Chapter 23 Wrenley
Wrenley
Ruger’s eyes search mine like he’s trying to make sure this is real.
Well? I ask, suddenly feeling far less confident than I did thirty seconds ago.
A knot forms in my stomach as a dozen horrible possibilities race through my head.
Maybe I pushed too hard. Maybe I misread the situation entirely.
Maybe I got caught up in the moment and forgot that wanting someone and acting on it aren’t necessarily the same thing.
For a second, he stares at me.
Then he lets out a rough laugh and drops his forehead to mine. Jesus Christ, Wrenley. His hands tighten on me slightly. The only thing stopping me right now is making sure you’re not going to wake up tomorrow and tell me this was a mistake.
I press my lips to his in a heated kiss. When I pull back, I say, I will never say anything we do is a mistake.
Fuck. The word leaves him on a rough exhale.
Before I can say anything else, one of his arms tightens beneath my thighs while the other slides more securely around my back.
The shift makes me instinctively cling to him, my arms tightening around his neck as he pushes away from the wall.
Without any apparent effort, he carries me down the hallway.
My pulse quickens as I brush a kiss along the corner of his mouth.
I feel him nudge a door open, and then once again, I’m pressed between him and a wall.
The weight of him, mixed with the coolness of the wall at my back, makes me acutely aware of every point where we’re touching.
His mouth drags down my jaw, then lower, until he finds a place that pulls a sound of me before I can stop it, my lips forming an involuntary O.
Our hands move, learning each other through fabric.
When my palms trail down the soft camo of his shirt and over the flat plane of his stomach, I feel the hard line of him straining against his jeans.
Heat pulses low in my belly, and I immediately reach for his zipper, desperate to free his cock from its denim prison.
He catches my wrist, thumb pressing just hard enough to hold me there. No, no, no. His voice drops, rough with restraint. If you go straight for that, it’ll be over before I’m done with you.
Before I’m done with you.
That turns the heat up about a thousand degrees.
He turns us, guiding me back until my knees hit the bed. I drop onto it, breath catching.
Ruger, I say, already impatient. I don’t care. I want you.
His mouth curves, like he knows how undone I am by him.
I know, he says quietly. You’ll have me. But first… His fingers work the button of my jeans, unhurried. …I want to look at you.
He peels my jeans and panties away in one smooth motion. His gaze drags over me, unfiltered.
Fuck, he says under his breath. Your pussy is even more beautiful than I imagined.
A shiver runs through me at the raw hunger in his voice. I feel exposed, but not vulnerable. I feel powerful. Desired.
He settles between my thighs, hands guiding me open, his eyes still on mine. There’s a flicker of anticipation in his expression and a hint of sinful desire.
Have you ever been eaten out by a man with a beard?
I bite my lower lip and shake my head, my pulse thundering.
His mouth tilts. You’re in for a treat, then.
And then he lowers his head.
The first touch of his tongue pulls a sharp inhale from me, my back arching before I can stop it. The contrast of his beard, the warmth of his mouth, the sound he makes against me, low and pleased, like he’s enjoying this too much to hide it, hits all at once.
My fingers tighten in the comforter as he works me with intention, not rushing, not guessing. When he finds the right spot, he stays there, circling, pressing, building it carefully instead of chasing it.
When he slides a finger inside me, I break.
Oh—
He doesn’t ease up. He adds another, curls them just right, and keeps his mouth on me, steady, relentless. My orgasm builds fast and then hits hard enough to steal the breath out of me completely. My body tightens, then gives, the release dragging through me in waves that leave me shaking.
He lifts his head only after moving up my body, kissing me like he knows exactly what he just did. I taste myself mixed with him, and it only makes the ache return, sharper this time.
How long has it been? I ask, still catching my breath.
He hesitates, then says, A while.
How long is a while?
His brows lift slightly. Baby. He tucks a curl behind my ear, only for it to spring free again. This is a small town. Options are… limited. Then, quieter, And when we started this, it didn’t sit right. Being with someone else.
My chest tightens, but he softens it with a quick smirk. Mostly the small-town thing, though.
I shove his shoulder lightly. That’s bleak, I say. Maybe small-town life isn’t for me if it’s hard to get laid.
He circles my wrist, pulling me back in. You’re my wife. You will never be lacking in the department.
The way he says it does something to me I don’t want to unpack right now.
Instead, I stand, pulling my shirt over my head, letting it fall. My bra follows. His attention locks in immediately, his mouth parting as I run my hands up my sides, over my breasts, brushing my nipples just enough to make them tighten.
Wrenley. His voice is hoarse.
He reaches for me. I step back.
Your turn.
A quiet sound leaves him, somewhere between a laugh and something sharper. He stands, slower now, like he’s putting on a show for me.
His shirt comes off first, revealing muscle built from use, not for show. Then his jeans, his boxer briefs, pushed down and kicked aside.
His body is the eighth wonder of the world. I don’t bother pretending I’m not staring.
Enjoying the view? he asks, catching me.
I nod, because words feel unnecessary.
I step in, tracing down his chest, feeling the way his body reacts under my hands. The slight shift in his breathing.
He’s not the only one affected here.
His hands find my waist. You’re unreal, he says.
And for once, it doesn’t feel like a practiced line to get me into bed.
I press my hands to his shoulders, guiding him back until he sits on the edge of the bed.
I want to taste you.
His expression changes to surprise… then heat.
I drop to my knees, running my tongue slowly up the length of him, taking my time with it.
Fuck, he exhales, hands tightening in the bedding. Again.
I do, slower this time, then take him into my mouth, listening to the way his breathing changes, the way control slips piece by piece. His hand moves to my hair, not forcing, just holding, like he needs something to anchor to.
When I take him deeper, he swears under his breath.
Enough, he says suddenly, pulling me up before I can push him further.
I make a face, but he’s already moving, flipping us so I’m on my back, his body over mine, his mouth back on mine in a kiss that’s rougher now, less controlled.
He reaches for the nightstand, the tear of foil quick and efficient.
He rolls the condom on, then spreads my legs, his thumb brushing over my clit in slow, deliberate circles that pull a gasp from me.
Then he lines up.
The first push makes my breath hitch. He fills and stretches me until my pulse pounds in my ears.
You okay? he asks, watching me closely.
I nod, unable to form words, adjusting to the feel of him while his gaze stays locked on mine. They’re hungry and yet still filled with awe, like he also can’t believe we are finally doing this.
I nod, still catching up to the feeling of him, the way he fills me, the way he waits—just a second—before moving again.
When he does, it’s slow, controlled, like he’s testing the pace he wants to set.
Ruger… My voice breaks into a plea. Please.
He picks up speed, no longer holding back. He shifts, hooking my leg over his shoulder, changing the angle until he hits deeper, sharper. I grip his shoulders as the rhythm builds, each thrust pulling me closer.
Reaching down, my fingers find my clit, matching his pace.
Fuck, baby. That’s so hot.
The combination of his words, his cock, and my fingers hits fast. Too fast to hold off. The release snaps through me, pulling a raw sound out of my throat as everything tightens, then breaks.
He follows, his grip on my hips tightening as he lets go, his head tipping back for a second before he comes back down, pressing his forehead to mine.
We stay like that for a beat.
Then he shifts, pulling out, dropping beside me and immediately drawing me into him, his arm wrapping around me like it belongs there.
He presses a kiss to my temple. Then another.
I’m not used to this part.
The staying wrapped in each other.
Captain Skinny-Dick would have been halfway to the kitchen by now. But Ruger stays.
And I decide right there that I’m not going to let old ghosts ruin this moment.
Still good? he asks, fingers moving absently along my arm.
Mostly.
That gets his attention. He pulls back to study my face. Mostly?
I’m hungry.
A chuckle rumbles from his chest as he glances at his watch. Guess we skipped dinner.
I shrug. We both ate something.
He laughs again, but lower this time. Then, he pulls me into a kiss that knocks every thought in my head loose. My stomach may be grumbling, but right now, I’m starving for something else entirely.
Okay, he says when we finally come up for air. He glances down at himself, lips quirking. Let me take care of this, and then I’ll make you something.
I catch his arm before he can move. Food. Then round two.
His mouth curves into a slow, sinful smile. That works for me.
The dinner Ruger cooked is now cold, but I still inhaled like it was a five-star meal. I’m not sure how I avoided cramping during the workout he gave me afterward, but I fell asleep boneless and completely wrung out.
Morning sunlight filters between his curtains, warming my bare stomach. I should get up. I promised Audrey I’d be back at the shop today, but every memory I have in this bed is enough to glue me to the mattress.
The shower’s running, and I toy with the idea of joining him… but I take too long deciding. The water shuts off, footsteps cross the hall, and then—
The door swings open.
Ruger strolls in gloriously naked, towel-drying his hair and beard.
Morning, he says, as if his perfect, naked body isn’t a lethal weapon.
I sit up, letting the comforter slide down. His gaze drops over my body, slow and hungry, and I watch him harden under it.
Fuck, he mutters. You have the most amazing tits.
He’s on the bed in under a second, taking one in his mouth, sucking and teasing until I arch against him.
One more time, he says between licks.
I have to get to work. The words are weak at best.
A quickie.
Like I’m capable of saying no to that.
A quickie turns into Ruger eating me out in the shower. By the time we find our clothes, my legs feel like they’ve been swapped out for overcooked noodles.
We move around the kitchen like magnets. We take any small excuse to be in each other’s space. I graze his knuckles reaching for an avocado. He swats my ass as he grabs cheese for the eggs, sending heat straight to my core.
It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this giddy and alive. And it’s with a man I have no idea what the future will look like. That’s a tomorrow-Wrenley problem. Today, I’m going to enjoy it. Go to work. Come home. Get thoroughly ruined by a hot, rugged Alaskan man who can cook and picks good beer.
When I set the plates on the table, Ruger follows with two mugs of coffee. He leans in and brushes a kiss across my cheek as he passes me mine.
I take a bite of my avocado toast, humming at the first buttery crunch.
I love the sounds you make, he says, and I know he doesn’t mean the ones over breakfast.
His gaze is hungry in a way that makes me squirm in my chair.
Don’t start, I warn, though my smile ruins it. I have to get to the shop.
A knock and the front door opening yanks us back into reality.
Hello? Remi’s voice calls out.
In here! I call back.
I square my shoulders, getting ready to keep things as they were. Ruger winks at me over his mug, then steels his own face.
Oh my God, you’ll never guess what my editor said about the latest sex scene I sent her. She was like— She stops dead when she spots us at the table. Oh my God.
What? I ask.
Ruger shifts in his seat, his jaw tight.
Remi’s eyes sweep the room before landing on us. You two fucked.