Page 18 of Washed Up
“And it worked?”
“For as long as it needed to.”
“But she didn’t stick around?”
“This is a lot of questions, Iris.”
“I’m just trying to understand.”
“An opportunity came up with another band. She moved on.”
“Were you sad?”
“A little.”
“Reid and Wynter?”
“Never asked them. Iris, is this your way of saying no?”
Is it?
CHAPTER EIGHT
Max
I explore her mouth, and she explores me. There’s something about our gorgeous houseguest that makes me come over all needy and protective. I want to make her world well again, and to help her realise her potential. Why? Well… Iris is adorable for one. Beautiful for another. And I’ve a feeling she’s the missing piece we’ve been waiting for to make Lucidity whole again. It’s a gut feeling, a certainty that she washed up at our door for a reason.
Maybe the fix is as simple as the way she makes me feel like a flesh-and-blood person, rather than a caricature of a man. The three of us, we’ve all been walking around like empty shells for months, drained of all the vitality we once had in abundance, our creativity stifled by expectations, or ruined by charlatans who ought never to be allowed near a sound studio. A fucking producer should know better than to overload things with so many layers. Nothing had any room left to breathe. Even the drums got smothered. Complicated doesn’t always equal genius. It’s like cooking. Sometimes the best meals are the simplest.
Iris’s hands tighten around my biceps as she clings to me. She’s uncomplicated, unlike Wynter. I like her for that. There aren’t layers you have to peel away to figure out what she’s thinking.
She wears her heart on her sleeve.
Kissing her is like supping on nectar.
Sweet. Pure. And addictive.
Then, when I rub against her, the purrs in her throat make my cock stiffen to the point of discomfort, trapped as it is behindthe rigidity of my zip. If she’d only slide a hand downwards, relieve the pressure.
I need more friction. Crave the touch of her hand and the velvet heat of her pussy.
It takes a bit of manipulation, but I free her of the tangle of borrowed clothing, then I capture her gaze and wet two fingers while she’s watching.
The look in her eyes as I lower them is intoxicating. Surprise. Desire.
“Max,” she groans as I tease said digits along the split of her pussy, then pinpoint my focus on her clit.
She’s wet and hard as a pearl.
“Oh, God!”
She jerks against my touch, rocking her hips to meet the strokes. It all becomes instinctive between us.
I lick a line up the side of her throat. “Unfasten my fly, baby.”
That is all the encouragement she needs. Air kisses my skin, then her hand encompasses me. We stroke one another, heads pressed together, breathing in one another’s excited gasps.
“Am I easy for doing this?”
