“Go on.”
She opens it slowly, like she’s afraid it might vanish. Inside, the gold hoops catch the light, clean and straightforward, and beside them rests the necklace—a thin chain, a tiny pendant shaped like the bird she’s named after.
Her hand flies to her mouth. “It’s gorgeous.”
Relief hits me square in the chest. I take the necklace from the box before she can overthink. “Turn around.”
She does, brushing her hair aside. I clasp it at the back of her neck, the delicate bird settling just above her collarbone. My fingers linger on her skin, and I lean down, kissing the spot where chain meets flesh.
The oven timer shrieks.
She jolts, spinning toward it, but I catch her again, running my hands down her sides, over the fabric of her dress. “Why are you so tense?” I murmur into her ear.
She exhales. “Because I’m nervous. I want everything to be perfect, and?—”
“Wren.” I turn her to face me, brushing my thumb over her bottom lip. “Everyone is going to love what you made. I’m sure of it.”
Her eyes soften. For a second, she lets herself lean into me. I tug gently at her earlobe with my teeth, and the sound she makes—half sigh, half moan—goes straight through me.
“You know,” I say, voice low, “I’ve got a way to help you calm down.”
My hand passes over her breast, thumb circling just enough to make her shiver.
Her lips curve. “I like where your head is at.”
I glance at my watch. “I’ve got about half an hour before we have to go.”
“Yeah?” she breathes.
I pull her closer, letting her feel how hard I am against her stomach. “Yeah,” I echo, and there’s no hiding what I want.
She grabs my hand, tugging me toward the stairs. “Fine. But you’d better not ruin my dress or mess up my hair and makeup.”
I grin. “I’ll do my best.”
I follow her up the stairs, her hand gripping mine, her dress swaying with each step. She’s muttering about her hair and her makeup, about how she has to look put together for the festival, but all I can think about is how perfect she looks right now, even without all the effort.
She’s already everything.
The bedroom door swings open, and I pull her back against me before she can reach the bed. My hands slide down her sides, over the curve of her hips, and I press my mouth to her neck, inhaling the warm sweetness of her skin.
She tilts her head just enough to let me in, a soft sigh slipping past her lips, and that’s all it takes for my restraint to snap.
I turn her gently, my fingers brushing the straps of her dress off her shoulders. I work slowly, kissing every inch of revealed skin, until the fabric slides down her body in one fluid motion.
She steps out of it, and I catch it in one hand, laying it carefully across the back of a chair. She watches me, breath catching, as if she didn’t expect me to bother with something so small, but it matters.
This dress means something to her, and I’m not about to ruin it.
When I turn back, she’s taken off her shoes and is standing there in nothing but pale pink panties and the necklace. Her hair is falling loose around her shoulders, her boots already kicked off near the door.
My chest tightens at the sight of her—so beautiful it almost hurts.
I push her gently until she lands on the bed with a laugh, the sound lighting me up from the inside out. I crawl over her, bracing my hands on either side of her head, my weight pressing her down into the mattress.
Her laughter softens when my mouth finds hers again, hot and hungry, my tongue sliding against hers.
Her panties are already damp under my hand, the fabric clinging to her. I work them down, slow, dragging the lace over her thighs, her knees, her ankles, tossing them aside. She shivers when my mouth trails lower, over her collarbone, between her breasts, across her stomach.
