Chapter 9 Wren
WREN
Iwant to ride him like a goddamn horse.
I want to feel him all up in me, and I want to stare down at him while I move my body over top of him.
I don’t know if it’s the entire situation, the way he makes me feel safe, how fucking hot he is, or a combination of all the above, but I want this man in a way I have never wanted any other. Even while he’s inside of me, I want more. I need more.
And having him inside of me feels even more amazing than I ever imagined any of the four million times I pretended my vibrator was him. Good God.
He carries me across his huge bedroom then spins around and sits on the bed.
The muscles ripple out of every part of his body, his arms, his shoulders, his legs…
but all the while, he moves me around so effortlessly.
I press my hand to his chest, pushing him down on the bed, and then put my knees down.
I flip my hair over one shoulder, letting it cascade down, and push myself into more of an upright position.
He looks up at me, eyes narrowed, and I feel this burst of confidence wash over me.
The way he looks at me feels like he’s taking every part of me in, committing it to memory like a painting in a museum.
He’s not judging or criticizing or questioning…
he’s memorizing. And I want him to remember this.
I lean back on one hand then lick the pads of my fingers on the other.
I slide my hand down between my breasts, past my navel, and land on my clit, all while my eyes are locked on him.
He’s staring at my hand, watching as my fingers separate me, play with me, then rub my clit in a circular motion, all while he’s still inside of me, filling me up.
I move back and forth slowly, never taking my eyes off his, and as I quicken my pace, I see him start to lose control.
He presses his head back into his pillow, tightening his hands on my hips, digging his fingers into my skin.
“Wren,” he growls as I move back and forth. “Fuck.”
I move faster, rocking on his dick like it’s a saddle.
I put both hands on his chest, pressing down and giving myself more leverage as I fuck him faster and faster.
But just as I’m breaking a sweat, he pushes himself up, stopping me and sliding me off his length.
In one quick move, he flips me around, setting me on all fours.
He spreads my legs apart, and then I gasp when I feel his tongue swipe me from front to back, burying his face in me as his hands pull my cheeks apart.
He presses his cock into me again, and I let out a long moan, clutching onto the covers in front of me. One of his arms wraps around my middle, and the other slides into my hair, clutching it gently, massaging my scalp while he fucks me.
“You’re doing so good, Wren,” he says, and the praise sends me over the edge. “So good. You’re taking me so well.”
I nod slowly, soaking in every word he says, every thrust he gives me.
“I’m going to come,” he says, “so I need you to come with me. Can you do that?”
I breathe for a moment, trying to calm my brain down.
I’ve never come from having sex with someone before.
Not once.
In fact, most of the orgasms I have experienced are from me, myself, and I.
I’ve known Brooks for a few weeks, and he’s already given me two.
“I can’t hear you, Wren,” he says. “Can you do that? Can you come with me?”
“I…I think so,” I say. He fucks me harder then slips out of me and nudges me so that I flip around on my back. He grabs a hold of each of my ankles then dips down to give my pussy one more long, messy kiss.
He pushes his cock back into me, one hand on my ankle and the other moving to my clit. His thumb massages it gently while he fucks me, and I close my eyes, trying not to get too into my own head.
“Ah-ah,” he says. “Eyes on me, baby. We’re gonna do this together.”
I open my eyes slowly, and the sight of him looking down at me, sweat on his chest, his hand wrapped around my leg while the other works my pussy, suddenly makes me feel locked in.
“That’s it, honey,” he says. “Just look at me. Feel me. Nothing else. Just me.”
And I do.
And as his thumb picks up speed to match his cock, I feel the orgasm building in my belly. I feel that familiar explosion, and then I hear myself squirting all over him. And then he lets out a visceral groan, his grip on my ankle tightening as his other hand smacks down on the mattress next to me.
And it feels like the wildest encounter of my life.
He collapses on top of me for a few moments, and I let my fingers drag lazily across his back as I breathe him in.
After a few more moments, he slides out and off me, walking into his bathroom.
He comes back after a moment, condomless and with a towel, then gently cleans me up.
He lays another towel on top of the big wet spot on the bed as I bashfully cover my eyes.
“I’m sorry about that,” I tell him, but he reaches out and pulls my hand down.
“Don’t you ever apologize for that. Ever.
” Then he tugs at my arms, pulling me in and flipping me around so that he’s spooning me.
I feel him trailing my spine with his fingertips, his other hand resting gently down my side.
Just as I’m about to slip into a blissful, post-sex sleep, I hear the grinding noise of his phone vibrating on his nightstand.
He clicks it off, and we lie in silence a little longer, looking out over Manhattan. Right now, there is no Cato Everett. There is no scandal, no horrific crime, no job interview, no fear of what tomorrow brings. There is just me and him and the city.
But then his phone rings again. He sighs, leaning over to click it off again.
And then five minutes later, it rings again, and so does his intercom.
“What?” he answers it.
“Sorry, Mr. Everett,” an older woman’s voice says from over the speaker, “but Carolyn called. She said she will be here in an hour, and you better be ready.”
He sighs.
“Thanks, Barb,” he says.
“Busy night?” I ask, rolling over and tugging the covers up around me. I suddenly feel very aware that I’m in a billionaire’s bed. A very popular, very famous billionaire. Whose life obviously doesn’t—and can’t—revolve around me or the sex we just had.
No matter how magnificent.
Because he has sex like this all the time, I remind myself. With a lot of women, I remind myself, more begrudgingly this time.
He swipes his hand down his face.
“There’s a gala tonight downtown. Carolyn is my assistant, but she’s more of a glorified babysitter that my dad hired to make sure I show up to things I’m supposed to show up to. She isn’t happy with me because of this morning.”
I nod slowly, the hazy dream of falling asleep in his arms slipping further and further away.
I sit up slowly.
It’s time for me to go.
I need to leave before I’m asked to. Because being asked to leave right after I let him in my pants feels cheap. It feels like rejection. It feels like something I couldn’t handle.
“Sounds like you’ve got your night full,” I say, walking across the room and grabbing my robe—well, his robe. A robe for a woman that he already had in his apartment. I shudder at the thought. How many women have already worn this?
Gross.
Suddenly, the whole night feels different. I wrap the robe around myself, walking out of the room, down the hall, and down the stairs. I scurry across his stupid huge apartment to the spa room, snagging my clothes off the chair and pulling them on quickly.
“Wren,” I hear him call, but I ignore him. I just tie my shoes and keep moving. “Wren,” he says again, following me around his apartment in nothing but his boxers.
“It’s fine. I have some stuff to do, anyway,” I say, walking toward the elevator and pulling my hair up into a messy bun.
I press the elevator button as he stands there, watching me get on.
“Have fun tonight,” I say just as the doors close in front of me.
And just before the first tear falls from my eye.