8. Iris
8
IRIS
Trevor’s eyes dilate. I’m not sure where the black ends and the brown begins.
He can’t say no to me. He’s never been able to.
Well…until he did .
But we’re not talking about that right now. Right now his cock is pulsing in my hand, desperate for release.
And my mouth is desperate for him.
“You’re going to have to walk around for the rest of the night…” I stroke my hand up and down him. “Knowing that your cock belongs to me.”
Trevor lets out a shaky exhale. “Does it?”
“Tonight, it does.”
He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing.
I start to undo the front of his pants to get access to him, but he catches my wrist.
I frown, diverting my eyes back to his.
“Iris,” His voice is calm, yet daunting. “What are we doing here?”
I maintain his gaze while palming him, reminding him what I want. “We’re having sex.”
“I know, but–”
I find the head of his cock with my thumb. There’s a bead of precum dampening the fabric of his briefs.
A groan rumbles at the back of his throat, his eyes fluttering shut. “Iris, I have to finish what I’m going to say.”
“So, finish it.” I smirk.
To my surprise, Trevor wraps his hand around my chin and presses a kiss to my lips. Soft and supple. Nothing like the heated passion of minutes ago.
“Just sex,” he says. “I don’t want to get confused.”
“Confused?” I quirk an eyebrow, allowing my hand to breach the safety of his underwear, my hand flush to his cock.
“ Iris ,” he says my name in a short way, and it makes me uneasy. “Tell me it’s just sex .”
I lean in and kiss his jaw. “It’s just sex, Trevor.”
“It’s just sex,” he echoes with an affirming nod.
“This is just sex.” This time I need to hear it for me.
Because I’m not immune to the way Trevor still makes me feel. I mean, he was supposed to be the love of my life. My future husband, future father of my children, the man who I was going to grow old with.
It’s probably foolish to think anything is just anything between us.
But it’s Christmas and I’m here and we’re horny and I’m going back to Seattle in a matter of days.
Just sex. It’s just sex .
“Just sex,” I say once more, quietly.
Trevor doesn’t say anything. In fact, his expression is indiscernible.
So, I kiss him. His lips, his cheek, his jaw, the front of his neck. I have kissed every part of this man. And now, I know I’m not welcome to every part of him as I used to be. I’ll take advantage of what parts I am welcome too.
I lower myself to my knees before him, pulling his pants down to reveal his cock. I stroke it, up and down.
He fits into my hand so perfectly. Familiar. More familiar than I’d like him to be.
Trevor groans.
I try not to smile because if I smile, then I’m acknowledging I still like to pleasure him, still like to know how I affect him. I don’t need to know that, don’t want to know. And yet here I am, on my knees before him, ready to pleasure him with my mouth. Wanting more than anything to make him feel as good as he’s made me feel.
Just sex, just sex, just sex .
I pop the head of his cock into my mouth, swirling my tongue around him. A drip of precum lands on my tongue.
I hold in a moan at the taste of him. A taste I haven’t had in so long. A taste on more than one occasion I craved.
Everything is quiet as I bob my head, taking him deeper and deeper.
“ Fuck .”
I smile to myself, humming a laugh around his erection.
“I don’t think I’ll last very long, Iris.” He sounds almost embarrassed.
I slide him out of my mouth. “That’s okay. It’s just sex, remember?”
“…right.”
I take him down again, deeper, relishing his strained response.
Wrapping my hands around his thighs, I use him to move my head faster, faster. Then, I take as much of him as I can, allowing the head of his cock to hit the back of my throat.
My body undulates with a gag.
“ Oh my god, Iris.”
I start to laugh again, but take pause when Trevor’s hand lands against my cheek. Soft and hesitant, the tips of his fingers tracing my cheekbone.
I have no choice but to look up at him.
His expression does not indicate any level of enjoyment. He looks…stressed.
I continue to move my mouth over him, our eyes locked on one another’s, but I’m unsure if I should keep going. The last thing I want to do is hurt him by continuing.
I slide him out of my mouth again. “Are you okay?”
Trevor shakes off his tense expression. “Yeah, yeah. I’m okay.”
“Are you… enjoying yourself or are you just okay?” I continue to pump his saliva-slicked dick in my hand.
Trevor’s lips part to say something, but he stops short before answering.
“Should I stop?” My hand slows on him.
He inhales deeply, nostrils flaring. Then, he grabs my bicep and pulls me back up to my feet, spins me around to face the table, and places my hands flat on the table.
He presses his cock into my backside and his mouth to my ear. “If it’s just sex, I’m going to make it count.”
I start to respond, but my mouth is covered by his in a deep, luscious kiss.
His tongue rolls with mine, his hand on my neck and thumb against my chin so I am steadied. With his other hand, he pulls up my dress until my ass is exposed. Bare. No underwear.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hoping for a little action tonight. “What are you waiting for?”
“Are you getting impatient?”
“Of course, I am.”
“You’re always impatient.”
My heart lodges in my throat.
Just sex, just sex, just sex .
But always evokes our history, our connection, the way we’ve come to know one another and all our habits and quirks. Just sex is supposed to be an absence of knowing.
But how can I forget?
Trevor does not keep me waiting for too long, thankfully. He slides into me halfway.
My body lights up, jerks forward, and I choke on an inhale.
H groans. “God, why do you have to feel so good? Why do you always feel so good?”
There’s that word always again.
I don’t say anything, just brace myself on the conference table and push my hips back hard.
Trevor lets out a strangled cry, not expecting to go so deep.
Me, on the other hand, I am filled with him, so wonderfully filled.
“Dammit, Iris.” He grabs my hips with a harsh grip.
I don’t mind the pain. It reminds me how badly he wants me. I like that more than I want to admit.
“Fuck me. Fuck me like you hate me.”
“I do hate you,” Trevor growls, shoving himself deep inside me.
I cry out, again nonplussed if we are overheard. I dip my head forward, chin to my chest, and try to catch my breath. “You…keep telling yourself that.”
Trevor’s arms lunge around me, one hand to the middle of my chest, the other to the front of my throat. He squeezes with the lightest pressure. “You want to know how much I hate you, Iris Galletto?”
“I’d like to hear you try to put it–” I’m interrupted by a particularly deep and sparkly-feeling thrust of his cock. “—into words.”
Trevor drives into me deep without speaking for a while, my hair catching each of his labored breaths. “I hate you so much I never wanted to see you again.”
“Yet, you’re fucking me.”
Trevor curses, his voice garbled. His forehead presses against my shoulder. “I hate– I hate–”
He’s trying to hold on, to not release too early.
I decide I’ll make it as hard for him as possible to last too long. I rock my hips opposite his so when we collide he’s pressed deep inside me. And with each thrust, I clench my pussy around him.
“I hate that you like to be annoying,” he grunts.
“Tell your cock that.”
“I hate that you can’t take anything seriously.”
I roll my eyes. I guess that’s true in part.
“I hate how you try to hide everything.”
“I don’t try to hide–”
“If you hadn’t hid your new job, we wouldn’t be here.”
I hold tight to the edge of the table, trying to steady not only my body but my mind. “You know why I didn’t tell you, I didn’t–”
“I hate that you didn’t tell me. I hate that you ever said you loved me. I hate that I wanted to marry you. I hate–”
Trevor is moving at an impossible speed, pushing himself to the hilt with every thrust, the sound of our bodies colliding echoing through the empty conference room.
If he keeps it up, I’m going to come again. Before him.
No fucking way, I’m not letting that happen. That’s not fair. He doesn’t deserve that, doesn’t deserve to make me come like that again, especially with just his cock.
His arms lock around me. “I hate that I still want to marry you.”
A gasp escapes me, shock and pleasure intertwining.
“I hate that I still– that I still–”
I’m close to the edge. I grab onto his hand, my expression morphing into one of horror and euphoria. I guess they aren’t that different in some respects. Both of them require being taken off-guard, letting go, falling into something out of your control.
“ I hate that I still –” He doesn’t manage to finish his sentence before he buries his face in my neck and releases a stream of hot seed into me.
I convulse around him, my orgasm simultaneous with his. I am suffocated by heat as nerves throughout my body prickle and punch with pleasure.
My fingers intertwine with Trevor’s. I’m holding on for dear life to him , a man who has just told me all the ways he hates me. Except in a way they are all the ways he loves me.
And I’m almost a hundred percent positive if he’d had the wherewithal to finish that last sentence, he would have said he still loves me.
I would have had no choice but to say, “I still love you too.” Add a motherfucker on the end of that for good measure to show him how angry it makes me to still love him the way I do.
Trevor’s body spoons me from behind, holding me tight and with need.
Just sex, just sex, just sex .
He slides out of me and leans against the table next to me, tucking himself away again.
I could cry at the emptiness.
I won’t. I promise myself that.
With some frustration, I pull my dress down and try to smooth out the wrinkles.
God, my makeup is probably a wreck from having him in my mouth.
“I’m sorry I didn’t warn you,” he murmurs.
“It’s fine.” I try to laugh. ‘I mean, you coming was the point. Just sex.”
There’s a moment of hesitation before he whispers, “Iris, I mean it. I still–”
“Don’t!” I turn around and flash him a probably deranged looking smile.
“It’s all the–” I wave my hand around us and try to laugh. “Christmas, alcohol, pheromones.”
Trevor’s eyebrows lift.
“I mean, you know, objective pheromones not…emotional pheromones.” God, now I’m not making sense. Damn his cock and how good it is. “Anyway, I’m going first and then you can– Yeah.”
“Iris–”
I ignore him as I rush out of the conference room.
I need a mirror. Need to touch up my lipstick. Need to have a stiff drink, a couple mini quiches, and then I need to go back to the hotel and count down the hours until I leave Chicago.
As I hurry down the hall, I run a hand through my hair, skim the rim of my mouth with a thumb, and hope my mascara isn’t running.
I emerge from the hall, my course set for the bathroom.
“Violet!”
Fuck me!
I try to ignore Red calling out for me.
“Violet over here!” This time, she sounds closer.
Again, I pretend like I don’t hear her. The last thing I need is for her to see me all a mess from having hate sex with Trevor.
Was it really hate sex, though?
“Oh my god, Violet! ” Red’s right behind me.
Fuck, she’s caught up to me.
Her hand strikes my shoulder and spins me around. “I’ve been calling out for you!”
I try to look surprised. “Oh, sorry! I just really need to pee.”
“Okay, I’ll go with you.” Red has a cheery smile. “I can’t lose you again. We need you for the family photo.”
Oh, shit . “Uh. Okay.”
I’m suddenly very aware that Trevor’s cum is dripping out of me, and I’m not wearing any underwear.
Jesus, I need a bathroom asap.
Red slides her arm in mine and pulls me close. “You okay?”
“Yeah, why?”
“You look all flushed!”
I laugh. “Too much champagne.” I point to her neck, trying to distract her. “Is that a hickey?”
Red’s hand flies to her neck. “What?”
I give her shit all the way to the bathroom and back to the party.
All the Hawthorn adults are gathering around the Christmas tree at the center of the party.
Including Trevor.
“Are you sure you want me in this photo?” I slow my steps so that I have more time to talk Red out of making me take this family photo.
“Oh, Violet, don’t be silly, of course we want you in the photo.”
I bite down on the inside of my cheek. “I’m not family, though.”
Red stops walking and turns me to face her. “You’re Rose’s godmother. Of course, you are.”
I glance at the gathering family.
Trevor is standing next to Oliver, looking down at his shoes. He’s managed to clean himself up just fine.
I can tell that he’s been through something, though, not just because I was the person he was fucking.
It’s his hair, all tousled out of place and the way his shirt peeks out from under his jacket in the back. He must have missed tucking that bit in.
Trevor notices me looking and attempts to smile.
I look away. “I think I should just sit this one out.”
Red’s forehead squeezes together with lots of worried lines. “Violet–”
“Like, I appreciate you trying to include me, but it’s okay. I’m a big girl.”
She grabs my biceps and smiles at me with fondness. “Honey, you are a part of this family. It doesn’t matter that you and Trevor haven’t worked things out yet.”
“Yet?” I echo with a disbelieving laugh. “Red, you’re way too optimistic.”
Her hands slide to mine. “Of course, I’m optimistic. I’ve tried to give you space to recover, but you two are idiots if you think that you can just walk away from–”
“ Red . Drop it.” I can’t do this, can’t keep running in circles over this relationship that no longer exists. “Trevor made it clear. I made it clear. We’re done.”
My friend hesitates before saying, “That’s why you’re sneaking off with him to…well, what are you doing? Arguing?”
I gape at her. I guess we hadn’t been subtle.
“That’s why you had lipstick all over your chin when I found you?” Red’s sympathetic tone turning accusatory.
I steel myself. “It’s just sex.”
“Yeah, and I’m the Queen of England. Now come on. We have a picture to take.”
I clearly have no more room to argue with her now that she’s read me for filth, so I let her guide me by the hand toward the sea of Hawthorn couples.
I’m tucked in right next to her, Oliver to her left and Trevor on Oliver’s left. So, we’re close but clearly not coupled the way everyone else is.
The photographer gets the camera ready, pointing it at us. “Okay, squeeze in.”
Ash shoulders me on my other side. “Sorry, Iris.”
“It’s fine.”
He does a double take in my direction. “You’ve got a little…” He gestures under my eye. “Mascara.”
Fuck! I rub at my eye with viciousness. “Ha! Long night, I guess. Thanks. That would have been…embarrassing.”
The photographer holds up a hand. “All right, perfect!”
Red puts her arm around me and squeezes me close to her and Oliver.
I can feel Trevor all the way through them, the energy of whatever happened in the conference room vibrating the air around me.
Last year, I was standing next to him during the photo, hand around his bicep, his head tipped down to lean on mine. When we got the picture back, I realized my eyes had been closed because I was so in the moment with him, so in love that I let the softness of loving him overcome me.
This time, I stare wide-eyed at the camera, praying I’ve touched up my makeup enough.
Yes. That was the last time. It doesn’t matter if he still loves me, doesn’t matter that I still love him.
We’re done.
“Everyone smile!”
I try. My cheeks ache with the effort and tears prick my eyes.