I close the distance and kiss her. Right now, it’s just the two of us, no one watching, and no one waiting to take it away. Just ours.
We fall back on the bed. She fumbles for the blanket but gives up, fisting both hands in my hair.
I roll over until she’s beneath me, settling my weight between her thighs.
“You’re so fucking wet, Iris,” I state, dragging my cock through her slick heat, teasing until she’s arching, trying to take me in.
“Declan,” she breathes, loving how desperate she sounds; how she needs this as much as I do.
“Tell me,” I say against her mouth, grinding my hips down just enough to make her gasp. “Tell me what you want.”
“You. Inside me. Now.” She bites down on my lower lip, not too hard, but enough to sting. “Stop making me wait.”
I slowly start to push my way into her, allowing myself to feel every tight inch of her wrapping around me, searching her face for any indication of pain or hesitation. Instead, her eyes start to roll back, and her nails dig into my shoulders, leaving marks that I will proudly wear for days.
She lifts her hips, taking me deeper.
“Fuck,” I groan, stilling for a moment to feel her pulsing, adjusting around me. She’s so tight I swear I can feel her heartbeat, or maybe it’s mine, thundering through both of us.
I start slowly, finding my rhythm, teasing her a little by pulling back until only the tip remains inside her before drivingback in, to the hilt. She moans loudly, and it’s a broken sound that tears something open in my chest. I do it again, and again, setting a pace that has her clawing at my back, my arms, anywhere she can reach.
“Harder,” she demands, and I give it to her, fucking her with everything I have, while the bed slams against the wall and the whole house probably hears us. But I don’t care. I can’t care, not when she’s meeting me thrust for thrust, her heels digging into my ass to pull me deeper.
I shift my angle, and she cries out even louder this time, her whole body rigid. “There,” she gasps, “right there, don’t stop…”
I don’t.
I keep that same angle, grinding against her with every stroke, feeling her tightening around me, fluttering. She’s close. I reach between us and press my thumb to her clit, rubbing tight circles that have her thrashing, begging, throwing her head back against the pillow.
“Come for me!” I growl, the words not even sounding human. “Iris, come…”
On command, she shatters, letting her orgasm rip through her, while her body clamps down on mine so hard I see stars. I fuck her through it, chasing my own release, and when she whispers my name one more time, her voice wrecked and raw, I follow her over the edge, spilling my seed into her with a feral sound that tears from my throat.
I don’t know how many minutes have passed. Time means nothing at this point, only the sound of our breathing slowing, her hand tracing patterns on my sweat-slicked chest, my fingers tangled in her hair. I don’t want to move or break the connection. But eventually, I shift, pulling her against me, with her back to my front, and my arm wrapped around her waist. Thinking, I can keep her forever if I just hold on tight enough.
Later, I wake up with Iris crushed against my chest. I trace her jaw with my finger, causing her to stir. “Never sleeping alone again,” she mumbles, burrowing further beneath the covers.
The next morning, we find that Zeke made double-chocolate pancakes. He left a note stuck to the counter:DO NOT STARVE THE SCIENCE MUTANT OR I WILL KILL YOU MYSELF – Z.
Iris reads it, giving a half-hearted laugh, before pouring herself a cup of coffee, then adding half a cup of maple syrup to her pancakes, drowning them.
“You know this means you’re part of the pack now,” I say.
She looks at me with clear eyes.
“Good,” she says with a smile. “It’s where I belong.”
16
IRIS
Cole and Zeke’svoices carry in from the backyard, drifting in through the open kitchen window, the back-and-forth banter of two guys with nothing better to do. Addison passes by with the baby on her chest, pointing at something small and green that has started pushing its way up through the dirt. Kyran and Tara left about an hour ago.
For now, it’s just Declan and me.
The house settles around us, and I hear the pipes in the walls, the moan of a settling board, the uneven rumble of the old refrigerator. I’m wearing one of his old T-shirts, the fabric soft from a hundred washes, and a pair of boxers. While my hair falls in disarray around my shoulders. I keep my forearms on the table, sporting bandages and healing scabs, evidence of every needle that has been pushed into my veins.
I pick at the hem of the shorts while keeping my gaze fixed on the wood grain, my mind circling with questions I can’t quite figure out the answers to.