Chapter 3

Iris’s POV

I woke up with a jolt. The dream had been hazy but vivid enough to leave me throbbing. There were dark eyes watching me, a low magnetic voice murmuring praise against my throat and strong hands sliding up my thighs with slow deliberate purpose. I had arched into the touch in the dream desperately and now the echo of it lingered in every pulse of my clit.

I turned my head to see Marcus was still asleep, one arm flung across my waist and his face half buried in the pillow. His breathing was deep and even, the way it always was on mornings when the world let him rest.

With Victor back in the city running the empire, Marcus could afford to slack. No five thirty alarms, no urgent emails and no reason to leave this bed for hours.

I shifted closer, pressing my breasts against his back, letting my thigh slide between his. He stirred, made a sleepy rumbling sound and rolled toward me without opening his eyes.

“Morning,” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep.

“Morning,” I whispered.

He cracked one eye open and gave me that lazy boyish smile that made the ache pulse harder.

I leaned in to kiss him first. The kiss started gently but something inside me was restless and hungry.

I deepened it, slipping my tongue past his in a desperate attempt at quelling the heat inside of me.

My hand slid under his T-shirt, fingers tracing the warm skin of his stomach, then higher, over the flat plane of his chest. He groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating against my mouth and traveling straight down my spine.

His hand found my hip and pulled me closer. I rocked against him instinctively, feeling him harden through his boxers. The thick ridge pressed right against my center, separated only by thin fabric, and the contact sent a sharp bright spark through me.

I whimpered involuntarily and we were both surprised at the sound coming from my own throat. I shamelessly kissed him harder.

Marcus pulled back just enough to look at me. His pupils were blown wide, breath coming in short pants. “Iris…” His voice was rough, questioning, but already thick with want. “You’re… different this morning.”

I didn’t answer with words. I just kissed him again, straddling his hips and settling my weight so the hard length of him nestled perfectly against my folds.

I rocked him slowly, grinding down in small circles that made my clit throb with every pass. He groaned louder, hands gripping my thighs, fingers digging into the soft flesh hard enough to leave faint marks.

“Fuck, babe,” he rasped. “You’re killing me.”

I rocked harder, chasing the intoxicating friction. My body was screaming yes, wet and open and ready, and for a moment I let myself imagine it.

I imagined letting Marcus push my shorts aside before giving me a well deserved pounding to see if this fire Victor had awakened could be quenched by the man I had promised my first time to.

Marcus’s hand slipped under my tank top to cupping my breast, his thumb circled my nipple in slow firm strokes.

I arched into his touch, a soft moan slipping out before I could catch it. He flipped us in one smooth motion, settling between my legs and kissing down my neck while his hips rolled against mine in long deliberate thrusts.

The head of his cock nudged my entrance through the damp cotton of my shorts, teasing without entering, and I lifted my hips to meet him, desperate for more pressure.

We were in a precarious situation.

My virginity was a thin fabric away from being gone. The fabric in question was soaked with my juices, clinging shamelessly to my labia folds. It was barely a barrier, one small shift and he would be inside me, one whispered yes and the promise I had held onto for years would be gone.

His mouth found mine again hungrily . His tongue stroked mine in the same rhythm his hips used. My hands fisted in his hair, pulling him closer, legs wrapped around his waist to lock him against me.

Every grind sent fresh wetness flooding between us. My clit was swollen, throbbing with every pass of his length, and I could feel myself fluttering, clenching around nothing, begging to be filled.

Marcus groaned against my lips. “Iris… God, you feel so good. So wet.”

His hand slid down, fingers slipping under the waistband of my shorts, brushing the slick folds. I gasped, hips jerking up into his touch. He circled my clit slowly and pleasure spiked sharp and bright behind my eyes.

I was trembling with need. I have never been this horny and ready to lose my V card.

ThenI was saved by his phone buzzing loudly and incessantly on the nightstand. It was the ringtone he used for his father.

He froze, forehead dropping to my shoulder. “Shit.”

I exhaled shakily, body still humming and humping to push my pulsing clit against his fingers.

“Ignore it.”

“I want to.” He kissed my collarbone, voice rough with frustration. “God, I really want to.”

He kissed me once more, deep and lingering, then pulled back with visible effort. “But if I don’t answer, Dad will hear about it and give me that look.”

The mention of Victor landed like ice water on fevered skin. I went still.

Marcus didn’t notice. He rolled off me, grabbed the phone, and answered with a sleepy “Yeah, what’s up?”

I lay there, chest rising and falling too fast, staring at the ceiling while he talked in low tones about some contract clause that needed his signature by noon. My skin was flushed, my nipples we're aching, my core was still slick and disappointingly empty. The ache hadn’t eased. It had turned needy and insistent, like my body was protesting the interruption.

When he hung up, he turned back to me with an apologetic smile. “Sorry, crisis averted. Where were we?”

I forced a small laugh, trying to sound light. “Breakfast?”

He grinned. “Deal. I’ll order from that place you like. French toast, bacon wrapped dates, extra syrup. Doorstep delivery. We’re not getting out of this bed for at least another hour.”

He leaned down, kissed me softly then, grabbed his phone to place the order.

I watched him hungrily as he moved, this handsome specimen of a man was all mine and I loved him deeply.

But the ache between my legs hadn’t faded, it had grown more demanding.

And a quiet, honest part of me wondered if letting Marcus inside me right now would finally quiet it. If sliding him deep, feeling him stretch me for the first time, would wash away memory of Victor’s touch and the forbidden way my body had answered it without permission.

Or if it would only make the contrast unbearable.

Marcus set the phone down and pulled me close again, tucking me against his chest. “Food will be delivered in twenty minutes. Do you want to stay like this till then?”

I nodded against his skin, breathing him in but my mind was already drifting and wondering.

What if the ache wasn’t something to be quenched?

What if it was something that needed to be fed?

The doorbell buzzed twenty minutes later. Marcus groaned dramatically,rolled out of bed, and padded to the door in his boxers.

I stayed under the covers, heart still racing, thighs still slick, clit still swollen and sensitive. I pressed my palm between my legs for a moment, just enough pressure to make me bite my lip, then pulled my hand away.

The ache didn’t care about breakfast.

It didn’t care about promises.

It only cared about being filled.

And deep down, the part of me that wrote all those desperate, forbidden scenes already knew the truth:

No amount of French toast was going to satisfy the hunger Victor had woken.

Marcus came back with the bags, set them on the bed, and climbed in beside me again. He kissed my temple, handed me a fork, and smiled like the world was still simple.

I smiled back.

But when I took the first bite, sweet syrup coating my tongue, all I could think about was how much sweeter it would taste if Victor’s voice was the one murmuring “good girl” while I came apart on his fingers.

I swallowed hard.

And wondered how long I could keep pretending the fire in my veins had anything to do with the man beside me.