his jet-black hair, urging him closer, desperate for more of the exquisite torture he inflicted with each expert glide of his mouth.
Without warning, Nash's arms scooped beneath her, lifting her effortlessly from the warm water.
She gasped, her arms and legs coming around his in surprise.
The air rapidly cooling her warm skin. Droplets cascaded down her skin, pebbling her skin in the fading light as he carried her to the cushioned lounge chair nearby.
The world tilted and spun, but soon righted itself when she laid down on the soft cushions.
He crawled over her, covering her body with his own muscular one.
The contrast of his hard lines against her soft curves sent delicious shivers rocketing through her.
"Mine," he growled as his mouth drops to her neck. The slight abrasion of his rough stubble caused her toes to curl. Was there anything about this man that didn't attract her?
"I was always yours," Iris whispered, admitting her darkest secret. Surrendering to the moment, she let it all out. It was as if the truth fought its way out. He may have blackmailed her into returning to him, but her heart had never truly left him. "Only yours."
He pulled back, staring at her with smoldering eyes. His pupils were so large, she could barely see even a hint of blue.
"Always," Nash's words were rough. His breath was a hot whisper against her lips before he claimed her mouth in a searing kiss.
For one glorious minute, it was passionate and raw.
Everything she missed since the attack. His hands dropped to her thighs and urged them further apart.
Shivers wracked her as his fingers untied the ties on her hips, letting her bikini bottoms fall away.Then, with a gentleness that contrasted starkly with the raw need in his kiss, he settled himself between her thighs.
His warm flesh felt burning hot. When he removed his trunks, she didn't know, but decided she didn't care.
"Please, Nash," she begged, as he pulled his face away a mere inch. Staring into her eyes from this close of distance was intoxicating. The tilt of his brows let her know he was waiting for something. It came to her with a rush. "Please, Ricky," she whispered.
"That's a good girl," he murmured with a triumphant smirk. His lips dropped back down to claim her lips in a raw, messy kiss. At the same time, he slid home, right where she was desperate for him.
His movements were in complete contrast to his kiss.
They were slow, languid and gentle. He was propping himself up, careful to keep her left side as still as he could.
It wasn't what she expected. No, it was better.
Perfect. She had decided that her lust was worth the inevitable pain that would come with sex.
But she should have known better. Nash wouldn't hurt her. What else would she need as proof?
Nash moved with deliberate strokes, and she met him with equal fervor, her nails digging into his back to draw him ever closer.
He never broke the contact between their lips.
It was intimate. Within minutes, she fell into a shattering orgasm, the fluttering of her inner muscles driving him over the edge.
When the shudders of his release calmed down, he dropped to the side.
Gently lifting her until she laid half on his side, and half on the lounger.
Nash's arm extended out to grasp a large beach towel from the side.
He draped it over their cooling bodies, his arm clasping her tightly to him.
They lay entwined, the expanse of the Atlantic before them out the windows, its waters reflecting the fiery hues of the setting sun.
Iris sighed contentedly, her head resting against Nash's chest. The rhythmic beat of his heart was a soothing melody to her senses.
"I love sunsets," she murmured, the words slipping from her lips like a caress against the evening air. A scoff rumbled deep within Nash's throat.
"I know," he said, the slight upward curl of his lips betraying his bitter amusement. Her brown eyes narrowed as she tilted her head to gaze up at him.
"What do you mean?" Iris asked, her voice laced with a mix of curiosity and challenge. Nash met her frown with an unwavering stare, the bright blue of his eyes sharp and knowing.
"I know lots of things about you. You just like to pretend I don't. I know you love sunsets.
I know you love boats," he declared, each word bit out.
His tone dipped lower, more intimate as he pressed on.
"Why did you think I rented a boat at sunset to give you the ring you've always dreamed of?
Did you think that was all just one big fucking coincidence? "
Shock widened her eyes, a spark of realization igniting within their depths.
She had thought it was all one big coincidence.
At the time, that seemed more likely than him knowing all of her preferences.
Her heart ached as the realization of just how much he planned hit her.
Before she could conjure a response, Nash's expression hardened, and he loomed over her, his dark silhouette framing the dwindling light of day.
"I may be a bastard," he growled, the heat of his breath fanning across her face, "but I'm the man of your fucking dreams. I always was.
Get used to it." The raw power in his voice sent a shiver down Iris's spine, a delicious mixture of fear and anticipation.
Within his claim, there was a promise—a promise she could no longer deny that she wanted.
Iris's breath caught at his declaration, a mix of fear and exhilaration coursing through her veins. His eyes, dark and stormy, held her captive.
"You're right," she whispered, a slow nod accompanying her concession as she drowned in the intensity of his gaze.
"You are the man of my dreams." Saying the words out loud felt like a weight lifted off of her.
Yet, a tremor of uncertainty lingered; there were still secrets between them, parts of him she had no idea about.
Iris's mind whirled as she considered her suspicions of him being tied to a criminal network. He had connections. There was no doubt in her mind about that. The conversation from three years ago raised too many questions. She knew he had some sort of criminal past.
She should have been repelled, should have recoiled at the idea of loving a man who disregarded the law. Yet, the realization struck her like lightning—she didn't care. She just didn't. What did that say about her?