Iris Kelly Doesn't Date (Bright Falls, #3)(59)

“When it’s really happening, I don’t want to fumble and shake and fight for breath. I don’t want to have to tell someone why I’m shaking and fighting for breath. God. I want to feel sexy. I want to be sexy. There’s nothing sexy about a panic attack.”

“Okay,” Iris said. “What do you want to do?”

Stevie laughed and turned onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. “Aren’t you the teacher?”

“Yeah. And I’m telling you, like I told you last time, to take control. That’s how you’re going to feel sexy. By owning it and doing it. So do it.”

Stevie glanced at her. “Now?”

“Now.”

They looked at each other for a second, Iris’s mouth parted just a little.

“You’re sure?” Stevie asked.

Iris smiled. “Once again, you have my enthusiastic consent.”

Stevie nodded, then worked herself out from under the covers and sat up on her knees. Took a few deep breaths. She gazed down at Iris, who was still propped up on her elbow, the sheet covering her body to her ribs.

“Lie back,” Stevie said.

Iris did as she was told, sinking against the pillows. Stevie let her settle for a moment—let herself settle, because her hands were already starting to shake. But then she closed her eyes and pictured it—taking control, just like Iris said. She formed the scene in her mind, exactly what she wanted to do to Iris, how she wanted to make her feel, and she didn’t slip into some other person.

She slipped into herself, Stevie Scott, but a Stevie Scott who did what she wanted. A Stevie who knew she could.

One more slightly shaky breath, and then she reached up and pulled the sheet down slowly, revealing Iris’s body inch by beautiful inch, her tank top, a sliver of creamy skin at her belly button, and then . . .

Her underwear.

She wasn’t wearing shorts or pants. Just a pair of bright purple bikinis.

“Shit, sorry,” Iris said, wincing. “I should’ve warned you.”

Stevie shook her head, forcing her eyes back to Iris’s. “It’s fine.”

“Very sexy move though,” Iris said. “That slow tug of the covers.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Stevie’s mouth curved into a tiny smile. Her pulse sped up as she thought about what she should do next, honestly shocked when the answer was so clear. She barely even second-guessed herself as she pressed a hand to Iris’s stomach, gently, then straddled her, sliding her thigh over Iris’s hips until she sat above her. Iris sucked in a breath but didn’t move. Didn’t say a word.

“Okay?” Stevie asked.

Iris just nodded, her eyes tracking Stevie’s.

Stevie ran her hands up Iris’s torso to her ribs, thumbs meeting at her sternum. Iris didn’t have on a bra, and her nipples were already peaked, pressing into the thin cotton. Stevie grabbed the hem of her tank, lifting until Iris raised her arms, and soon Iris was shirtless, bared to Stevie in a way that made Stevie feel the need to moan.

She didn’t. But Christ. Iris was goddamn gorgeous, her breasts full, her nipples pink, the tips hard and begging for Stevie’s mouth. Stevie wasn’t sure if that would be over the line or not, so she settled for trailing her fingers just under that lovely swell. Iris’s body arched into her touch, her eyes fluttering closed.

“Fuck,” Iris said.

“Okay?” Stevie asked, pausing.

“Yeah,” Iris said, laughing. “Very okay. You’re . . . you’re doing great.”

“Good,” Stevie said, then she lifted her own shirt and Iris’s eyes snapped open. Stevie watched her throat move in a hard swallow, Iris’s hands resting on Stevie’s thighs.

Still, Iris didn’t touch her anywhere else, even though Stevie knew her nipples were just as hard and taut as Iris’s. Stevie wasn’t sure if it was inappropriate to ask to be touched, seeing as how this was Stevie’s lesson.

So she concentrated on Iris, lowering herself until their breasts met, their labored breathing tangling together in the space between them. She kissed Iris . . . once . . . twice . . . before settling onto her lips in earnest, sweeping her tongue into Iris’s mouth. Iris met her, press for press, little moans rolling up from Iris’s throat. Stevie smiled against her. This time, the sounds Iris was making didn’t freak her out at all. They were like music, soft and light and gorgeous.

Stevie took Iris’s hands off her thighs, then stretched them above Iris’s head, sitting up a little to look at her. She was beautiful like this, writhing underneath Stevie. Stevie kept waiting for the panic to start its inevitable rise. Her stomach did flutter a bit, her fingers betraying the slightest shake, but she kept it together, the panic barely swelling.

Because she liked this.

No, she loved it.

The control. The way she was making Iris gasp and squirm. She was the reason Iris’s pupils were blown wide. She was the reason Iris’s hips lifted, circled, seeking pressure.

And Stevie wanted to let her find it. She wanted to make Iris feel good, so she would know that she could, so she could make someone else feel good when it was real.

Still, nothing about this felt fake as Stevie slid off of Iris and onto her side.

“Stay still,” she told Iris. “Keep your arms above your head.”