Iris Kelly Doesn't Date (Bright Falls, #3)(90)

Still, neither of them slowed their pace. Iris’s thighs viced around Stevie, her hands gripping Stevie’s ass and shoving her up and down, deeper into Iris, harder onto Stevie’s bullet.

“Don’t stop,” she said, so Stevie didn’t. She kept moving, kept fucking, until they both came again in a string of swears and moans. Stevie bit down on Iris’s shoulder hard enough to leave a mark, and Iris rasped out her name, the most gorgeous sound Stevie had ever heard.

“Holy fuck,” Iris said, her voice barely audible as her lungs heaved for air.

Stevie just pressed her face against Iris’s damp throat. She didn’t think she could speak, let alone move. Iris’s hand squeezed her ass once before moving upward, fingertips drifting over her back and neck and into her hair.

“I think I’m dead,” Stevie finally managed to say. “You killed me, Kelly.”

Iris laughed, hooked her leg higher on Stevie’s hips. “Death by dildo. Not a bad way to go.”

Stevie lifted her head, kissed her once. “Not a bad way at all.”

She slid out of Iris, then unbuckled the harness and turned off the bullet before dropping everything on the floor so she could wrap Iris in her arms.

“I hope my neighbors aren’t home,” Iris said, settling against her, sighing happily as she hooked one arm around Stevie’s waist.

“Oh my god,” Stevie said. “If they are, they just got an auditory show.”

“Hell yeah, they did,” Iris said, grinning. “It’s a couple. Sweet, in their mid-forties, I think.”

She leaned in to kiss Stevie. They stayed like that for a while, chest to chest, just kissing and touching. Iris had just rolled on top of her, whispering in her ear how much she wanted to taste her when they heard it.

The distinct sound of a headboard slamming rhythmically against a wall, the muffled moaning of a woman in the throes of pleasure. They both froze, eyes wide on each other as Iris’s neighbors—whose bedroom must align with Iris’s—had very loud sex.

“Oh my god,” Iris said, covering her mouth as she and Stevie both busted up laughing.

“I guess that answers the question of if they heard us or not,” Stevie said.

“I bet we can out-moan them,” Iris said, one eyebrow raised.

Stevie grinned. “Oh, hell yes we can.”

And they spent the next hour proving it.





LATER, AFTER THEY had slow, languid sex on Iris’s living room couch, popcorn abandoned on the coffee table and 13 Going on 30 playing unwatched on the TV, they laid curled together in Iris’s bed.

Stevie was the little spoon, just like she liked. She loved the feel of another person—of Iris—surrounding her, hemming her in. But as the minutes ticked by and she felt Iris grow heavy with sleep, she couldn’t seem to quiet her brain down.

Anxiety spilled in, everything that had happened that night running through her mind like a movie. It had been amazing, but so had that night after Stella’s.

What if . . .

Did Iris really . . .

How would Stevie handle . . .

The questions swirled, raising her heart rate, drying out her mouth.

“Iris?” she whispered.

She was sure Iris was asleep, so she was surprised when Iris nuzzled against the back of her neck and said, “Hmm?”

Stevie exhaled, then turned in Iris’s arms so they were facing each other. Iris looked beautiful, sleepy.

Happy.

“You okay?” Iris asked.

Stevie didn’t answer for a second, but then asked the main question that was keeping her awake. “You . . . you’re not going to ask me to leave in the morning, are you?”

Iris shoulders tensed, just a little, just enough.

“It’s okay if you’re scared,” Stevie said. “Just don’t hide that from me. I’m scared too.”

Iris closed her eyes for a second, body loosening. Stevie traced a finger along her jaw.

“I’m not going to ask you to leave,” Iris said. “I promise.”

“Is that what you want?”

“Yeah,” Iris said, then laughed, her voice a little shaky. “I want you here tomorrow. And the next day. Maybe even the next.”

Stevie laughed, relief like she’d never known making her fingertips tingle. She knew Iris wasn’t lying—Iris never lied about this sort of stuff, never did anything she didn’t want to do.

“I can handle that,” Stevie said. “Though I do have a Bitch’s shift on Monday.”

Iris leaned in to kiss her. “I’ll take every second I can get.”





CHAPTER THIRTY





THREE DAYS LATER, Stevie left Iris’s apartment in a haze of sex and delivery food, Iris’s scent still on her skin even after a shower. She didn’t bother going by her apartment before her shift at Bitch’s, instead opting for her own jeans—which she had included in a load of laundry at Iris’s—and one of Iris’s tank tops. The shirt hung on her a bit, a size too big and revealing the rainbow band of her black sports bra, but she didn’t care. Anything went, really, at Bitch’s, and she loved the idea of wearing Iris’s clothes . . . which meant she was really and truly gone for this woman.

She smiled to herself as she pushed open Bitch’s heavy wooden door.