Iris Kelly Doesn't Date (Bright Falls, #3)(60)

Iris obeyed, turning her head slightly to meet Stevie’s gaze. Stevie leaned in to kiss her, a hard and fast tug of lips, the glide of their tongues like nothing Stevie had ever felt before. She slid her hand down her own thigh, then drifted back up between Iris’s legs, just the barest touch before she placed her hand between Iris’s breasts, drifting over to one nipple before visiting the other.

Iris gasped when Stevie took one between her thumb and forefinger, eyes slamming closed. Stevie smiled, trailing her fingertips down Iris’s stomach, following the freckles to her belly button and lower. She dragged a finger over the band of her underwear, pausing.

God, she wanted to touch her.

Wanted to make her moan, make her come.

“Can I?” Stevie asked quietly, her own breathing just as ragged as Iris’s.

Iris hesitated, watching Stevie for what she assumed were signs of her own doubt, but Stevie was sure.

She’d never been more sure of anything.

Finally, Iris nodded, added a whispered “Yes” to her consent. Stevie pressed her mouth to Iris’s shoulder, moving her fingers over Iris’s pelvic bone. She stayed above her underwear, unsure if touching Iris’s skin would be too much for either of them, but she could already tell Iris was soaked. She felt her wetness as she slid her fingers down to Iris’s sex, pressing slow circles into the cotton.

“Oh my god,” Iris said, back arching, hips reaching up for more contact.

Stevie opened her mouth on Iris’s arm, tongue swiping at her skin, teeth grazing as her fingers explored, spreading Iris’s pussy under her underwear, dragging more wetness up toward her clit.

“Fuck,” Iris said. “Stevie.” Her breathing grew even more raspy, desperate, and Stevie applied more pressure, circling until Iris couldn’t even manage expletives anymore. She was just moans and breaths and Stevie had never felt more powerful.

More like herself.

She hooked her leg around Iris’s, dragging Iris’s thighs open even more, giving her more access to Iris’s clit. Iris grabbed Stevie’s wrist, her moans becoming whimpers.

Stevie had just started circling faster when Iris tugged Stevie’s hand away.

“Hang on a sec,” Iris said, her chest heaving. She kept her fingers on Stevie’s wrist, both their hands resting on Iris’s stomach.

Stevie leaned up on her elbow. “Are you okay?”

Iris laughed, blew out a long breath. “Yeah. Yeah, more than okay. I just . . .” She met Stevie’s gaze, curled Stevie’s hand to her chest. She searched Stevie’s eyes, her own a little watery-looking. Her lower lip trembled, just barely, but Stevie saw it.

“Iris.”

“I’m okay, I swear.” Iris laughed again. “You were great. Incredible, okay? I just . . . I think that’s probably enough, don’t you?”

Stevie frowned. “You didn’t want—”

“I did,” Iris said. “And I was about to, I promise. But this . . . this is for you. And you did it. You seduced me.” Iris winked at her then, even though her cheeks were flushed, her breathing a little uneven. “A-plus.”

Stevie managed a smile as she took her hand back and waited to feel relieved. Triumphant, or confident and sexy. And yeah, some of all that was there, but mostly, she just felt . . .

She wasn’t sure. Or maybe she was, and she just didn’t want to name the sinking feeling in her chest, that letdown in the pit of her stomach.

“Okay,” she said, nodding. “Yeah.”

“You’re a fabulous student,” Iris said.

Stevie smiled at her. “I have a great teacher.”

Iris nodded and sat up. She swung her legs off the other side of the bed, then rounded the end and grabbed her tank top from where it had landed on the floor. She slipped it on and then headed toward the bathroom. “I’m just going to wash up.”

“Okay,” Stevie said, but as Iris closed the door, she didn’t feel like she’d made progress, taken another step toward her goal.

She didn’t feel like that at all.





CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE





IRIS PRESSED HER palms to the cool tile in the bathroom. It still wasn’t enough to calm her down, so she flipped on the faucet, splashing cold water on her face over and over until she felt sufficiently quelled.

Drying her face, she stared at herself in the mirror, eyes still a little glassy from her and Stevie’s . . . what?

Lesson?

That sure as shit didn’t feel like a lesson.

It felt fucking amazing.

Fun and sexy and wild. Stevie teased her, controlled her, and Iris loved it. Then . . . god, Stevie’s touch. Even above her underwear, it had been intense, perfect, pressing and circling in random patterns in a way that got Iris there so fast, the impending orgasm had taken her a bit by surprise.

She hadn’t expected to come during these lessons.

She hadn’t expected to be so desperate to come.

And she sure as hell didn’t expect herself to stop the whole thing.

Iris wasn’t sure what made her do it. But suddenly, the idea of crying out under Stevie’s fingers, of Stevie seeing her that exposed and vulnerable . . . Iris couldn’t do it. Which made absolutely zero sense because Iris always came. Every encounter she had—she made sure of it. Even when she barely remembered her partner’s name, even when she was bored or tired or a little too buzzed from a couple of drinks. And she never felt like she was exposing some part of herself to her partner. Orgasms were simple science, a bundle of nerves reacting to stimuli.