Chapter Twenty-Eight
Daniel
M uch later that evening, I sat on the edge of the bed as Wren changed into a satin robe, rubbing lotion on her hands.
“Safe to say, cleaning up after you cook is harder on my skin than scrubbing into surgery…”
“Very funny, but next time I’ll opt for takeout.” She walked toward me and shimmied in between my legs, arms on my shoulders. “Is this okay? I don’t want you to think I’m being too pushy,” I asked sincerely.
“Thank you for calling, for coming back,” Wren whispered, allaying my fears. She bent and brushed her lips across mine.
“I love you, Birdie,” I mumbled along her mouth.
“I love you. I didn’t want to, but I do,” she said to me while sinking to her knees.
I wasn’t sure what Wren was up to—or I had a fairly good idea but I didn’t want her to feel pressure.
As she unbuttoned my jeans, I lifted my ass, and she tugged them off, saying, “It’s a lot to ask of you, moving your life here. I know…”
“Bird—”
“No, it is. I could relocate, but I’ve made a reputation for myself here. I don’t want to go to LA and operate on all your friends.” She said all this as she removed my boxer briefs.
I had no idea how she was concentrating and speaking and doing everything at the same time. If she wasn’t wrapping her hand around my length, I’d laugh. But in the moment, I couldn’t do much more than look at her with googly eyes. Finding my voice, I said, “You would make a reputation anywhere, but I don’t want you to leave the one you have created.”
Her mouth slipped over my tip, silencing me. She worked me with her fingers, tight, and her tongue. The way she’d come to know I loved. My hands scraped through her hair, pulling it out of the bun it had been secured into and letting it fall loose.
“Wren,” I growled, “I don’t want to finish yet.” I tugged under her arm, guiding her up and over me. Sliding back, I somehow got us to the top of the bed, against the pillows. Our mouths fused, doing what our lower halves ached to do.
On a moan, I broke free, tugging my shirt off. I rolled her and my hand slipped inside her robe, finding her nipple and squeezing as her pelvis lifted and ground into me.
“I want you,” Wren moaned into my ear before nipping her way down my neck. She put her hand between us and tried to guide me inside her, but I had other ideas.
Swatting her fingers away—playfully—I scurried down the bed, stopping at her navel to run my tongue around it. When she lifted her heat to me this time, I didn’t wait. Without a moment’s hesitation, my mouth landed where she wanted.
At first, I took my time, not rushing until her nails ran through my hair and she tugged while saying my name. I picked up speed, finding her most sensitive spot and not letting up until she splintered. I rode it out until she was limp before making my way to face her, our mouths reuniting, Wren not one bit bothered by her taste on me.
This time, I used my own hand to guide myself home. As a young kid from Scotland, living it up in college in Arizona, I’d never imagined I would call this gorgeous, smart woman in Boston my safe place.
Yet I never wanted to leave.