And then there was Henry, forcing her to walk around his apartment because he didn’t like that she had a ‘fluid’ walk. He knew his campaign manager well enough to know that when he said ‘fluid’ what he truly meant was ‘sexual.’
But she was a mermaid.
She couldn’t help that.
It would be like being frustrated with a vampire for having a menacing air about them.
“Are they killing you?” Finn asked, running both thumbs up the center of her foot.
The moan that she let out was giving his body all sorts of ideas that most men thought about their fiancées, but he couldn’t let himself think of his. At least not as things stood right then between them.
“I don’t understand,” Iris said, her voice sweeter than before. He couldn’t help but wonder if that was what pleasure did to her, what she might sound like if his hands were drifting up her thighs, if his face was turned into her neck, breathing in that citrus salt scent to her skin …
“Don’t understand what?” he asked, hearing the husky edge to his own voice and needing to cough to cover it.
“My tail never hurt,” Iris said. “Why do land feet hurt?”
“I would say it’s because they’re new, but my feet can hurt me too. I don’t have a good answer for that. Though, I suspect shoes have something to do with it.”
Iris relaxed back against the couch, her eyes drifting closed as his thumbs pressed into her arch. A little moan escaped her that had desire pinging off his nerve endings.
“Feel good?” he asked, though he already had his answer.
“Yes,” Iris said, her voice even more hypnotic with her pleasure.
“So … did we just forget about the food, or …” Monty’s voice broke in.
A snorting laugh escaped Iris as her eyelids fluttered open.
“You have talked about nothing but food all day.”
“You’re not excited because you don’t know what land restaurants have to offer.”
“I know, I know. Seafood buffets.”
“Not only that. Pizza. Pasta.Soft pretzels.”
“Sounds like I need to order a little bit of everything for you to try,” Finn said as he reached for Iris’s other foot.
Monty counted on his flight feathers all of the dishes he wanted to try as Finn pressed his thumbs into Iris’s other arch.
She melted into the touch—and the couch—her back arching, her eyelids drifting closed.
He took advantage of her distraction, allowing himself to study her stunning face. Even in stillness, she shimmered with the kind of magic that artists could spend lifetimes trying to capture. She was luminous in a way that made him feel suddenly dim, but, God, he would never want to dull her shine.
He was so entranced by the curve of her mouth—and all the images it conjured up in his mind—that he hadn’t noticed her eyes had opened again until he was caught looking at her, the hunger, no doubt, plain on his face.
He’d been expecting immediate discomfort, if not outright disgust, but Iris’s head tipped to the side, watching him with those sea glass eyes—their depths unreadable.
“Don’t mind me,” Monty interrupted, flopping onto his side with a long, pained groan. “I’ll just nibble my own wing while you rub toes and forget your loyal, underfed companion.”
“I guess we need to feed him,” Finn declared, giving both of Iris’s feet a gentle squeeze.
“You’ll be fishing Checkers out of his beak if you don’t,” Iris agreed, pulling her legs off his lap.
The moment, it seemed, was over.
There was no accounting for the churning disappointment in Finn’s chest as he started to take the order for Iris and Monty before listening to the bird’s list of demands for his bedroom. It included Egyptian cotton sheets, a sound machine, and a TV with every subscription channelavailable. Apparently, he had a lot of catching up to do on his ‘stories.’