“This thing between us can never work,” I told her, hating the words.

Hating the truth.

She shook her head, her long, mussed hair shifting back and forth across her shoulders.  “You’re wrong.  I know you are.  I’m more than an age, Dair.  I’m a person, a woman, and I’m in love with you.”

I swallowed hard at the glint in her eye.

I had exactly a zero percent success rate at denying her, and I doubted today was going to be the day that changed.

In fact, if I were a betting man, I’d have put odds that I wouldn’t even want to in about five more minutes.

“Tell me what you meant when you said our first meeting wasn’t random.  You said you knew I’d be there, and you sought me out.  Explain that to me.”

She was shaking her head before I’d finished.  “No,” said Iris firmly.  “I’m not explaining that to you, not with how you’re reacting to the last thing I told you.”

I shut my eyes, frustrated beyond all reason.  “But you could tell me that?  That’s one of the things you’re able to tell me, if you so desired?”

“I shouldn’t.  It’s for the best if I don’t, but I’d been considering it.  Before.”

“Before?”

“Before I saw your reaction to my age.  If that bothered you this much, you will totally wig out about the other.”

I took a few deep, calming breaths, wondering if she was just messing with me now.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

I still wasn’t looking at her, eyes still closed, but I felt her mood change.

Suddenly and drastically.

“We’re wasting precious time here, baby,” she said, soft voice breathless.

I opened my eyes and knew I wasn’t going to be able to resist her.

Twenty-four or eighteen, hostage or hustler, sinner or saint, whatever she was or wasn’t, whether she lied to my face or taunted me with hints of the truth, all of this seemed always to defer to the more pertinent fact at hand.

She was mine.

Inconceivably.

Undeniably.

Mine.

It was that devastating and that simple.

In a last ditch, desperate effort, I put my arms out, warding off that look of hers from several feet away.  “Iris, please.”

“Yes, okay, but only because you said please.”

She smiled and shrugged off her sweatshirt.  Gloriously topless, her heavy br**sts quivering with every shift, she reached back and gathered her hair, twisting it into a flimsy bun on top of her head.

My eyes didn’t know where to look, darting from her low slung sweats (that looked in danger of falling off) and her out of this world mesmerizing tits.  She’d lost weight everywhere but there, it seemed.  She was as top heavy as ever.

She took a few steps back, pushing down and out of her sweats and panties as she went.

Naked, she perched herself on the hotel room’s flimsy, old desk.

She took her hands, gripped both of her knees and parted her legs wide.

Put a fork in me.  Done.

I was up, dick out of my pants, dressed body pressed to her na**d one, before you could say—‘jailbait.’

It was a quick, jarring f**k, but she didn’t complain, and I couldn’t stop.

We didn’t say much after, just cleaned up and started touching again, as though we had only hours left to be with each other, because we did.

I had her sit on my face, her hands gripping the flimsy motel headboard, banging it hard against the wall as I went to work on her with my tongue.

She circled her hips, bearing down.

I got her off, flipped her over, and started from the top.

It was hours later when I started to recover brain function again.  Not all of it, just enough to remember that our situation was less than ideal.

“We need to get dressed,” I told her.  When Heath showed up again, I intended to be ready for him.  It could be our best and only shot at an escape.

To say she wasn’t listening was an understatement.  She was to listening what writers were to math.

Not even in the same realm.

She was straddling me, playing with her tits while I rubbed my thumb over her cl*t in slow, lazy circles.

I wasn’t inside of her, but under, and she was gliding up and down my semi-hard erection like it was a slip-and-slide.

It was just a prop at this point, putting on a good show, but more than likely useless.

She reached a hand back and started scoring her blunt nails lightly over my scrotum, dragging them to my taint, then back again.

Not so semi now, I reached up and squeezed a hand over hers, kneading hard at her soft breast, knowing I didn’t have the time, but still wondering if I could possibly f**k her again.

I bucked up lightly a few times, bouncing her hard enough to slam my c**k against my naval.

She didn’t let up on that addictive glide, and possibly quickly flowed into maybe, then turned to probably, and stopped decisively at Fuck Yes.

“Are you sore?” I asked her, heavy-lidded eyes watching her pu**y teasing over my cock.

She moaned out a languid yes, then shifted until she caught the tip of me with her entrance, easing me in that first tight inch.

Without warning, she slammed herself home, and I nearly shouted the roof down, hands (not lazy or slow now) shooting to her h*ps to guide her to the perfect rhythm.

She leaned down, gripping my head to suck at her heaving br**sts with one insistent arm.