Chapter 29

IRIS POV:

His mouth hovered a breath from mine, close enough that I could feel the heat of him. My pulse hammered in my throat, loud enough that I was sure he could hear it.

Then he closed the last inch with a kiss.

He kissed me slowly like he was giving me one final chance to pull back. I didn’t. My hands went to the front of his dark shirt. He made a low sound in his throat, raw and hungry, and suddenly, the carefulness vanished.

He kissed violence wrapped. His tongue slid against mine, claiming in long, deep strokes that made my knees soften. One of his hands cupped the back of my neck, as his thumb pressed just under my jaw, tilting my head exactly where he wanted it.

The other slid to my waist, pulling me flush against him until I could feel every hard line of his body.

I gasped into his mouth when his palm slid lower, cupping the curve of my ass through the trousers, squeezing once, possessively. Heat pooled low in my belly. My wolf stirred, restless, approving.

He broke the kiss only to drag his lips along my jaw, down the side of my throat. His teeth grazed my neck, not biting. I arched into him without meaning to, breasts pressing against his chest. A small, involuntary sound slipped out of me.

“Fuck,” he murmured against my skin, voice rougher than I’d ever heard it. “You sound even better than I imagined.”

His hand moved again, this time slipping under the hem of my blouse, his rough fingertips skating over my bare skin. I shivered. He traced the line of my spine, slowly, then higher, touching the clasp of my bra. One flick of his fingers and it loosened. My breath hitched.

He pulled back just enough to look at me. Gold still dominated his eyes. “I could stop if you say so,” he said, low.

I didn’t speak. Instead I reached for the top button of his shirt, popping it open with my fingers. Then the next. Then the next. It revealed his hard muscles. When I reached his belt, I hesitated for half a second.

He didn’t.

His hands found the buttons of my blouse. One by one they came undone, cool air hitting heated skin. The cream fabric parted. He pushed it off my shoulders; it slid down my arms and pooled at my elbows before he tugged it free entirely and let it drop to the floor.

My bra, black lace, was already loose. He hooked two fingers under the strap, dragged it down one shoulder, then the other. The cups fell away.

His gaze dropped. A muscle flexed in his jaw.

“Beautiful,” he said, but the way he said it felt filthy.

He palmed one breast, his thumb brushing over the nipple until it peaked, hard and aching. Then he bent and took it into his mouth, he sucked it and it made my back bow.

A moan tore out of me, louder than I meant.

He switched to the other breast, giving it the same slow, devastating attention while his free hand worked the button of my trousers. The zipper rasped down. His palm slid inside, over the lace of my underwear, cupping me fully.

I jerked against him, thighs pressing together instinctively around his hand.

“So wet already,” he murmured against my skin, voice vibrating through me. “All this for me?”

I couldn’t answer. His fingers slipped beneath the lace, finding slick heat, circling my clit with slow, maddening pressure. My hips rocked forward before I could stop them.

He groaned. “I want to taste you. Right here.”

The image alone nearly undid me.

Then his phone rang.

Sharp, insistent, cutting through the haze like glass.

He froze.

He exhaled through his nose. Slowly, reluctantly, he withdrew his hand. My body protested the loss, throbbing.

He stepped back, just one step, but it felt like a mile.

The phone kept ringing.

He glanced at the screen on the low table, his expression darkening. “I have to take this.”

I wrapped my arms around myself instinctively, suddenly aware of how exposed I was, trousers open, bra dangling uselessly, blouse on the floor.

He looked at me again. His eyes were storm-gray once more, but the heat hadn’t left them. If anything, it burned hotter, banked and furious.

“I’ll be back,” he said. “Soon.”

He reached for his discarded shirt, shrugging it on without bothering to button it. The sight of him like that, half-dressed made my thighs clench.

“Stay,” he told me. “Order whatever you want. Use the suite. The spa. Anything. This floor is yours until I return.”

He crossed to me in two strides, cupped my face with both hands, and kissed me once.

Then he turned, grabbed his phone, and walked out.

The door clicked shut behind him.

I stood there in the quiet, heart still racing, skin still flushed, body still aching.

The suite smelled of him.

And I was alone with the echo of what we’d almost done.