18. Dove
Trying to keep the tears at bay burns my sinuses.
Wren sleeps curled against my side, peacefully unaware of my turmoil. Gently, I press a kiss to his head before resuming my slow, soothing strokes through his silken strands.
You feel like home.
Does he mean like his mother?
Or does he mean it for real?
“No one will ever hurt you again, Songbird. Not while I’m around,” I whisper to his resting form.
His mother is alive. Alive and still in contact with him.
Do they speak?
Does he forgive her?
Is this why he’s so obsessed with the Doll?
Everything makes so much more sense now.
A strange calm settled over me when I caught him trying to open the door to the room where I keep everything for my alter ego.
He knows.
He must have seen the bruises the night I returned to his place. My clever songbird pieced it all together and still sought me out. Still let me devour him while at my mercy. Still begged me to make him mine.
Do you know what it means to be mine, Wren?
Do you understand that once you’re mine, I’ll never let you go?
White flashes at the edge of my vision. Fang lifts his head from the edge of his bed, eyes locked on my nightstand as the glow pulses in the darkness. Once again, my mother is calling, though I haven’t picked up in months.
Seems like we both have mommy issues.
I do not forgive my mother.
I have no desire or reason to speak to the woman who sided with the boogeyman.
But now, I do harbor an intense need to rid Wren of the monster lurking under his bed.
He stirs, as if my errant thoughts have bled into his dreams. Dark blond brows pinch together as he clutches me tighter. “No…” he murmurs.
“No what, baby?” I tilt my head to see his face better .
A deep shudder racks his body. His fingers dig painfully into my hip where he grasps me. “No, don’t!”
“Wren,” I whisper, shaking him gently. “Baby, wake up. You’re having a nightmare.”
As tightly as he holds me, the force is even greater when he tries to push me away, shooting upright. “Don’t touch me!”
“Baby, it’s me. It’s Dove,” I soothe, quickly turning on my bedside lamp before scrambling across the duvet to cup his cheeks. “It’s Dove.”
Unfocused eyes lock onto mine for a few seconds before clarity sets in. “Dove?”
“Yeah, baby.” I push against the prick of threatening tears. “It’s me.”
Wren is burning up as he pulls me against him, plastering our bodies together like I’m the only thing keeping him afloat in an endless sea.
“You’re okay.” I rake my fingers through his hair until his breath evens out against my neck.
“I’m sorry. Did I… did I hurt you again?” he asks fearfully.
“No, Songbird. You didn’t hurt me. Here, lie back down.” I know I’d feel vulnerable naked while my partner remained clothed, so I retrieve his boxer briefs and wait for him to slip them on before settling into his side. “Bad dream? ”
“Just the same fucking nightmare.” He sighs, running a hand through his hair. The strands fall messily over his forehead, and I take a moment to simply admire him.
Wren is beautiful. A tragic kind of beauty—the kind that’s been weaponized against him, the kind that hides an undercurrent of sadness only visible if you know where to look.
“What?” he murmurs, shifting to meet my gaze. His fingers trail warm paths along my skin, shoulder to elbow and back again.
“Nothing.” It physically hurts to break our gaze, but I nuzzle against his chest, clinging to him harder than the redhead did to Vince Vaughn in Wedding Crashers. “Do you want to talk about it?”
A resigned sigh escapes him. I know his answer before he even speaks. “Not tonight.”
I don’t push. Instead, I trace idle patterns on his skin with my nails. His hand slides around my knee, hiking my leg higher until I’m half draped over him. “Tonight, I’d rather do other things.”
Every pass of his lips against mine causes him to wince, so I abandon them in favor of nipping my way down his throat. His hands roam, exploring—leaving no part of me untouched.
He shifts me beneath him. “I want to taste you,” he murmurs, dragging his nose over my nipple before grazing it lightly through my camisole with his teeth.
“Songbird.” I stop him before he can go further south. “Your lip can’t handle it.” His erection is unmistakable, straining against his underwear like a neon sign flashing ready to go . “Why don’t you let me take care of you again? After all, I’m supposed to be the nurse.”
The look he gives me is unamused. Before I can register the glint of mischief in his eyes, he flips back over and pulls me onto his lap, leaning back against my mountain of pillows.
“Aren’t good nurses supposed to care for all their patient’s needs?” he moans huskily into my ear. Every nerve in my body ignites as his fingers ghost down my arms, lifting my wrists behind his head. “I need to feel you, Dove.”
“Oh, fuck.” A guttural moan escapes me as he shoves a hand into my shorts, two fingers sliding through my slick heat.
“So wet for me.” He nuzzles into my neck, his free hand pulling my top down to palm my breast, pinching and rolling the peak between his fingers. “Were you this turned on the day we met?” A soft laugh bubbles in my throat, cut off by a sharp gasp as he plunges two fingers inside me, his thumb gathering my arousal and smearing it over my clit with devastating precision. “Oh god, Wren. That feels so good.”
“Yeah?” he moans, as if my pleasure fuels his own. “Answer me, Dove. Are you always dripping when we’re in the same room?” He groans, low and long, as I arch my back, grinding against his erection.
I’m breathless as he picks up his pace, heat surging through me like wildfire. “Yes!” I cry out. “I’ve wanted this since I propositioned you.”
His chuckle is throaty as he nips at my ear. “I would have gladly fingered you right there in front of everyone and claimed you as mine.”
“Why didn’t you?” I whine, rolling my hips until I’m dry humping him just as well as he’s finger fucking me.
“Is that what you want, you dirty, dirty girl? A very public declaration?” I feel powerless in the best way as Wren winds me higher and higher, his fingers relentless. “Fuck, Turtle Dove, you’re gripping me so tight.” His fingers rub my G-spot, and I nearly see stars. “Spread your legs. Let me see you.”
He withdraws only to shove my shorts down, spreading my thighs apart before sliding back inside. We both watch as he enters me again. His fingers sliding through the sticky mess he’s created to finish what he started.
“I’ve never seen anything as perfect as this” he whispers, forehead resting against my temple.
“You haven’t watched my pussy swallow your cock yet,” I tease breathlessly.
His lips ghost over mine.
Wren abandons my nipple and curves his arm up to cradle my jaw. I’ve always known there was a sizable height difference between us, but it’s not until this very moment that I realize how tall he is compared to me.
“I meant this. Us. Come apart for me.” He kisses me gently with the uninjured corner of his mouth. “I can feel your walls fluttering against my fingers. Let go, Turtle Dove.”
A silent moan catches in my throat, then melts against his mouth as the dam inside me shatters—waves of liquid fire surging through me, spilling over his hand.
“That’s it. So good.” He skirts around the phrase I told him I didn't like, and it works. I still feel the praise—the euphoric reward—without my body locking up. It makes me want to reward him in return.
I writhe against him, digging in harder, working for all the little moans that slip from his lips. His cock wedges between my ass cheeks, the friction relentless, and he thrusts until he erupts with a ragged roar.
We lie there for what feels like hours, sweaty and spent and tangled in each other without pushing for more. Even as we shimmy out of our sticky clothes. Even when I retrieve a warm washcloth to clean up. Even when he admits that he’s never spent the night with a woman before.
“Will you stay, though?”
Wren pulls my naked body flush against his, back to chest, and tugs the duvet up over us both. “You’re never getting rid of me.”
I trace my fingers over the back of his hand where it rests against my stomach. “I don't want to get rid of you, Songbird. I've decided I quite like having you around.”