And, of course, I followed.
She led me into one of those ice cream shops that let you choose your own ingredients, and after they mixed them all together, and you tipped them, they sang some loud song that made me wish I wasn’t a habitual tipper.
“Sit down. I know just what to get, but I want to surprise you.” She smiled at me over her shoulder as she walked away.
Her eyes scrambled my brain. I couldn’t even properly check out her ass until she’d turned them from me.
She’d said she wanted to surprise me, but I watched the entire thing from my chair, mouth dry, fists clenched.
She chose the sweet cream flavor, mixed it with cinnamon and topped it with powdered sugar, shooting me that sweet, wicked smile of hers from time to time.
I was wearing a T-shirt, but I found myself pulling at my collar, as though the loose material was too tight. I’d thought about her a lot since she’d left, but my memories hadn’t done justice to the way she made my blood pressure rise with just a glance.
It was out of hand, to say the least.
She joined me, sitting close beside me instead of across, her left hand going to my knee to rub as she arranged the first small spoonful of the sin she was weaving for me.
“Let me take the first bite, make sure it turned out right,” said Iris.
I swallowed hard and watched.
“Do you think of me every time you taste cinnamon now, baby?” she asked, the most irresistible twinkle in her eye.
I didn’t even have words for that bit of torment.
She absolutely knew what she did to me.
And she loved every second of it.
I could only nod.
“Me too. It’ll never be the same.” She leaned in very close, giving me a stellar view of her cle**age.
Her voice lowered to just above a whisper. “Just the smell of it, Dair, and I’m wet.”
I swear I forgot my own name, where I was, and how I’d gotten there as she took that first luscious bite.
I watched raptly as the cold spoon pushed past her lips into her mouth, her tongue swirling over the bit of cinnamon flecked ice cream.
Fucking hell.
As though it wasn’t overkill, she kept that spoon in her mouth for a long while, licking it, sucking it until it went past clean and clearly into dirty.
Finally she pulled it free, smiled, and reiterated her earlier mind-boggling statement. “Wet.”
I shut my eyes, done for and aware of it.
She was soothing chaos.
Like that first taste of anesthesia, before you lost your senses.
Or the venom that numbed you before it killed you.
I really couldn’t decide which.
The verdict was definitely still out on that.
“Ready for a taste?”
Fuck me and her loaded questions.
But I opened my eyes, nodded, and took everything she offered with no hesitation.
And there it was. That flavor that had been assigned to a memory I could never forget. The sweet spice of the cinnamon, the powdery texture of the sugar, and that sweet creamy flavor that tied it all together.
Yep, I was ruined for cinnamon.
She’d known it and I knew it now.
“So good, right?” she asked.
I had to agree. So good, indeed.
The ice cream was nearly finished before I glanced around at our surroundings. I didn’t think I’d looked at anything but Iris since we’d walked in.
The place wasn’t packed, but it wasn’t empty either.
It wasn’t my imagination that we caught avid stares wherever we went. It made me extremely self-conscious, though the stares weren’t necessarily condemning. Mostly they were curious.
And who wouldn’t stare at Iris?
But it wasn’t only men that stared, it was women, and even children seemed taken with her. She was a sight—tan and healthy, buxom and happy.
And beautiful.
Above all, that.
It made it easier to tell myself that she was what drew most of the attention, but I knew that some of those fascinated eyes were also caught by the sight of a much older man, following her around, seeing through her clothes, and even, shamefully, looking down her shirt at every opportunity.
I couldn’t help it. It had been so long, and if I couldn’t touch, if I only got to look, I was going to look my fill.
“Did you think about me much?” Her voice shook me out of my reverie.
I flushed, pulling harder at the neck of my shirt. “God, I thought about you. You don’t even want to know how much or what I thought about. I f**king abused my cock, thinking about you.”
Why did I feel the need to tell her that?I mentally chastised myself.
But she cocked her head and smiled, and I knew why I’d told her.
I’d been positive it wouldn’t trouble her. On the contrary.
“You think that bothers me? I was counting on it, baby. Thinking about you thinking about me got me through some rough times these past few months.”
“What rough times? Is everything okay?”
She’d never made a comment like that before, about having it rough, but she’d thrown it out like it was common knowledge.
I found myself instantly troubled by it.
She didn’t answer, just leaned forward until all of her soft heat seemed to envelope me, the sweet flowery scent of her inundating my senses.
We were sitting side by side, only an inch apart, her lips hovering at my jaw.
“I’m glad you still have this scruff. You know how I love it,” she breathed against my skin, then rubbed her lips slowly back and forth across the edge of my jaw. Her lips were so soft, and I knew from experience they bruised easily. They were already red and swollen from the little bit of kissing we’d done earlier.