Chapter 45
Jett
“Would you quit fussing?”
I grumble as Wren adjusts my pillow for the fiftieth time since we rolled out of bed an hour ago. I’m stretched on my couch, shoulder aching in a dull, annoying way. The sling strap irritates the back of my neck, but I need it, even though I hate wearing it.
As much as I love having her around, I’m itching to get the hell out of this house. I feel like an animal held in captivity, and I’m ready to break free.
“I don’t know what else to do,” she mutters with a sigh, fluffing the pillow behind my back.
I reach out, gently grabbing her wrist as I tug her toward me. She lands across my lap with a soft thud.
“Baby, I was shot in the shoulder. I’m fine. See?” I wiggle my fingers on my left hand. Her face softens as she stares at the black sling holding my arm.
“I almost lost you.” I hear the lump building in her throat.
Leaning forward, I bring my mouth to hers. “But you didn’t,” I whisper against her lips.
Over the past three days, I’ve learned to accept the help she offers.
It’s the only way to ease the guilt she feels, even though I’ve told her many times she has nothing to feel guilty about.
Three days ago, I left the hospital after a four-day stay.
It was a bullet wound to the shoulder, not a vital organ.
But the doctors refused my pleading to leave sooner.
I’d been patched up and thrown back on the battlefield for worse injuries, but again, they didn’t want to hear it. Neither did Wren.
That evening a week ago will haunt us for a while. I wasn’t scared of staring down the barrel of a gun; I’d had plenty pointed in my direction, but it was the fear of losing her. Of never holding her in my arms again.
I can’t describe the worry and panic I experienced as I watched her tumble from the moving van.
Even at a low speed, she hit the berm with so much force.
Nate barely had his SUV in park before I was flinging open the door and running toward Wren.
I didn’t assess the situation, didn’t worry about the danger I was putting myself in.
All I saw was her tiny body rolling through the ditch, collecting dirt and gravel, and I could only imagine the injuries.
When her head popped up, I saw those whiskey eyes searching for me, and I was gone. Nothing and no one was standing in the way of me getting to her.
It seemed like time stood still as we ran toward each other, but the space never shrank, almost as if we were running in place. Then I saw the gleam of metal pointed toward her and the declaration the motherfucker shouted. “No one gets what’s mine.” Too bad, she wasn’t his to begin with.
She was, is, and always will be mine.
Without a second thought, I was diving toward her as if my only purpose in this life was to protect her. The bullet ripped through my left shoulder as searing pain nearly blinded me. I’d take a hundred bullets as long as she was still breathing.
More chaos ensued following the shot, but it didn’t last long and the monster who haunted Wren was no longer someone we had to worry about.
Her freedom was returned.
She was no longer fighting a war.
She’s safe.
I was life-flighted to Dayton where I underwent hours in surgery as doctors worked to make sure I didn’t lose function of my arm.
Thankfully, it wasn’t as severe as they initially thought.
Our families and friends gathered in the waiting room as they waited beside Wren, who was a mess.
Guilt ate her alive, but it wasn’t her fault.
It was Elias’s, and we don’t have to worry about him any longer.
Once again, the Riggsbys and Drummonds were shown how fragile life is and, luckily, it was only a shot in the shoulder.
I wasn’t in harm’s way, but my mom wouldn’t leave me alone, even though Wren was with me.
She was always stopping by with Grandma and Grandpa.
Wren’s Grams would pop up as frequently with Mark. Saylor cried every time she saw me.
It was suffocating in the best way. I was surrounded by people I loved, but I shut them out two days later and told them we’d call if we needed anything.
Our friends texted and we assured them we were fine but were going to hole up in my house for a while.
Wren and I needed each other to heal and seal this chapter.
But today, our families are coming over for Sunday lunch at our house.
We couldn’t keep them away any longer and settled on lunch rather than dinner.
I brush a piece of hair from her face. Wren’s leaning against me, elbow resting on my stomach, her head perched in her hand as she balances on the edge of the couch. I bring my arm down around her middle, holding her steady while her weight settles into me. It’s an awkward angle, but she fits.
“Y’know, I do need something.”
I turn, bringing our noses close together.
“What’s that, baby?” She goes to get up, but I keep her close.
“You.”
Wren rolls her eyes. “The doctor—”
“The doctor cleared me for physical activity with limitations.”
“The way you toss me around the bedroom isn't an activity without limitations,” she mocks.
“Fine, I have another proposition.”
“What?” She narrows her eyes, already suspicious. “Nothing to overexert yourself. We have company coming here soon.”
“I won’t,” I say easily, but her head tilts in concern.
I shift deeper into the couch, careful with my shoulder, angling myself until I’m comfortable. One leg is stretched out while the other is bent, resting on the ground. I shift a pillow until my head is comfortable, draping my good arm along the arm of the couch.
“Sit on my face.”
“J!” She lightly smacks my stomach, laughing in surprise. “There’s no way.”
“Baby, if there’s a will, there’s a way.”
Once again, she starts to wiggle off my lap. A gasp leaves her lips when she grazes my cock through the silky athletic shorts I’m forced to wear. Kind of hard to unbutton pants with an arm in a sling.
I thrust my hips toward her, wiggling my eyebrows.
“You’re terrible.”
“Nah, baby. Just desperate to taste you. It’s been too fucking long.”
“There’s no way,” she repeats. I can see her mind turning.
“Minimal movement, baby. You do all the work.”
“You got shot...”
“Correct.”
“In the shoulder.”
“Did you memorize my chart, doc? C’mon, baby. Let’s get creative.”
She stares at me for a long moment, and I can see the war behind her eyes. She’s afraid to hurt me, but she never could. And besides, I’d willingly die a happy man with her taste on my tongue.
“Stand up.”
Her eyes flare at my demand, heat pooling in their depths.
She pushes to her feet, staying right in front of me. The backs of her knees barely brush the coffee table behind her. I take her in from this angle, casting a long, appreciative glance in her direction, letting the moment stretch.
Wren Drummond is breathtaking. Long, slender neck, brunette hair curled around her shoulders in soft waves. The lace of her dress cups her breasts, accentuating each swell. Her hands land on her hips as she stares down at me sheepishly, unsure how far my demands will go.
“Lift your skirt.”
Her eyes flick to mine, curiosity sparking there.
She does as she’s told. In measured movements, her fingers slide the hem of her skirt until it’s held above her hips.
Her yellow thong only makes her bronze skin that much deeper.
The late morning sun pours in through the window, cascading her in warmth.
My breath leaves me in a low exhale as she steps forward, giving me a better view.
“Beautiful,” I mutter.
My fingers twitch as they reach out, running up her smooth thigh. A spot of black beneath second skin catches my attention.
I flick my gaze up to find hers waiting for me, bottom lip trapped between her teeth.
“When?”
“While you were in the hospital. I found a heart you’d drawn in one of your letters.”
“Baby…” I itch to touch the tattoo, but don’t since it’s fresh.
She shrugs. “I knew you were okay. But I wanted a piece of you on me.”
Fuck. I love this woman.
“D-Do you like it?”
“Love it.”
She beams under my praise.
“Slide those panties off, Whiskey. Show me what’s mine.”
Her breath hitches as I shift carefully to adjust myself. My cock aches at the need for release. I’m desperate to touch her. Taste her. To make her come.
Confidence blooms where fear used to live.
Gathering the material of her dress in one hand, she hooks her fingers in the side of her thong. Slow and unhurried, a deliberate display only for me as she begins lowering the scrap of material.
My hand grips the edge of the cushion. “That’s it,” I say. “Like that. Show me what’s mine, Whiskey.”
Her thong falls to the floor before she kicks it to the side.
With her thighs parted, I catch a glimpse of her pretty pink pussy bare and on full display.
Heat builds between us as the promise of what’s to come hangs in the balance.
My gaze drags up her body, memorizing her like I haven’t already done so a thousand times.
“You enjoying the show?”
I smile lazily. “I can die a happy man.”
She laughs. “Good thing you aren’t dying any time soon.”
“C’mere,” I beckon her closer, curling my pointer finger.
As her knees hit the couch, she bends forward until her mouth is hovering over mine, skirt still gathered at her hips. I’m irrationally jealous of my television and the view it’s receiving. I’ve officially lost it. Being jealous of an inanimate object has to be a new low.
I kiss her, slow and unhurried, pouring every promise I have into our connection.
“This is me behaving,” I tell her.
Wren laughs softly under her breath. “God help us when you’re healed.”
Our kiss turns heated as Wren gasps. I devour her taste as I slip my free hand between her thighs. Heat and arousal welcome me.
“You’re dripping.”
She moans, bucking her hips for more friction.
“Climb on.”
“J?”
“Take your seat and ride my face, Whiskey.”