Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
WREN
“So, what’s the difference?” I ask. “They all taste like gasoline to me.”
Nash taps the glass shaped like a tulip. “Whisky is made of grain and aged in barrels.” He’s turned Sire’s island into a bar. “Scotch is similar but made in Scotland, and bourbon is produced here, and mostly made of corn.”
“And she is going to be drunk if you keep this up!” Sire calls out from his bedroom.
“She has to start sometime, my brother!” Nash shouts back, grinning.
“Here.” He offers me a glass. “This is a Van Winkle twenty-five. Rare and how bourbon should taste.”
I sip and I like him. I feel safe with Nash. Sire’s family is changing a tradition for me, too. Though Nash is a king, all decided he’d miss Zar’s initiation tonight, so he can stay here and protect me.
At first, I was annoyed. I felt infantilized, as if I needed a babysitter.
But then Nash showed up, all inked, jacked, and wearing sexy glasses like the Clark Kent of the mafia. He started pouring us drinks from Sire’s fancy liquor cabinet and treating me like an adult, and I was sold on his brand of protection.
I’m getting an education on fancy liquor, too.
“Not. Ahem. Bad,” I cough at the sip of fancy bourbon.
Sire roars across his penthouse, “Brother, I will kick your ass if she pukes!”
Nash winks at me. “You’d better go check on him before he pops a blood vessel. Oh, and…” He hands me the glass of bourbon. “Take this with you. It’ll piss him off.”
I sip it once more, admitting, “It is kind of like fancy brown moonshine.”
Nash bristles. “You just made every corpse in Kentucky roll over in their grave.”
I laugh, making my way to Sire’s bedroom. “Knock, knock,” I say to his closed door.
“Come in.” His voice sounds garbled.
I push open his door and gasp, “God! Stop looking like that!”
“Like what?” he asks with a frothy toothbrush in his mouth.
“Like that.” I close the door, flitting my hand at his tight, black boxer briefs. Can we thank Calvin Klein enough for those?
Sire glances down, grinning. “Like what you see, Angel? Or are you drunk?”
I set the glass of bourbon on his dresser. “I’m perfectly sober and I want to touch what I see.”
Standing in the doorway to his bathroom, he gets that animal look. It makes my heart hammer. It tells me to run or be ravaged.
Of course, I’m feeling ravishing.
“Can I?” I sound breathy. “Can I touch you before you’re with a man tonight?”
“Wren, I won’t do it if it upsets you. Just say the word.”
Worried, he said those words with minty suds in his mouth before turning to spit them in the sink. He rinses and sets his toothbrush down before turning back to me.
“I’m serious, Angel. Always be honest with me.” He points to his heart, then mine. “That’s how we’ll work.”
“Did you honestly mean it today?” I meet him at his bathroom vanity. “That I’m your girlfriend?”
“Yes. That’s where we’ll start, and quickly progress to you being my wife, because I’ve waited long enough. I prayed, and here you are, and I’m not letting you go. I want you, and I want you protected.”
His fingers brush my cheek. “That’s all this is tonight: us, protecting a queen. I don’t have feelings for Zar. Not like I have for you.”
“Okay, if I’m being honest.” Softly, I rest my hands on his firm abs. He flexes like it tickles. “I think it’s sweet what you’re doing for Zar and Nick, right? Nick’s your brother’s name? Sorry. It’s hard keeping track.”
“Yes, Nick’s my brother. The second youngest.” He leans against his countertop, but I don’t move my hands. I like touching him too much. “And Zar will be his husband, as soon as they can come out.”
“Why aren’t they out?”
“Because Nick plays for the NFL.”
I nod. “That makes it even sweeter. At least they’re out with their family.”
“You’ll be my family, too, Wren. So, don’t hide your truth from me.”
“Okay, truthfully?” My fingertips glide to the band of his boxers. “I think it’s hot, too. I know it’s a sacred ritual for you all, but I’d be lying if I said that I don’t find the thought of you with a man very arousing.”
“Why?” He gazes down at where I’m touching him, at where he’s getting rock hard.
“Because it’s your truth. It’s who you are and what you desire, and the world is shitty and lonely enough. We all deserve the love we need to survive.”
He cups my jaw. “You deserve it, too, Wren. You deserve love and whatever you want.”
“All I know is that I want you.” I tickle my fingertips under the elastic. The way I can make him softly flinch excites me. “I want to see you, Sire, and touch you and taste you before you’re with Zar tonight.”
“Fuck,” he sighs, staring at me, then his swollen erection. “Fuck, Angel, you’re killing me.”
“Will you let me kill your cock in my mouth?”
“Goddamn, Wren.” He grabs the marble countertop behind him.
“I’m going to fucking lose it when I feel you touch my dick, you know that, right?
You’ve never done it. You’ve never seen a real cock or touched a hard dick or ever tasted cum, and it drives me fucking insane that I’ll be the first for you.
Maybe that’s perverted as hell, but it’s how I feel: dirty, filthy, and perverted for you, and I love every fucking thing I plan to do to you. ”
“Like what?” My hand is trembling, teasing and tugging at the elastic of his boxers.
“Like, I’ve been there, done that, and I don’t want other women.
I’ll be faithful and devoted to you. Yes, I’m traditional that way, and I can’t help it.
You’ll be my wife and queen. But other men?
Fuck, I’ll never share you. You belong to me.
But I’ll initiate you. I’ll let you explore a little. It’s only fair since I got to do it.”
I’m overwhelmed and dizzy, imagining it, but I anchor to him, grabbing his flexing abs. “I only want to explore you right now. Please?”
His voice is gruff and strained, “Touch what you want, Angel.”
I gaze down, and his length is so rigid. Pressed at an angle in his tight boxers, his tip reaches his hip bone, and I don’t know what to do, so I let curiosity fuel my desire, my first touch as I wrap my hand over his shaft. Oh my God. It’s so hard and warm. I squeeze it and it twitches.
“Shit, Wren,” he hisses.
I gasp, jerking my hand away. “Did I hurt you?”
“Fuck, no,” he growls. “Do it again, Angel. Put your hand on my dick and stroke it.”
I obey, stroking his shaft over his boxers, and when I use both hands, he groans, watching me, “Fuck, yes, my little virgin. Are you getting wet touching my hard dick?”
“Yes.” My voice trembles. I’m not nervous, I’m too aroused. “Yes, I’m wet.”
I’m still wearing the cream Chanel minidress I wore to his church service, along with a new pair of pink lace panties, and now they’re so slick from touching him, I love it.
“Pull my boxers down.” He’s still grabbing the countertop behind him. “Let me watch you wrap your hands around your first hard dick.”
I tug at his elastic, but his erection? His tip? What if I hurt him?
“Do I just…”
“Pull them down,” he urges. “It won’t hurt. I’ll get off watching my dick spring so fucking hard for you.”
I tug them down, shocked at the sight. “My God, it’s a thick, curving snake!”
Oh shit. I said that aloud.
He chuckles, his rigid dick bouncing with delight. “Yes, Angel. I have a slight up curve. Your pussy’s going to love it one day. It’ll hit the perfect spot inside that tight little cunt of yours.”
I don’t know what he means, but I believe him.
“Do I do this?” I glide my fingertip under his swollen tip, lifting his pearly drop to my lips. Gazing into his eyes, I suck my first taste of him off my fingertip. “Mmm,” I moan. “Salty.”
“My dirty little angel.” A grin curls his lips. “Taste my cum again.”
“But how do I…” I wrap both hands around his hard, naked shaft, squeezing tight and slowly stroking it. “Do I make your dick drip like this?”
“Oh God.” He throws his chin up. “Oh, fuck, yes, Wren, you do. Jerk it like that.”
Suddenly, I’m thankful for porn. I wouldn’t know how to do this otherwise, and Sire seems to love it. He gazes down, his lips parted, his hips thrusting his dick into my tight, stroking grasp.
“You like this, Angel?” His voice sounds so guttural. “Do you like milking my thick cock?”
I swipe another drop from his tip and suck it off my finger for him to see. “I love your thick cock. Or is it your long dick?”
“Fuck, Wren, it’s both with you,” he pants. “It’s everything with you.”
“I want to suck you. I want you in my mouth.”
I lean down, hinging at my hips to put his tip in my mouth, but he huffs, “No. Not like that, Angel. It won’t be comfortable for you.”
I look up. “On my knees?”
He shakes his head. “You’re too petite. It won’t be the right angle.” He nods toward his bedroom. “On my bed. Sit on my bed.”
In five steps, I’m eagerly sitting on his bed while I watch him kick off his boxers.
Menacing and so manly, Sire stalks my way, and my pulse triples as confusing edges of fear and lust scrape at my insides. His cock juts so huge and hard, I’m afraid. I don’t know what to do with it. What urge to listen to—want or worry—but then he cups my cheek, lifting my chin.
“We don’t have to do this, Wren. We can slow down. We can work up to this.”
It’s all I need to hear: decision made. “I’m so worked up and wet, I want to do this.”
“Show me.” He drags his thumb over my bottom lip. “Lift your dress, and pull your panties aside, and prove to me that your pussy is wet to suck my cock.”
I keep my eyes locked on his. It feels dirty and delicious, exposing my pussy to him. “See, my stallion?” It makes me bold. “See how wet my little pussy is to suck your big dick, Pastor Rutledge? Now, make me your dirty girl and put your thick cock in my virgin mouth and christen me with your cum.”
He fists his base, his other hand fisting my hair. “Goddamn Wren, don’t you ever find a filter for that filthy mouth.” He aims his tip at my lips. “Lick it. Now.”