DAIR (10 page)

I could never stay mad at her for long, even when I needed that anger just for the sake of clarity.
 

I was too addicted to the peace of her to keep fighting for long.
 

I kissed the top of her head, then pulled back slightly to look at her hair, fingering a few bright strands.

“Your hair is still pink.
 
You used permanent dye?”
 

“Yeah, but it still probably won’t last more than a few weeks.
 
Don’t worry.
 
I’ve been dying my hair since I was a kid, and I know how to get my color back to normal.”

I was relieved.
 
The pink was sort of hot, but I loved her blonde hair best by far.

“I have a plan, a way for us to get a few weeks together,” she told me, tilting her head to look up at me.
   

The word plan coming out of her mouth had a notable effect on my cock, as again, her plans always seemed to end the same way.
 

That effect had me remembering that we weren’t alone.
 

I glanced at Turner, who gave me a toothy grin.
 
He was enjoying the hell out of the show we were giving him.
 

“Mind if we borrow this room for a bit?” I asked him, shuffling Iris inside.
 
“We need to talk.”
 

He laughed.
 
“Go for it.
 
You and your Chloroform Queen may talk as many times as you like in there.
 
Talk yourselves
silly
.”
 

I ignored that, shutting the door in his face.
 

Iris started explaining her plan the instant I turned my attention back to her.

“I’m house-sitting for these really nice women that I met at Turner’s pool party.
 
We’ve kept in touch, and it worked out just perfect, because they just left on a month long vacation to celebrate their anniversary.”

“What women?”
 

“Frankie and Estella.
 
Remember them?
 
Frankie is the tattoo artist with her own reality show that I’m going to make you watch sometime.”
 

“
Oh
, the hot lesbians.”

“Yes, them.
 
Anyway, it’s the perfect situation, all things considered.
 
We’ll have a bit of privacy for a few days, weeks, if we do it right, where no one can find us, because they won’t know where to look.”

I processed that.
 
She was such a whirlwind, and it was always easy to let that whirlwind sweep me up with it, but I suddenly remembered that I needed some things clarified.
 

“I know you’re going to tell me it’s complicated, but I need you to clear something up for me.
 
I need to know what’s up with you and Heath.
 
First you drug me, knock me out for this guy, and now
he’s
the one you’re running from?
 
Am I getting this right?”

She flushed, wringing her hands, not looking me in the eye suddenly, and I knew it was because she felt guilty for what she’d done, knocking me out cold while I was still twitching inside of her.
 

Good.
 
She should feel bad about that.
 

“I did that for you, not him.
 
I knew if you fought when he came to take you back, he’d hurt you bad.
 
And he
is
helping me, but that doesn’t mean he’s not dangerous.
 
Well, not to me, but to you he is.
 
You need to avoid setting him off.
 
He has a temper.”

No shit.
 

“I’m very sorry for that,” she added, voice small.
 
“Please don’t hate me.”
   

I took pity on her instantly.
 
“I’m over it.
 
I’d kind of figured you thought you were doing it for my own protection.”
 
I stroked her jaw, mood shifting as I stared down at her repentant, downcast face.
 
“And I could never hate you, but I think you know that.”
 

She answered by nuzzling into my chest, and my mood shifted even more.
 

“I was really disappointed that our night got cut short,” I told her gruffly.
 
“When will I get another chance to have a glow-in-the-dark lipstick blow job?”
 

She grinned up at me, a sweet, filthy light in her eyes.
 
“It’s not glow-in-the-dark, but I do have lipstick.”
 

I blinked.
 
I’d only been teasing, but I certainly wouldn’t turn it down.
 

She pulled away from me, moving across the room to a big bag on a chair in the far corner.
 

I found a light switch and turned it on, taking in her outfit.
 
It was nothing too shocking, especially considering some of the things I’d seen her wear, but it still got me worked up, or rather, the body it housed did.
 

She looked like a different girl with the pink hair, tiny cutoff jean shorts that barely covered her ass, combat boots with high, chunky heels, and a cropped white muscle tee with a kitten in sunglasses on the front that read: LET’S GET CRAY.
 

She was an adorable, punk version of herself.
 

And still way, way too young for me.
 

I felt like a pervert while I found myself a seat on the edge of the room’s big bed, and watched her bend over to search through her bag, but that didn’t stop me from shrugging off my T-shirt, and as I watched her perky ass pointing my way, pulling out my dick.
 

She straightened, turning to face me while she applied dark red lipstick, opening her mouth into a suggestive O that had me jerking myself impatiently.
 

She began to move towards me, her walk sultry.
 

“Clothes off,” I told her, forcing my hand away from my dick, with an effort.
 

She stripped slowly, having to sit down first to take off her heavy shoes, then standing, and taking the rest off, working bottom to top, her shirt and bra coming off last, when she stood directly in front of me, close enough to shove her tits in my face as she bared them.
   

I only got in one tonguing kiss on the underside of one breast before she shifted back, then lowered to her knees.

She gave me a coquettish smile and set to work.
   

I gripped her hair and watched, jaw more than a little slack.
 

She ringed half my cock with four deep red rings, reapplied the lipstick, and finished, right up to the tip.
 

She pulled back when she was done, and we both stared, admiring her handwork.
 

I pulled her hot little mouth to mine, kissed her deep, her pulpy lips giving to mine, driving me wild.
 
I took my time, pulled back, and pushed her head back down.
 

I watched her head bobbing on my colorful shaft, eyes heavy lidded, breath panting out of me.
 

Generally, it was a dick move to draw a blow job out longer, but I couldn’t seem to help myself this time, enjoying the view too much, taking permanent snapshots in my mind for future use.
   

She’d just finished sucking the last drop of seed from my tip when I yanked her up on the bed and flipped her onto her back, legs spread wide.
 

Her feet tapped out a vigorous rhythm on my back as I lapped between her thighs.
 
I took my time, tongue and hands working her cunt over thoroughly.
 

I did this until she’d come twice, and I was ready to come again.
 

I climbed up her body, using my hips to spread her legs wider, my body coming down heavy on hers.
 
She took my weight with gasping delight, and I came inside of her, and she felt so good, so hot and slick and narrow, closing around me snugly from tip to base, that I nearly exploded right then.
 

“I’m pretty sure lipstick is probably meant for external use only,” I told her as I moved inside of her.
 

“Oh sure, now you tell me,” she gasped back with a smile, moving her heels to dig into the bed, thrusting her hips up to take me deeper.
 
“A little late.”
 

I laughed and kissed her.
 
“I love you,” I told her, surging into her, already racing toward the finish.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

We set our plan in motion the next day.
 

I packed a small suitcase with one nice suit, swim trunks, several T-shirts and athletic shorts, plenty of boxer briefs, one extra pair of nice shoes, and the essential toiletries, prepped my work issues for a two-week absence, and left my house at ten a.m., clear instructions in my head, per Iris.

It was scary how good she was at this sort of thing, how familiar.
 

I drove my black Prius to Boulder Station, one of the local haunts, way across town, on Boulder Highway.
 
I parked it in the vast parking lot, walked through the casino, and exited the building at the taxi station.
 

I took a cab to Sam’s Town, another local haunt, and repeated the process, this time telling the new cabby to take me to the Bellagio, a casino on the strip.
 

From Bellagio, I took a taxi to Aria, another strip casino.
 
From Aria, I rode to the Stratosphere.
   

At this one, a hoodie and dark shades wearing Iris met me at the taxi station, and slipped into the car with me, this time giving the cab driver a home address.
 

She sent me a sidelong smile as the taxi started to move.
 

“How can you be absolutely sure I lost the tail?” I asked her, glancing behind us.
 

“Can’t be, that’s why we’ll do one more check.”
 

About halfway to our destination, Iris had the driver pull over on the side of a quiet street and wait for ten minutes, meter running.
 

Nothing happened.
 
No tail.
 

We smiled happily at each other and headed to her friends’ house.
 

We were walking Frankie and Estella’s dogs, twin black labs, in their busy neighborhood park a few days later, and I’d just said something, (in a pretty off-handed way, it should be noted) that I’d soon regret, only I didn’t know it yet.
 

Iris gave me one of those mysterious looks that drove me crazy.
 
It was neither happy or sad, but thoughtful and a touch of something that eluded me.
 

“So I should be with someone closer to my own age?” she was asking me.

Had I said that?
 
I supposed I had.
 
And I supposed I still believed it, though that didn’t mean I was happy about it.

I sighed.

She had no intention of letting it go.
   

“Have you talked to any twenty-year-old boys lately, Dair?”

I tried to change the subject.
 
I hadn’t liked it, anyway.
 
“Are you saying you’re twenty now?”
 

“You’re avoiding the question.
 
Do you think I should be with someone closer to my own age?”

I sighed again.
 
“Yes of course.
 
I’ve told you this.”

“And you want to be with someone your age?”
 
Her tone was so idle that I didn’t hesitate to answer.

“I certainly think that would be more
appropriate
.”
 

Did I intend to follow through with my words?
 

Fuck no.
 
Not with
any
of them.
 

I just felt the need to say them.
 
They were the most rudimentary form of lip service.
 
A sop to my conscience, as it were.

As though that settled something, she nodded and started looking around the park.
 

“Why?
 
Why did you just ask me that?”
 

“That photographer friend of yours is very beautiful.”
 

“She is.”
 
Though I was trying to recall when Iris could have gotten a good look at her, and came up blank.
 

“And into you.
 
On your coffee date, she leaned in your direction, and laughed a lot.
 
That’s got to be a good sign.
 
Does she know about me?”
 

I studied her, wondering just how much Iris must have either spied on me, or had someone else do it.
 
I tried to work up some righteous outrage, but too many conflicted emotions made it hard to form a response, not the least of which worry that she knew I’d gone out for coffee with another woman, and didn’t seem to mind, going by her nonchalant tone.
   

“I’ll take that as a no.
 
Do you think she’s interested in you?”

This was strange for her, and bad for me.
 
To say she wasn’t the jealous type was the understatement of the year, but this was shaping into what, for a normal girl, would have been a jealous line of questioning.
   

I tried to give it to her as honest as I could.
 
“I think she wouldn’t mind if I asked her out, and she’d likely say yes, but she’s not aggressive enough to ever take that step herself.”
 

“Ahh, so you’re not as oblivious as you pretend to be.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”
 
I hated it when she treated me like
I
was the kid in this relationship.