Page 38 of Guarding the Star

“I don't need it.”

“Yeah, what you need is for me to take all my clothes off and you think I'm taking too long,” she says, unclipping the bra and gesturing for me to do the same.

Then she puts her hands on my shoulders and pushes me back gently until I'm flat on the mattress, and climbs on top of me, straddling my hips.

“Don't move,” she tells me, leaning down to brush her tits against mine.

The sigh that escapes my mouth must amuse her, because she laughs, and I have to beg her not to stop.

And then I lose track of everything. Her tongue circling my nipples, driving me out of my mind, her right hand unbuttoning my pants and sliding underneath to find me, feeling me like she wants to make sure I'm into this.

I can barely speak. I can barely move. I lie almost still, stroking her back while her fingertips trace my ribs and my stomach.

She peels off my pants and underwear together. Then my socks, kissing my instep before working her way up, along my whole leg, getting dangerously close before she stops.

Her warm breath grazes the inside of my thighs, so close I feel it right where I need her. I squirm, involuntarily, and she looks up with an expression that's half mischief, half pure want.

“Patience, Paula,” she murmurs, smiling. “We've got all the time in the world.”

Before I can answer, her mouth lands on my pussy with the softest kiss I've ever felt. She nuzzles me with the tip of her nose before tracing a slow line downward with her tongue, parting me gently. The first direct stroke on my clit tears a choked gasp out of me. It's electric, precise, like she knows exactly where to press, how to circle her tongue in slow loops that make my back arch off the mattress.

“God, Iris…” I whisper, fingers threading through her hair.

She doesn't answer with words. She slides a finger inside me, moving slow, curling it right at the spot that makes me shake. Then another, matching the rhythm of her mouth on my clit: sucking, licking, with an intensity that leaves me breathless. My body responds on instinct, my hips rising to meet her, but Iris holds me down, pressing a hand flat on my stomach.

“Stay still or I stop,” she orders, though her tone is playful and every word hums against my skin.

I give in, and the pleasure builds like a wave that can't be stopped, her fingers moving faster, her pinky slipping between my cheeks.

When I can't take any more, I let out a long moan, and she practically purrs in approval, looking up to give me a gorgeous smile, her fingers still inside me.

She doesn't pull them out until my body goes slack, until my gasps turn into broken sighs. Only then does she pull away, licking her lips with a satisfied grin, like she just tasted the best thing on earth.

“God, I love how responsive you are,” she says, climbing up my body to kiss me. Her mouth tastes like me, and when she pulls back, she places her fingers on my lips for me to suck.

“I think you're wearing too many clothes,” I joke, pointing at the pants she still has on.

She smiles and shoves off her pants and underwear, almost tripping, then positions herself over me again, this time opening my legs so her pussy rests flush against mine. She rocks slow, a circular motion, a slick, maddening friction that makes us both moan. My hands go to her hips, but she's the one setting the pace, slow at first, then faster, more urgent.

“Yeah, like that… just like that,” she pants, head thrown back, the freckles on her shoulders catching the dim lamplight.

It's hypnotic to watch: the sweat gleaming on her collarbone, her lips parted, moans spilling out and tangling with mine.

Then her body locks, she cries out my name, and lets go on top of me while pulling me over the edge with her.

I collapse under her, wrecked, trying to catch my breath while Iris drops beside me and pulls me against her chest. She tangles her legs with mine, her heart hammering, and I trace the freckles on her shoulders with my fingertips, grinning like a fool.

“I want so much more of this, Paula,” she whispers, and kisses my forehead.

“Me too,” I admit.

Later, with the sheets wrecked and Seattle's gray light leaking through the window, she draws circles on my stomach with her finger.

“Paula.”

“Yeah?”

“Don't ask me to be someone else. Please. I'm still going to show up late. I'm still going to be a mess. I'll still drive Hades crazy because that's who I am. If you're looking for someone neat, punctual, and low-key, this isn't going to work.”