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God, did the air conditioner in this place break suddenly.
“To my mouth.”
I whimper with need, and the grin on his handsome, stupid face tells me he has me exactly where he wants me.
Then my stomach growls again.
“Let’s go find something to watch on TV.”
“We have at least half an hour,” I whine.
“My guys are faster than Door Dash, Whitney.” He tugs on my arm, regretfully toward the living room rather than his bedroom down the hall. “And I’ll need much longer than thirty minutes before I’ll be able to pull myself away from that body of yours. Thirty minutes isn’t even long enough to eat your—”
“Enough!” He’s pulling my hands away from my ears. “Don’t say stuff like that if you’re going to force me to watch TV.”
He laughs again, flopping to the couch and patting the spot beside him. I want to be a petulant brat and sit on the recliner, but I need his closeness more than my desire to be bratty.
I can’t help the laugh that escapes my throat when he turns on Star Trek Voyager, a jab at my fake ID.
“Is there anything you don’t know about me?” I ask, sarcasm dripping from my tone.
“What you feel like coming on my cock,” he whispers in my ear, only laughing when I clench his thigh as hard as I can with my hand.
“You’re a tease,” I complain.
“I promise to follow through. Jones has gone underground.”
And that’s all it takes to put out the raging fire that’s been burning inside of me since I saw him standing at the counter earlier.
“He missed roll call at his office this morning, and no one at the Bureau has heard from him since Friday night.” Understanding the fear starting to rear its ugly head once again, Wren pulls me closer to his side. “We aren’t able to track his location because he’s dumped his government issued phone and car.”
“Any good news?” I mutter.
Just then the doorbell rings.
“Yeah,” Wren says with a grin as he extracts himself from my side. “In a couple minutes, you’ll no longer be hungry.”
As he makes his way across the room, I try to figure out a way to explain how suddenly I’ve lost my appetite again.
I watch from the sofa as Quinten rolls two familiar suitcases inside, and relief washes over me knowing I won’t have to face the man who touched my undergarments.
Then Ignacio’s smiling face pops around the door frame, his eyes finding mine before even looking for his friend. By the time he winks at me, Wren is already blocking his view.
“Thanks, man.” Wren snaps the Taco Bell bags from his hands, whispering something low on a growl.
Ignacio laughs. Quinten shakes his head. I turn beet red.
Thankfully with Wren standing guard, the guys don’t make it more than a few feet inside. I don’t know how I’d react if I actually had to have a conversation with either of them right now.
“Don’t get me wrong,” Wren says turning in my direction after ushering his friends out the door, “I love that color on your cheeks, but explain to me how you can suck the life out of me through my cock but you get embarrassed with the thought of someone touching your underwear?”
My mouth clamps closed because explaining it would show my hand too soon.
“Is it because he’s a sexy hunk with a Spanish accent?”
I hate that he’s throwing my words right back at me. I was flustered when I uttered them, and it doesn’t seem fair to turn them into ammunition.
“You’re sexier,” I whisper.
“I don’t have an accent, though.” I can tell by his tone that he’s joking, and I love that he’s not getting legitimately upset because I expressed an opinion about his very handsome friend.
“You have magical fingers.”
He looks down at the digits in question before dropping the bags of food on the coffee table. The words take a sexual tone, but my stomach is dying to be filled with all the cheesy, crunchy goodness in those bags.
“The way they fly over a keyboard is awe inspiring.”
He chuckles, taking the hint as he drops down beside me. I go after the Baja Blast first, needing something cold to quench my thirst and take my internal body temperature down a few degrees.
“I’m glad you like my fingers, Captain Janeway.”
I laugh, the sound coming from deep in my gut as he begins pulling days’ worth of meals from the bags.
We eat in companionable silence, grinning at each other as we watch Star Trek. It takes only moments after shoving the last bite of my gordita in my mouth for my eyes to grow heavy. I don’t know how long Wren lets me drool on his shoulder, but eventually he scoops me up and carries me to bed.
I groan in displeasure when my nose finds the scent of fresh clean linens rather than the spicy smell of his skin.
