Virgin Daiquiri - Elise Faber Page 0,33

I didn’t mean to make you feel small. I spent too long with someone who I allowed to make me feel like that, and I’m so ashamed that I made you feel that way.” She inhaled, exhaled rapidly. “And it’s my fault you hurt your back and couldn’t work. I made you run off, and I made you feel bad about yourself, and I-I’m a g-giant asshole!” Her arms came up, and I realized she held a platter with a cake on it. She thrust the tray in my direction. “It’s a nine-layer cake, and it’s for you, and I’m sorry, and I’m going to leave now—”

Maybe it was the fact that I was tired.

Maybe it was the sheer onslaught of her blurted-out words.

Maybe it was just Iris.

Because I’d never had a chance of keeping my distance, and just seeing her in front of me, seeing her so upset that she’d wounded me, made it clear that the decision I’d come to just a couple of hours before was the right one.

I snatched the cake out of her hands, plunked it on the table I kept there for my keys.

It barely fit, but I wasn’t thinking of that.

My mind was on Iris.

I needed her, needed her to know that this whole thing was my fault. “Darlin’—”

She launched herself into my arms, and I stumbled back, scrambling to keep hold of her while closing the door with one foot, flipping the lock and then letting my mouth come down onto hers. She opened immediately, tongue dancing with mine, lips softening, body melting as we kissed and kissed and kissed.

Finally, she pushed at my chest, and I pulled back, letting her have a moment to breathe. I was flying high on adrenaline and didn’t think I’d ever need to breathe again.

Then she grimaced and I remembered morning breath. As in, my mouth was probably rank with it. “Shit, darlin’. Let me brush my teeth.”

“What? No,” she said. “I’m trying to apologize.” Her fingers traced along the lines of his jaw. “Brent, I’m so sorry.”

“Shh, darlin’. It’s my fault,” I said, trying to focus.

She shook her head. “No—”

I tugged her closer, slid my lips over her cheek, nipped at the corner of her mouth. Her tracing turned into stroking, fingers running over my pecs, and my mind fogged. Then she skimmed my nipples with her nails, making my cock pulse.

“It was my—” she began.

My hands fell to her waist, brought her pelvis flush against mine. Her breath caught, palms drifting down over my abs, fingertips slipping under the waistband of my shorts, and I felt the leash inside me snap. Without thinking of my back, I scooped her up into my arms, probably reversing my recovery by days, but not able to feel anything in that moment aside from her bare hands on my skin.

She didn’t protest or squirm, just arched her neck so her lips could meet mine.

And then I was walking to my bedroom, dropping her onto the mattress, and I knew this was it. I wasn’t letting this moment slip by.

She scooted up, resting her head on my pillow as my fingers went to the zipper of the hoodie she was wearing. “Do you forgive me?” she asked, breath hitching when I yanked the garment down over her arms.

I’d momentarily lost the ability to speak, mainly because she wasn’t wearing anything beneath that hoodie, aside from a see-through lace bra.

Peaches.

Her nipples were the orangey-pink of a peach and beaded, pressing against the lace, making my mouth water, my cock grow even harder.

“Brent?” she called, hands coming to my head. “Do you forgive me?” she asked again. “I need you to forgive me so—”

“Shh,” I said, coming back into my brain, seeing the vulnerability on her face. “Yes, darlin’,” I told her, knowing she needed to hear it, but also knowing she needed my apology, too. “Except there’s nothing to forgive. This whole thing was my fault because of my hang-ups. I shouldn’t have run off. I should have stayed and talked—”

Her mouth covered mine in a scalding kiss.

“It’s my fault,” she said when we broke apart for air. “I should have—”

“I know we’re really good at blaming ourselves,” I said, gently placing a finger over her lips. “But how about we both table the should haves,” I said, “and instead, think about what we can have?”

She nibbled at the corner of her mouth, but her eyes went soft. “And what do you think we can have?”

“Everything,” I murmured.

She smiled. “I