Chapter 4: Like A Dead Corpse

Iris's POV

I dressed carefully.

A simple black tank top that clung just enough to hint at the curves under, paired with high-waisted shorts. I even put on a little makeup just enough to look like I tried. I stood in front of the mirror before I left the mansion and looked at myself and thought, you can do this. We've been together for eight months, I knew his apartment, his smell, his hands. I knew how to be his girlfriend, I just had to remember how.

He opened the door before I knocked.

"You're late," he said.

"The traffic was bad." I lied.

He looked at me, then he stepped aside. "Come in."

His apartment was arranged exactly the way he liked it, nothing out of place. I stood in the middle of it and waited for some version of warmth to find me, it didn't.

"You look good," he said, coming up behind me. His hands found my waist like it always did, his mouth brushed my cheek and I stood there and felt absolutely nothing.

"I've missed you," he murmured into my hair.

"I know." I said.

He pulled back enough to look at my face. "That's it?"

I sighed. "Tristan I..."

"I'm not starting anything." He held his hands up. "I just missed you and I wanted to say it."

I looked at him, his brown hair, hazel eyes, the face I'd looked at for eight months and tried to feel more for than I did. "I heard you."

Something moved across his expression but he let it go. "Come here," he said, pulled me in and kissed me.

I kissed him because I knew how to.

But my mind wandered, like it always did. I thought of Rafael, whose voice alone could make me wet.

I imagined his hands, rougher than Tristan's, his mouth hot and hungry, the way he'd look at me in my dreams, like he wanted to eat me whole, and just like that, my body reacted. A slow heat pooled between my thighs, my nipples tightened against the thin fabric of my tank top. I bit my lip to silence a moan, my hips rolling instinctively against Tristan's.

Tristan groaned, making my reaction for desire. "There you are," he murmured, his hands sliding up to cup my breasts. His thumbs brushed over my hardened nipples and I arched into his touch, my mind still lost in fantasies of another man.

"F*ck, you're responsive tonight," His voice was rough.

He walked me backward toward the bedroom and I went. He laid me back on the bed and his mouth crashed into mine, his tongue forcing its way between my lips. I kissed him back, but it was mechanical. My body was responding, but my mind was elsewhere. I could taste the whiskey on his tongue, feel the desperation in his touch.

He didn't waste time. His fingers hooked into the waistband of my shorts, yanking them down in one rough motion. I wasn't wearing panties, I never did when I came over, because Tristan liked easy access, and the cool air hit my exposed pussy making me shiver.

He groaned, his fingers sliding between my legs. "F*ck, you're wet." He muttered. I was wet, soaking but not for him.

He didn't notice, or maybe he just didn't care..I moaned, my hips rolling against his hands. It felt good, it should feel good, but it wasn't enough, it was never enough.

"You like that, don't you?" He growled, his breath hot against my ear.

I didn't answer, I couldn't. He pulled his fingers out, then he was unbuckling his belt, freeing his c*ck. It was hard, thick, already leaking at the tip. "You want this, baby?"

I hesitated, I should want it, should want him, but all I could think about was Rafael. The way his voice would sound if he said those words, the way his hands would feel on my skin.

Tristan didn't wait for an answer. He gripped my hips, and lined himself up. The head of his c*ck pressed against my entrance, and I held my breath.

Then he thrusted inside me.

I gasped, my nails digging into his shoulders. He was big, bigger than I remembered, and the stretch burned, but it wasn't the good kind of burn, it wasn't the kind that made me ache. It was just... uncomfortable.

"F*ck you're tight." He groaned, his hands gripping my hips hard enough to bruise. He pulled out and thrusted back in. My body moved with his, but my mind wasn't present. I stared at the ceiling, my breath coming in short gasps. I could feel him inside me, could hear the wet sounds of our bodies slapping together, but it was like she was watching it from outside my own body.

His movements grew more frantic, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "Come on, baby," he groaned. "Come for me."

I bit my lip, I wanted to, I tried to, but my body wouldn't cooperate. I was dry, I could feel the burn, but there was no pleasure, no heat.

Tristan must have sense it, because he pulled out suddenly, his c*ck glistening with my lack of arousal..His face was twisted in frustration.

"What the f*ck is wrong with you?" He snapped.

I blinked, my mind snapping back to reality. "I...I don't know," I stammered.

"You don't know?" He stood up, his c*ck still hard, still dripping. "You're like a f*cking corpse, Iris. I swear to god, I've never been with a woman who's so dead when I touch her."

I sat up, the words hit me like a slap. I could feel the wetness between my thighs, his wetness, not mine, and it made my skin crawl.

"It's not about you." My voice was low.

"No, it's clearly about you." His voice was sharp. "I touch your and you're just lying there waiting for it to be over."

My chest tightened. I wanted to argue, I wanted to tell him he was wrong, but the words died in my throat, because he was right.

"I told my packmates," He continued. "I told them I didn't know how a girl could be that cold and they didn't believe me, they thought I was exaggerating, I wasn't."

"Get out," His jaw tightened. "We're Over."

I slipped out of the bed, my legs shaking and bent to pick up my shorts, my legs shook as I pulled them on.

I grabbed my bag from the couch and walked out of the door.

The door clicked shut behind me.

I pressed a hand to my chest, trying to calm my racing heart. I should have felt sad, heartbroken.

But all I felt was relief.