She stills, then whispers, “I don’t know. But I don’t want to overthink it. Not tonight. Is that okay?”
I nod, turning her gently until she’s facing me.
Her eyes flick over my face, then she leans up and kisses me. Soft at first, testing. My restraint splinters.
The kiss deepens, her mouth opening under mine, hands sliding down my chest. Then she cups me over my scrubs, bold and unexpected.
“I owe you an orgasm,” she murmurs, voice low, eyes dark.
The groan that tears out of me is raw, unrestrained.
“Wren…”
But her mouth is already on mine again, hungry, insistent. And the exhaustion that’s weighed me down all day evaporates under the heat of her.
The robe shifts, parting just enough for my fingers to brush warm skin, and I groan into her kiss.
But she pulls back, breathless, eyes flashing. “Sit,” she says, nodding toward a chair at the small table.
I hesitate, frowning.
Her lips curve, cheeks flushing pink. “Please, Simon.”
Unable to resist, I sit.
She kneels between my legs before I can blink. Her robe falls open a little more, pale thigh visible, and my throat goes dry.
“Wren—” I start, but then her hands are on me, tugging at the drawstring of my scrub pants.
She looks up, eyes steady despite the nervous tension I can scent rolling off her. “You gave me so much last time. Let me give back.”
My jaw clenches. “You don’t owe me anything.”
“I know,” she says softly. “I want to.”
And then she has me in her hand, firm and sure, and my protest burns away on a curse.
The first stroke of her mouth around me nearly ends me right there. Heat, wet, her tongue teasing under the head. My hands fist in my scrubs, the other trembling as I touch her hair.
“Sweetheart,” I rasp, head tipping back. “Slow down, or I won’t last.”
But she hums around me, sending a shockwave through my spine.
She wants to wreck me. And I let her. For minutes that blur into eternity, I let her drag me apart, soft moans vibrating against me.
When I finally pull her up, it’s rough, desperate. My thumb drags across her swollen lower lip. “If I don’t shower, I’m going to collapse right here.”
Her smile is dazed, satisfied. “I have a shower.”
The bathroom is small, steam curling around us almost immediately. She tugs my shirt over my head, and then I undo the tie on her robe.
“Fuck.” The word rips out of me when the fabric parts. She’s bare underneath, all soft curves and flushed skin. “You’re so damn hot, Wren.”
She laughs nervously, stepping back into the spray. Water beads along her collarbone, trails between her breasts, and I follow with my hands, soaping my fingers before gliding them over her body.
Her head falls back as I work over her stomach, her hips, the swell of her thighs. She moans, kissing anywhere she can reach—my chest, my jaw, the slope of my neck. Her teeth graze my skin, and I nearly lose my balance.
When I press her against the shower wall, her nails dig into my back, sharp and demanding.
