13. Intoxicating Blend of Pleasure and Pain #4
He was more than a criminal to her; he was the man who treated her as if she mattered. As if he wanted her in his life. She hid behind his criminal history to save her heart when she ran away.
It was never about that. She knew that now. She knew that then. It was always his cruel words about her.
Hearing him say she was nothing... that was what gutted her.
She ran from the man who broke her heart.
Not the criminal. With trepidation, she wondered if there was anything he could do that would change her feelings.
She felt slightly sick when she realized that if she learned he killed someone...
the only thing she would feel is relief that he hadn't been caught.
It was an unsettling feeling, to realize that she wasn't as good of person as she always thought. A good person would want a moral man. But, Iris? She was fine with the monster. As long as the monster loved her. The realization settled upon her heavily.
Nash was everything she ever wanted, the answer to a question she hadn't dared to ask.
For someone to care about her. That's all she had ever wanted.
And Nash had gone to extreme measures to bring her back to his side.
To make her happy. He'd done nothing so far to hurt her.
His actions spoke directly to her heart.
"Damn straight I am," Nash urged, his voice a low rumble that resonated in the hollow of her chest.
"I love you," Iris replied, her voice a mere breath, yet laden with conviction.
The confession was a key turning in a lock, unleashing the heat that simmered just beneath her skin.
She felt like they were breaking down barriers.
No more hiding behind the blackmail. She wanted to marry him, just as badly as she did three years ago.
Maybe even more now. "I want to get married. "
"Then we'll make it official. As soon as you're healed, you're mine," he declared with a satisfied gleam in his eyes.
Iris stared into Warrick Nash's bright blue eyes.
The intensity of his gaze had the power to unravel her, and as he looked at her with that obsessive hunger, she realized she craved it—craved him, with all his red flags.
He wore them with pride this time around, bright red banners flapping in the wind.
He was possessive, rough, demanding—qualities that should have sent her running.
But as she cataloged each of those traits, Iris felt an illicit thrill course through her veins.
The man was a walking warning sign, exuding danger and raw power.
Yet, here she was, not only standing before him but drawn to him like a moth to a flame. A willing victim.
She threw herself at him, her hand pulling his head down so she could press her lips to his in a fierce kiss. A wide grin transformed her whole face as she looked up at him.
"So, when is the wedding?" Iris gasped between kisses, her breath hot against his lips. Impatient for the very ceremony she was dreading a few weeks ago.
"Soon," Nash managed to say, his voice thick with arousal.
"Because I can't wait to be your wife," Iris moaned, the words vibrating against his skin. Gone was her hesitation. Now that the decision had been made, she was committed to it fully. She felt him shudder over her, and then he took control of the kiss.
They fought for control, but Iris wasn't willing to give it all up to him this time. He was going to have to work for it if he wanted a gentle lovemaking. She was craving some pain. As long as it was cut with a side of pleasure.
Nash's gaze ignited with a feral heat as Iris crawled into his lap, straddling him. She reached down to guide him into her, and couldn't help the but let out a sharp inhale, a wince etching across her delicate features as she descended too swiftly onto him.
"Careful," he growled, the sound rumbling from deep within his chest. With one swift motion, he showed her how fruitless her battle to be on top was. With muscles flexing, he flipped their positions effortlessly. Pinning her beneath him. Being careful to keep any pressure off her side.
Now on top, he set the pace, gliding into her slowly once more. Iris gazed up at him, her wide brown eyes locked with his piercing blue ones. The pain subsided, giving way to the mounting pleasure that only Nash could provide.
There was something so primal in his control, so absolute in his possession, that it sparked a fire within her very core. Each slow thrust of his hips sent ripples of desire coursing through her, and she could do nothing but surrender to his expertise.
As they teetered on the brink, Nash's voice broke through the silence, rough with passion. "As soon as you're healed enough to fuck me without wincing, you're mine." His declaration was possessive, a vow.
Iris's heart thundered in response, her body arching instinctively against his. The idea of belonging to Nash—to be claimed by him so utterly—sent her spiraling over the edge, her world narrowing to the intoxicating blend of pain and pleasure that was Warrick Nash.