Iris (The Wild Side)

CHAPTER EIGHT

I found myself talking with Turner while Iris swam and mingled with the other people in the pool. She’d seemed restless as soon as we sat, so we’d cut her loose to play.
It wasn’t lost on me that this was what you did with children at parties, not lovers.
“Did you say she’s twenty-four?” Turner asked, watching her laugh at something some guy that had sidled up to her in the water was telling her.
I was watching, too, fists clenched, so it took me a minute to hear his question. “Yeah. Twenty-four.”
“I hate to say this to you, man, especially considering how well I know you and your straight-laced tendencies, but that chick is not twenty-four.”
That threw me. “I made her show me her ID; first time I took her home.”
He had a good long laugh at that one. “Of course you did.”
“I studied it. It didn’t look fake.”
He laughed some more, really enjoying himself. “Of course you f*cking did. Well, I hate to say this too, but she showed you a f*cking fake ID, because that chick is not twenty-four. It must have been a good one, to fool you.”
“I studied it. It looked legit. Wait, so how old do you think she is?”
“Barely f*cking legal, that’s how old. Definitely not twenty-four. Trust me. I’m a pro at this. You don’t get far in this life as loaded as I am, if you don’t learn well how to avoid all of the jailbait thrown your way. You were married to that nutjob for half of your sorry life, so you haven’t had to worry about these things.”
I felt slightly ill.
Was he just talking shit, or could he be right?
“I’ll check it again.”
I saw him shrug out of the corner of my eye. “I wouldn’t be too worried about it,” he mused.
“Why’s that?” I asked.
Iris, who we’d both been watching, turned and pulled herself out of the water, soaking wet and facing us.
“Holy shit, she is smoking,” he said reverently. “You weren’t exaggerating. Not one f*cking bit.”
I saw Turner’s head turning my way and craned my neck to meet his laughing eyes.
He bit his knuckles, and I almost smiled, and also almost punched him in the teeth.
“My educated guess would be she’s somewhere between eighteen and twenty,” he finally answered. “You can f*ck her, just don’t buy her any alcohol.”
He laughed hard about that.
I wasn’t finding the subject funny myself.
Not even a little. Just another thing to worry about where she was concerned.
I moved on to yet another touchy subject, wanting to get his take, though I knew I wasn’t going to like his brand of truth on this, either. “That guy in the Jaguar dropped her off at my house. She didn’t want me to see, but I saw him. He saw me, too. He doesn’t like me much better than I do him.”
I turned to meet his pointed look.
“It’s that generation, I’m telling you.”
“Your generation,” I remarked.
“Well, I’m at least seven years older than your Iris, but yeah, basically. Women get around more. Especially the hot ones. You have to consider how many options a girl like that has. Everything with a penis has pretty much been swinging it in her direction since she was fifteen, I’d bet. Have you ever asked her how many partners she’s had?”
I grimaced. “No. I don’t want to know. Thinking about it makes me feel violent.”
“Well, that’s hardly productive, especially since you’ve been hitting that bareback. You really need to ask these things.”
“Trust me, I know how stupid I’ve been, but I don’t have the stomach for it.”
“You are a bundle of contra-f*cking-dictions my man, but I won’t knock you for it. She is . . . whew, she is enough to make you forget you ever had a brain, let alone how to use it.”
He wasn’t wrong.
“I can’t stand the thought of her with that guy, or f*ck, any guy. It keeps me up at night, but she won’t so much as talk about him.”
“Being possessive gets you exactly jack shit. I can’t figure out why you do it.”
I studied him like he was a science experiment. “Are you saying you’ve never felt possessive of a woman?”
“Never. F*ck no. What a useless sentiment. Not even a little bit.”
I shook my head. “You’ve never had real feelings for a woman before, then.”
“I beg to differ. Isn’t ‘me man, me have boner,’ a feeling?”
That surprised a deep laugh out of me, partly at his expense. “Shit, man, you are in for it. You think you’re invincible, but some woman is going to come along and shake up your whole world one of these days. You better just hope she’s not as heartless as you are.”
“I’d rather spend my time hoping she has a rack like Iris, f*ck, or just her clone would be nice.”
I socked him hard in the arm.
He bit his lip to keep from laughing.
Iris was talking to a group of young attractive girls in bikinis. They seemed to get on well right off the bat, even started dancing with each other in short order.
Iris started shaking her ass and hips in a familiar way.
I pointed it out to Turner, who I was sure had been watching the whole f*cking time, the bastard.
“That thing she’s doing, is that twerking?” I asked him, feeling ancient and a little slow, but wanting to know.
“Holy hell, yes it is.” He whistled long and low. “No wonder she’s an ace in bed. Smooth. My God. I bet she works your cock so good it scrambles your brain.”
I punched him harder in the arm. His tone and words had earned him that and more.
He grimaced, rubbing the spot where I’d hit him twice. They hadn’t been light blows. “My bad.”
We were both momentarily distracted when one of the girls Iris was dancing with reached to finger the strings draping her hips.
I heard Turner suck in a sharp breath.
I socked him in the arm again, because I was pretty sure I could read his mind.
After a vigorous (and distracting) round of dancing, Iris approached the cabana.
“Will you show me to the powder room?” she asked me, breathless from her exertions.
“I can show you,” Turner told her.
I glared at him and stood.
“We’ll be back,” I said, trying my damnedest to sound neutral.
I was pretty sure I knew what she had in mind, and I was hoping it wasn’t just wishful thinking on my part.
Iris looked too delectable not to touch. I wrapped my arm tight around her waist as I led her back to the house.
I squeezed her hip and put my lips to her ear. “Do you really need a powder room?” I asked.
She nodded.
Inwardly, I cursed, but I showed her the way as politely as I could.
The house had about a half a dozen bathrooms, but I led her to the one that adjoined one of Turner’s downstairs gaming rooms, because the space was more private, though the room didn’t have a proper door, just a secluded hallway that branched it off from the main part of the house.
“Wait here for me?” she asked, looking up to give me very good eye contact.
I nodded, taking a seat on the room’s large sofa. I was already hard. I wouldn’t dream of leaving now.
The music out back was pumping loud enough that even this quiet room had some bass vibrating through it.
I leaned against the couch, throwing my arms over the back, letting my head fall back. I’d only had one Mai Tai, but I wasn’t much of a drinker, and it was enough to have me feeling happily relaxed.
And an afternoon of watching Iris dance in a bikini was hardly a bad deal, aching cock or no.
I didn’t open my eyes when I heard the restroom door open. I felt, more than heard, as Iris move over to me, every nerve in my body tuned in to her.
My heartbeat picked up, my cock throbbing in time to it, as I felt a light touch against the outside of my thigh.
I reached and felt a slender ankle there. She’d perched her foot up on the couch.
“Come closer,” she said softly.
I opened my eyes and shifted forward until I was sitting on the edge of my seat, face inches from her naval.
She smiled and started rolling her hips.
“Take your shorts off,” said Iris.
She didn’t have to say it twice. They were off in a flash.
She stayed in her tease of a bikini, dancing for me, driving me wild, and by the twinkle in her eye, loving every second of it.
I kept my hands to myself for maybe five minutes.
She threw her leg over my shoulder and started gyrating into my face.
That was my breaking point.
I had her ass cupped in my hands, my mouth nuzzling her bikini aside to eat her p-ssy between one gyrate and the next, one hand still cupping her ass, the other working to untie her stringy, triangle bottoms.
I tossed them aside when that was accomplished and held her to me with both hands, going at it furiously with my tongue, partaking of her.
She was a feast, and I was a man starved.
She gripped her hands into my hair and tilted her hips up for a better angle, my name punching out of her lungs, over and over, like a prayer.
I relished the sound of that enough to keep going, forget about myself, and bring her over.
She never stopped saying it, even when she came against my tongue, and even after, like a mantra, she kept chanting it.
I ate it up.
Literally.
I shifted her leg until her foot was perched on top of my shoulder, tore my mouth away, and leaned back against the sofa.
This stretched her over me, and gave me a spectacular view of my own little slice of heaven, right between her gorgeously tanned thighs.
“Take your top off,” I told her, shoving two fingers solidly into her cunt.
She whimpered, pulled her breasts free from that sin of a top, and started whimpering my name again.
It was good enough for me.
I jerked my fingers in and out of her fast, relentless with it, finger f*cking her until she was trembling over me, her long legs shaking.
I took pity on her then.
Her and myself.
I pulled my fingers loose, setting her propped foot down on the ground. I turned her, then brought her slowly onto my lap.
Or, more specifically, onto my cock. I arranged her, legs spread wide over my knees, head against my shoulder.
I impaled her inch by agonizing inch, until I was balls deep.
She was limp and close to reaching her pleasure. I brought her the rest of the way by slamming her down on my cock a half dozen times.
A half dozen more had me exploding inside of her with a rough cry.
I didn’t move much for a long time after. Couldn’t move much. I lay limp, with her boneless on top of me.
My hands were the only thing I had the energy left to use and those just to lazily touch.
I stroked a bared breast with one hand, plucking at a sensitive nipple.
The other was between our bodies, exploring the spot where our slick sexes met, her p-ssy still sheathing my cock.
I wrapped my fingers around the base of my shaft and gave a few restless jerks that agitated us both.
“Oh God,” she whimpered. “It’s too much.”
“No, you’re wrong,” I murmured into her hair, twisting my hand repeatedly to rub her entrance, and my base roughly. “It’s never enough. Never. Tell me, how long can you stay with me this time?”
She was starting to move, to shift against me. “A few days.”
It would have to be enough, and it was certainly better than the last time, when she’d barely given me a night.
“You enjoy messing with me, don’t you?” I asked, still twisting and jerking my hand, working us both up into another frenzy.
“I enjoy doing anything at all with you, Dair, but I’m not playing you, if that’s what you’re asking.”
The fact that she could still lie even with me buried inside of her sated cunt had me riled in an all new way, and abruptly, I pulled her off me, arranging her on her knees between my spread legs.
She didn’t have to ask what I wanted.
I watched through half-lidded eyes as she bent over, tonguing me, watched my tip as it pushed past her lips, felt as it slid along the roof of her mouth, hit the back of her throat, and went deeper, squeezed tighter by the inch.
I gripped a handful of her silky hair, and her plush tit and enjoyed the view as she deep throated me.
Perversely, getting my cock sucked made it impossible to hold onto any sort of animosity or even so much as remember the cause.
I was done being riled and back to being smitten with a few enthusiastic bobs of her head.
I figured there was probably a name for this, something Turner would know, when she sucked me off while I was still covered in our last bout of sex.
I didn’t know the name, but I did know that it felt incredible, and that the memory would definitely be stored in my mind for future jerk-off sessions.
I warned her when I was getting close, but sweet girl that she was, that just had her latching on tighter, and sucking even harder when I shot down her throat.