Iron Born (Iron Palace Book 1)

by Lisa Ferrari

  It’s all so romantic and perfect.

  I love it here.

  We make our way into the spa to soak.

  Kellan gets behind me and massages my neck and shoulders. It feels sooo good. He has magic hands.

  When he rubs my back, my bathing suit is in the way. I unclasp my top and toss it on the deck. Then I wriggle out of my bikini bottoms and toss them as well. Denise’s admonishment in the Ruth’s Chris ladies’ room comes to mind; I’m the floozy who couldn’t wait to get naked. I wonder if she’s right; if Kellan thinks less of me for not playing hard to get.

  Speaking of hard, I feel his erection against my buttocks. Skin on skin. While I was lost in my reverie, torturing myself as always, he was removing his trunks. He tosses them on the deck with my bikini.

  I turn around to face him. We look into one another’s eyes.

  Neither of us says anything.

  We’re communicating despite our silence. We’re asking a question, finding common ground after our first heated discussion in the car earlier.

  To hell with it: I won’t say anything further to Denise. I can understand Kellan’s concern. I wouldn’t want him telling anyone what my anus tastes like, or how many stretch marks I have, so I won’t divulge the details of our intimacy.

  Kellan wraps his arms around my back and kisses me deeply. In an instant we’re all over one another, open and receptive.

  I reach down and stroke him.

  He’s so hard.

  I’ve been waiting to spend some quality time with his penis ever since this morning during our maiden drive in the Mister Beaumont, before we were interrupted by the Skype call from Denise that sent today’s awkward wheels in motion.

  I slide my hands under Kellan’s delectable ass and lift his hips until his erection breaches the surface. I grab it by the base, hold it out of the water, and attack it with my mouth.

  Kellan goes wild. Moaning, gasping, his breath hitching each time I suck the head. “Oh God… Oh God Claire… Oh yes… Oh Claire, yes…”

  His verbosity and enthusiasm embolden me. I stroke his shaft up and down rigorously while I suck the head, applying as much pressure as I can, alternating with opening my mouth and swirling the tip of my tongue around it for visual stimulation.

  It has the desired effect.

  Kellan becomes entranced by my efforts. He watches me, his eyes fixated on my mouth.

  Wow, such power.

  Such control.

  It occurs to me to slide a finger inside him, but I immediately lose my nerve; what if he didn’t like it?

  I redouble my efforts. Fellatio has always been a turn on for me. I’ve merely lacked a suitable recipient. Emphasis on the suitable.

  With Kellan’s thick, hot shaft in my hand and the head of his penis in the back of my throat while I moan and suck and stroke, I resolve to give him the best head he’s ever had in his life.

  Given the volume of women he’s been with, that’s a tall order. Women far easier and thus far more experienced than I.

  But what if Stacy fingered his butt?

  Or what if she didn’t? What if she never volunteered and he never asked? Or what if he worked up the courage to ask and she refused? Is that the real reason he stopped seeing her? Or was it her gold-digging vapidity?

  But best not to think about that.

  He’s here with me now. Not them.

  Not her.

  “Oh, God, Claire, you’re going to make me come…” Kellan says, desperately. He smooths his big hands gently over my wet hair.

  I pause to look him in the eye. “Come in my mouth.”

  I resume my vigorous stimulation.

  Moments later, my efforts are rewarded. Kellan gives me a spoken warning, telling me he’s coming, and I feel the first wave of ejaculate fill my mouth. I swallow every ounce. Every drop. I want all of him. It’s a little bitter and salty, but mostly warm and sweet.

  I continue stroking him, gently, amusing myself with his beautiful manhood.

  A few minutes later, Kellan has calmed down. His breathing has normalized.

  I continue to stroke and kiss and lick and suck his erection, though it’s waning a bit now, softening in my grasp.

  “I want to return the favor,” he says.

  He swings me around, so I’m reclining against the side of the spa. He lifts my hips, just as I did to him, until my lower body is out of the water. He holds me there, so I spread my legs wide for him.

  I’m wondering what he’s going to do to me.

  He takes his time. He begins slowly, kissing my inner thighs.

  I’m already on the edge after witnessing his climax and having his semen in my mouth.

  He slides his tongue in circles around my opening, then up to my clit. He dances around it.

  He teases me.

  After several minutes of this, I’m going crazy. I want it and I want it now.

  “Eat me, Kellan. Make me come.”

  I’m breathing heavily and moaning and I barely recognize my own husky voice as I command him to pleasure me.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Before I can process the smart-ass formality of his reply, he shoves his tongue inside me. Deep inside me. Deeper than he did last night on the sofa. Or perhaps the angle was merely different. He has a long tongue and it feels divine swirling around inside me. I make a mental note to ask him to stick it out for me later, so I can see how long it actually is. It then escapes me entirely as he shifts tactics and sucks on my clit.

  Somewhere, The Doors are playing. I catch a line about girl you gotta love your man.

  Indeed.

  Kellan slides a finger inside me at the same time, driving me wild. His hand is pressing against my ass as he holds me out of the water, and I want him to put something in there, too. A guy did that to me in his dorm room back in college one time. I liked it.

  But I’m not able to summon the courage to ask. Besides, Kellan is nibbling and sucking on my clitoris and has a finger in my vagina. I flex my hips two or three times and come almost instantly.

  Kellan works me hard with his mouth and finger. My whole body tenses and I can’t breathe. Wave after wave of exquisite pleasure seize my body.

  When I can’t take anymore, I pull away. “Stop, stop…” Kellan lowers me into the hot water and watches me, grinning with self-satisfaction.

  Mini aftershocks dart through my body, causing my abs to flex and my thighs to quiver. That was a good orgasm.

  As if he can read my mind, Kellan asks, “How was that?”

  I’m aware that I’m moaning quietly. I can barely keep my eyes open. “Hmm…”

  “That good, huh?”

  “Hmm…”

  Kellan glides through the water and takes me in his arms. He positions me on his body like he’s my own personal flotation device. He wraps his arms around my body. My arms and legs go limp, floating in the water.

  THE NEXT THING I know, I hear the distinct rustle of a foil wrapper. Kellan is still holding me. He’s eating a protein bar out of the rock cooler.

  I take a deep breath and stretch.

  “Hi, sexy. You awake?” he asks.

  “Hi, sexy. I’m not sure if I’m awake. I’m afraid I might be dreaming all of this.” “A Whiter Shade of Pale” is playing now. I can’t remember the name of the band. I love the organ.

  “Don’t worry. It’s real. Want a bite?”

  He certainly does enjoy feeding me. It’s nice, actually; usually it’s quite the opposite, with everyone, not just guys, giving you pointed looks when you eat or say you’re hungry.

  I take a bite of Kellan’s protein bar. It tastes like chocolate chip cookie dough. It’s delicious. “What flavor is that?”

  “Chocolate chip cookie dough. You like it?”

  “It’s really good.”

  “It’s new. Twenty-seven grams of protein, seven grams of fiber, two grams of fat, zero net carbs.”

  “It’s yummy.”

  Kellan feeds me another bite.

&
nbsp; “What’s your schedule for the rest of the week?”

  “I’m working every day. Why?”

  “I have to go out of town for another guest posing appearance, this time in North Carolina. It’s basically the same thing we did down in Hollywood. I was hoping you could come with me.”

  I sit up and turn over to face him. It’s not exactly panic I’m suddenly feeling, but I definitely am saddened by the prospect of not seeing him for a while. “When are you leaving?”

  “Thursday morning. Coming back Monday.”

  Four days with no Kellan. That sucks. It’s fine; I’m not going to die or anything. I’m not that desperate and pathetic. But life won’t be as much fun, that’s for sure.

  That “Crimson and Clover” song comes on. Again I don’t know the name of the band. “…now I don’t hardly know her . . . but I think I could love her…”

  “Come with me,” Kellan says.

  “I can’t, I have to work.”

  “Quit.”

  “What?”

  “Come to work with me. I’ll pay you. Fifty dollars an hour.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Of course.”

  “What about dipping your pen in the company ink? No, I don’t think that’s a good idea. Besides, I wouldn’t feel right about quitting on short notice like that, or working for you. I don’t want to feel like a kept woman.”

  “Okay. It was just a thought.”

  “So, when do you leave?”

  “Early Thursday. I have to be at the airport at friggin 4:00 a.m. for the 6:00 a.m. flight.”

  “I’ll take you to the airport.”

  “You don’t have to do that. You’d have to get up at 3:00.”

  “So.”

  “You really want to?”

  “Yes, of course. And maybe I can pick you up when you come home, and we could go out to dinner or to another movie or something. Something fun.”

  “Like a date?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. That’ll certainly give me something to look forward to.”

  Me as well.

  But still, four days apart. Poop.

  THE NEXT DAY, Kellan drags me out of bed for early-morning cardio. We do the usual 40 minutes. I’m on the treadmill while Kellan does the step-mill. To my pleasant surprise, it seems to be easier. But it could be my imagination.

  Afterwards, we take a shower together and I kneel down and fellate him intensely until he climaxes in my mouth. It doesn’t take long. I’m not sure if that’s good or bad or otherwise, but I’m pleased with myself that I am able to make him feel good. I like having Kellan for breakfast.

  He returns the favor and I have a powerful orgasm standing up. As we dry off and dress, my legs are rubbery. It’s embarrassing putting on my work clothes in front of Kellan. He comes over and wraps his arms around me.

  “You look sexy in that bow tie.”

  “Really?” This is shocking.

  “Really. Except I’d like to see it around your neck while you’re naked. That would be hot. Maybe with some black high heels and some of those white cuff things Playboy bunnies wear.”

  “Want me to cocktail for you?”

  “No, I want you to get on top of me and put my cock in your tail.”

  “Anal?” Is there something he’s trying to tell me?

  “Or vaginal. I’m not particular.”

  “When are we going to finally do it, by the way?”

  Kellan shrugs. “Whenever. We could wait until we’re married, like couples did back in the day.”

  Holy motherflippin golden snitch in an espresso shot….

  MARRIED?

  He just said The M Word.

  (That would make a good title for a book….)

  Focus, Claire!

  Is he serious?

  If he is, I’d go to Vegas tonight.

  Hasty and inadvisable, but, if he asked, I’d say yes.

  I turn around and look at him. “Are you serious? I don’t think I can wait that long. Maybe we should go to Vegas tonight.”

  That ought to rattle him.

  “Okay.” He’s totally nonchalant.

  WTF? Is he serious?

  “Are you serious?”

  “Maybe.”

  Damnit this is exasperating. “Kellan! I’m serious. Marriage is no laughing matter.”

  “I agree.”

  “So what are you saying?”

  “We should probably wait. If we decide we want to get married, we should do it right. Don’t you think?”

  I honestly haven’t thought all that much about my own wedding. I’m not sure if I ever have; ever.

  I always assumed I’d get married one day and have a traditional wedding.

  But the suitors haven’t exactly been beating down my parents’ door seeking their blessing prior to asking me.

  Plus, working hundreds and hundreds of weddings at work has taken some of the luster off the whole thing. It’s neat to see the bridal party line up prior to walking down the aisle. And it’s neat to see the brides come out in their white dresses with their long trains, especially when they’re emotional about it and you can see that it’s a big deal. The beautiful smiles. The tears of joy.

  But I’ve stopped identifying with them as a person entering into the bonds of holy matrimony. I’m just a girl in men’s work pants busting her ass until she can clock out and go home.

  But the notion of marrying Kellan awakens an icy-hot blend of excitement and fear in my belly. The kid who served us popcorn yesterday thought I was Kellan’s wife. And Kellan didn’t correct him. Neither did I.

  What’s that about?

  Is it a sign?

  Are we “meant” for one another?

  How can you tell?

  Is there such thing as destiny? And soul mates?

  Is Kellan my soul mate?

  I’m going to be late clocking in if I don’t move my ass, so the soul mate debate will have to wait.

  That rhymes.

  (That could be another book title…. Maybe it’s about a girl who meets a dreamy guy and falls madly in love with him but her pathology causes her to be too afraid.)

  Kellan wants to cook eggs for me but I don’t have time; the oral sex in the shower took care of the luxury of eating breakfast together; fine by me; I just had his penis in my mouth. That tidbit of information will keep me going all day.

  Kellan plies me with protein bars on my way out the door.

  “See you tonight?” he asks.

  “Of course.”

  We kiss, and I already want to fast-forward life until I’m back here, walking in the front door to be with him.

  I CLOCK IN and everyone is all over me.

  They’re firing questions at me a mile a minute.

  Their social media platforms have been abuzz with pics and video of Kellan and me, along with loads of speculation. There are pics of us at the movie theater, at Ruth’s Chris, in various parking lots getting in and out of the Aventador.

  And, of course, pics of the other night at the bar.

  When I was singing.

  And then hurling.

  Championship-caliber hurling.

  But it’s not the singing or the vomiting or Stacy or any of that stuff that sticks in my mind.

  What sticks in my mind is that Kellan came home with me. He held my hair while I was sick. A man will ply you with alcohol to try to get into your pants; a REAL man will hold your hair while you puke it all back up.

  I should copyright that.

  But the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976 says the act of creation creates the copyright.

  So there.

  Chris is ecstatic about Kellan letting him drive the Huracan. He effing should be; I haven’t even driven it yet. I got to sit in the driver seat and rev it up at the car dealer, but I haven’t driven it yet. I pull out my phone and text Kellan.

  Chris drove the Huracan;

  I haven’t driven it yet.

  Kellan writes back almost immediately.


  Good point.

  Want to drive it tonight?

  Okay!

  It’ll have to be a quickie since we

  have to get up at 3:00.

  A quickie sounds good.

  :P

  The emoticon emoji smiley tongue guy makes me think of Kellan’s tongue.

  His long tongue.

  Doing stuff to me.

  I must remember to ask him to stick it out so I can see how long it is.

  MY SHIFT PASSES very quickly after that.

  I’m floating on air.

  The debacle with Denise and her attempt at a threesome with my man is far from my mind. I haven’t heard from her yet. I wonder if she feels so badly that she is actually waiting for me to initiate contact.

  Whatever.

  I don’t want to deal with it.

  I want to spend more time with Kellan.

  Naked.

  Definitely naked.

  We set up the buffet, the ladies make their way through it and eat their tri-tip and potatoes and garlic green beans and carrot cake and coffee and we wait for them to give out their awards for whatever it is they’re there to celebrate so we can break down the buffet, shove all the linen tablecloths and napkins into the stinky green mesh bags and get the eff out of there.

  I’m the first one to clock out.

  I jog to my car and am whipping my rusty-trusty Corolla out of the parking lot before anyone else is even out the door.

  WHEN I GET back to Kellan’s, I reach the front door and stop.

  Should I knock?

  Should I just open the door and go in?

  Should I text him and tell him I’m here?

  I decide to knock.

  Kellan opens the door. He’s on the phone. He tells the person on the other end to hold on for a second. “Why did you knock?”

  “What else should I have done?”

  “Just come in. It’s okay.”

  He welcomes me with a kiss and returns to his phone call. He’s wearing faded blue jeans but no socks or shoes, and a light-blue denim shirt that’s not buttoned. I can see the brown square bulges of his perfect 8-pack abs.

  Wow.

  I suddenly want to…pour coconut oil on them…and then smear them with…melted chocolate…and then…add…whipped cream, and…and…my cherry….

  I try to get ahold of myself.

  On his way back to his office, he gestures to the kitchen, where there’s a plate of food on the kitchen counter with a silver cover on it that reminds me of hotel room service.