I winced and shook my head.  “That’s not how it is.  What I meant is that’s how it will look.”

I felt her moving against me and couldn’t keep myself from opening my eyes and glancing at her.

I moved my hands from my knees to the sides of my chair as she swung one long leg over my knee, straddling it loosely.

She started to dance, gyrating against me, na**d br**sts shoved into my face until I panted.

She swung her leg until she was standing back between mine.  She twisted to face away from me.  Her head went down, her ass up and shaking.

The song played on, the singer’s words making me blink and wondering if I’d heard correctly, but I didn’t ask about it, and the singer went on to sing about getting called Peaches when she got this nasty.

As though that damned song wasn’t enough to make me feel like an old fart, I was pretty sure Iris was twerking at me.

It was as though the very mention of our age differences made her want to throw it in my face.

She was young.  I was old.

She was wild.

I was tame.

What on earth were we doing here?  How the hell would we ever fit into each other’s lives?

The answer was simple and bleak.  We didn’t and we wouldn’t.

“You worry way too much about how things will look,” she said, turning back around to move her br**sts against my face.  I gripped my chair and tried hard not to start licking anything.

We did not have time for any of this.  I needed to tell her to stop.  I needed to do the impossible and tell her no.

“We’re running late,” I said stiffly, not quite holding back a half nuzzle into her cle**age.

It was abysmal, but the best I could manage in terms of turning her away.

She straddled me, still standing, her hands sliding up her body to push her br**sts up and together and into my face.

I was doing good right until one of her pert little ni**les rubbed against my lips.

I groaned, shifting restlessly, hands keeping their death grip on the sides of my chair.

She pulled slightly away, and I groaned again.

One of her legs went up and over my shoulder, her knee perching there, calf draped behind.  Her hand in my hair guided me forward until my face was buried in her lower belly, then slightly lower.

She started moving, some obscene dance that had my face inching lower, then away, then lower, until I was biting at her thong to keep her from moving away from my face.

In my defense, I did keep my hands to myself.

My tongue, now, that was another story.

I started licking, my tongue lashing out against her skin every time she brought it close, lower every time, until I was thrusting it against her cl*t with her movements.

Her breath grew ragged, but she pulled away nearly as soon as it did.

She went to lean against the counter again, not bothering to fix her panties, which I’d tugged down past her pu**y with my teeth.

My hands were on my fly, carefully trying to free my pulsating cock, when she spoke.

“Your doorbell just rang.  Twice.”

I cursed fluently.

I stood, dragging a hand through my hair.  “I’ll go get it while you get dressed.”

She shrugged, drawing my eyes back to her chest.  “Sure.”

“Listen, I’ll introduce you to the photographer on your way out.”

She shrugged again, but something in her eyes was getting to me.  “It doesn’t matter.”

“I was being a jerk.  I’m sorry.  You don’t need to leave.  You should stay.”

“No, that’s okay.  I need to go.  I have plans.”  She shot me a smile that was all teeth.

I didn’t like it.

“What are your plans?”

“Why, I’m planning on doing what twenty year olds do, Dair.  I’m going to go be impulsive.  Hell, tonight I’ll even go to a rave.”

I didn’t know what part of her statement to take more exception to.  Wait, yes I did.  “Twenty-four, you mean,” I said, jaw clenched so hard my teeth ached.

She rolled her eyes, fully adopting this new harder persona of hers.

I didn’t like it.  Not one bit.

“Oh yeah, I’m twenty-four, right?  Same diff, to a forty year old, I’m sure.”

“No, no, not at all.  Twenty is not at all the same as twenty-four, even to an old guy like me.  And what the f**k do you mean, you’re going to a rave?  Was that a serious statement or some kind of joke?”

“Don’t worry about it.  It’s a too young thing.  You wouldn’t understand.”

“Do they still have raves?  Do they still call them raves?”  I was getting more agitated by the second.  I really couldn’t tell if she was just messing with me, and I couldn’t stand the thought of her going to some sort of a drug party.

“They do.  And does it matter what they call them?  I was just trying to use a reference that someone your age might understand.”

“So you want me to know that you’re going to some kind of a party where you’ll…like suck on a pacifier and do ecstasy?”

“No pacifier.  This one will be more about neon body paint and some Skrillex.”

“And drugs,” I added, fists clench.  I really couldn’t let her leave like this, and I had no idea how to stop her.

She shrugged.  “I don’t know.  Aren’t drugs a part of being too young?”