Page 82 of Beach Cottage Kisses
His lips were moist. Firm. Demanding in their movement on hers. Their tongues met seemingly of their own volition. Knowing how to move, where to meet. She lost track of everything but him. His warmth. His breathing and arms. The strength that was consuming her. Driving her to a place where nothing mattered beyond what more he could give her.
They were unentangled, consenting adults. Completely free to do what they wanted.
And what they both wanted right then was very clear.
And wasn’t going to go away.
As the fire built inside her, swarming in her lower belly, her crotch, Iris lost all will to fight it. Saw no point. Nature was taking its course.
With his injured leg still supported by the pillow, Scott rolled to his back, exposing the shape of his fully engorged penis beneath the thin silk of his basketball shorts.
He glanced down that way, then met her gaze. “It’s here, whether we want it to be or not.”
His blue eyes burned with an intensity she hadn’t seen in them before. Just looking at them shot her flames higher. Hotter. “I know,” she told him, and slid her hand down his body to cover his hardened and reaching organ.Only half of it fit in her palm, so she moved her hand up and down, cupping the length with her fingers. Felt the moisture at the tip.
“There’s a condom in my wallet.” He glanced toward the coffee table.
Iris stood. Loved the intimacy of reaching into his wallet. And felt like she soaked her panties as she pulled his shorts down far enough, got him sheathed and then reached for her own waistband. All her attention was on Scott’s face as he watched her pull her leggings and panties down. Off.
His hands reached for her, those biceps bulging, as he supported her weight while she straddled him. He didn’t move. He couldn’t, not without risking injury to his knee. The feeling of power that gave her, knowing that what happened would be fully up to her, she sheathed him with her body. Sitting on him. Grinding herself against his skin. Clutching him inside her. Holding him as she made a small circular motion with him fully inside.
Keeping her gaze on his face the entire time. His eyes were half-closed. Mouth open. Jaw taut. Unleashed power that she knew she could let loose.
When her own release threatened to happen just sitting there looking at him, she pulled up and sat again. Twice was all it took. She felt him shoot as she convulsed. Over and over. Until sensation was all there was.
Iris collapsed on Scott when it was done, and he held her against him. Tightly. They were returning to earth, and she didn’t want to.
Didn’t want to face what awaited them.
But as euphoria eased, reality intruded. Most urgently, in the form of the strain on her inner thigh muscles. She had to move. To get up and put her legs together.
And with the help of his hands holding some of her weight, she did so.
But before she reached for her own clothes, she turned back to him. Helped him get his shorts back up and his left leg in position for him to stand with his crutches.
He could have done it alone.
She figured they both knew that.
But what they’d done, they were in it together.
And would pay the price that way, too.
* * *
Leaning on his crutches in Iris’s guest bathroom, Scott had all kinds of excuses he could make for himself. For her, too.
For a second or two, he was tempted to allow them.
But by the time he limped his way back into her living room, to find it still empty, he knew that the reckoning would come. One way or another.
He could wait for it to arrive of its own choosing. To take them unaware, in another moment they couldn’t control.
Or he could deal with it.
When Iris came out of her room, in baggy sweats and an old T-shirt, with worn gray slippers on her feet, he was propped on the couch, in for the long haul.
Judging by the look on her face she was surprised to see him as such but didn’t seem unhappy about it.
