her against me and back her into the closed door and crush my lips to hers, causing her to groan.
I pull back to gaze upon her face, trying to halt myself from becoming too excited.
She’s grinning. “Are you always so anxious when you bring girls to your bedroom?”
I lean my forehead against hers. “I’ve never brought a girl here before. I just wanted to kiss you one last time before you go in and see my room.”
She cocks her head. “Why?”
This time it’s me who blushes. “I’m afraid when you go in there you might question my manliness.”
She laughs and shimmies her hips against mine, and her grin widens as she feels my semierect cock pushing against her through my jeans. “Trust me. You’re plenty man enough.” Iris pauses for a beat and finds the knob behind her and twists. “Let’s see what you’re so afraid of me seeing.”
Without another word she flings open the door and steps through its threshold backward. I hold my breath as she spins on her heel and takes in the sight of my sanctuary.
“Wow . . .” she says with a breathy voice. “You weren’t kidding when you said you were a Shakespeare addict.”
I lean against the doorjamb as she wanders into my room to inspect things more closely. All of my walls are exactly as I left them, covered in posters for plays William Shakespeare wrote. The nightstand beside my bed is still stacked with a pile of books, most of which matched Mom’s collection downstairs. I think she bought me copies because she got tired of me borrowing hers all the time.
My eyes follow Iris as she stops at what I like to call my reward wall. Mom was so proud of me every time I got recognition of some kind. It was hard to talk her out of displaying them all and persuade her to put up only the most important ones, like my high school diploma, along with my valedictorian letter and my bachelor’s degree from Ohio State.
“A degree in philosophy. Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Iris turns to me and quirks an eyebrow. “You’re kind of like a genius, huh?”
I laugh. “I don’t know about a genius . . . well educated, yes.”
She finishes inspecting my room and runs her fingers along my dresser before she flips through the stack of CDs sitting there. “How did you get into music?”
I walk over next to her and turn around to rest my hands behind me as I lean against the dresser. “Mom bought me an old guitar at a yard sale. I, of course, taught myself how to play and to read music, and while I’m definitely no Shakespeare, I’ve found I’m pretty good at writing lyrics.”
She wraps her hands around my waist. “A self-taught man . . . I like it.” Iris presses her lips to mine and then frowns. “So, after seeing all this . . . it doesn’t explain how you were able to fight so well. A guy like you, book smart, isn’t typically quick with his fists like you were with Jeremy that day.”
I frown. “Unfortunately, when you’re an unconventional man like me, it attracts the kinds of guys who like to assert their dominance over someone they perceive to be weak. It was unlucky for them that I knew how to fight. I wasn’t the mousy little nerd they expected when they messed with me. I had no problem fighting back, because using my fists to protect myself was the only thing I’d ever known. Of course, that was before Mom showed me there was another way to live without fighting constantly. I think for the longest time all the counselors had it in my file that I was a kicker.”
I chuckle at that last thought, but stop when Iris’s beautiful lips turn down into a deep frown. I pull on the hem of her shirt. Her eyes begin to fill with tears, and I slide my finger under her chin and tip it up so I can gaze into her eyes. “Hey, don’t be sad for me. I turned out okay.”
A tear slips down her cheek. “I’m sorry you had to go through that. Was it horrible living with your real mother before you went into the foster system?”
I sigh. “It wasn’t pleasant, but at the time I didn’t know there was any other way to live, so I was unaware of exactly how bad it was. When the state came to take