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“You’re such a fucking angel when you take me like that,” I snarl up at her as her breasts bounce and moans flutter past her laps.
Her palms plant down on my chest as she bucks against me, wild and completely uninhibited, her hair flying everywhere. More moans. Sweat and lust slicked between us. The air hot, vibrating, rich with her scent and mine.
I’ve got two thrusts left in me. Maybe three, if I’m lucky.
“Yes!” Wren cries. “Fuuuuck… Mmm…”
A trail of perspiration dives down her chest. I haul myself up so I can lick up that valley and run my tongue over the curve of her ear.
She tastes like heaven. Salty and sweet at the same time. The same thought surges through my head: more, more.
But the need for “more” is exactly what this was intended to prevent. There can’t be more. There can only be this.
So when I finally come, exploding inside her, I tell myself that this will be the end.
Enjoy it now, motherfucker. This is one sin you cannot afford to repeat.
When it’s over and we both return to our senses, I can practically feel Wren retreating from me in mind, body, and soul. She reaches for her pajama top, fingers and lips both wobbling. The sweat on my skin dries cold and sticky.
“I’m just, uh…” she mumbles. “Just gonna go shower. I’m… yeah. Showering.”
She doesn’t meet my gaze as she flees into the relative safety of the bathroom. I stay just long enough to see little curls of steam begin to flow beneath the crack in the door. All I want is to memorize this scent and this feeling. The way her handprints are still sizzling on my chest. How limp and sated and perfect I feel, and yet how much more I could still take. A minute of rest and I’d be ready to dive into her all over again.
That’s why I have to get up.
I dress quickly and leave. I’m walking down the hallway, craving the comfort and silence of my bed, when I hear a little tut-tut in the direction of Bee’s room.
She’s leaning against the doorframe, her eyes trained on me expectantly. “I probably should be mad, but I’m not. You two really needed to get that out of your system.”
I want to snort in disbelief. If only that’s what it succeeded in doing.
“I don’t want to hear it, Bee. Not today.”
She grins, then she zips her lip and throws away the key. With a parting wave, she disappears into her room and I’m left to deal with the ramifications of what I’ve just done.
46
WREN
DMITRI: Bee has a dress fitting today. Aleksandr will pick you both up at ten.
I’ve been staring at the text ever since he sent it. Periods and complete sentences have never felt so cruel, so curt or hard or impregnable. There’s nothing here to suggest that last night even happened.
Other than the smell of him on my skin.
It clings to the sheets, too, which is why I’ve spent most of the morning with my nose buried in them. As 10:00 A.M. draws closer, I reluctantly get dressed and meet Bee out in the living room.
Even though I know that she and Dmitri aren’t really together, it still feels weird meeting her eye. Have I betrayed her? Should I have spoken to her first before what happened?
It’s just that there had been no time to think about anything. One second, I was planning seating arrangements for their wedding—and the next thing I knew, Dmitri was right there in my face, being all hot and intense and… urgh.
“Yo, girl,” Bee greets, giving me a little wink that I have no idea how to interpret. “Had a good night?”
Again, how the hell am I supposed to answer that? In the end, I decide not to. “You have a dress fitting this morning?”
She’s busy applying a coat of deep fuchsia to her toenails. “Indeed. I’m going for dramatic yet simple.”
I sit down opposite her. “I think that’s an oxymoron.”
