CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Wren
The sheets are tangledaround us, warm with the scent of sex and soap. My body is boneless, heavy in that way, it only gets after a knotting, but I’m not complaining.
We stumbled into the kitchen after the shower, laughing like teenagers while I tried to balance plates of pastries, and ended up eating in bed, both of us still damp from steam.
Then, because apparently, we have no self-control, we fucked again.
Now the quiet stretches between us, soft and manageable. His fingers trace idle patterns on my back, soothing circles that make my eyelids heavy.
“You’re going to put me to sleep again,” I mumble against his chest.
He chuckles low, the sound vibrating under my ear. “You already took a nap. How much sleep do you need?”
“All of it,” I whisper, eyes closing anyway.
I don’t know how long I drift before he speaks again. His voice is quiet, reluctant. “I should get going.”
The thought makes my stomach clench. I lift my head, squinting at him. “What time is it?”
“Almost ten.”
I groan, burying my face back against him. “Stay.”
There’s a pause, his hand stalling on my back. “You want me to spend the night?”
“Yes.” The word slips out before I can second-guess it. My heart kicks hard in my chest.
He tilts my chin up with his finger, studying me. “How about next time,” he says carefully, “you come spend the night with me?”
That makes me blink. “With you? At your place?”
“Yes.” His tone is matter-of-fact, but his eyes are warm, almost searching.
I’m not sure what I expected, but not that. The offer feels big, heavier than the word itself. A glimpse into his world. Into him.
“Okay,” I say quietly.
The smile that spreads across his face is small but genuine. He kisses me, slow and deep, before pulling back and sliding out from under me.
I watch as he gathers his clothes from the floor, neat and efficient, like he always is. Even when he buttons his shirt, even when he straightens his glasses, there’s precision.
“You’re staring,” he murmurs without looking at me.
“Maybe.”
He smirks at the floor, and my chest warms.
When he’s got his shoes on, he turns, bracing his hand on the bedpost. “I think I’ll have your lab results tomorrow. If I do, I’ll call you, have you come in.”
“Okay.”
The reminder of my failed suppressants sobers me, but before I can get lost in worry, he sits on the edge of the mattress and leans in.
“Actually—” He hesitates. “Instead of going to Miss Thea for contraceptives, would you like to come to me? I can prescribesomething safer, more consistent. I’ll even get you ice cream after. You like ice cream, right?”
I blink at him, surprised. “Wouldn’t people… you know?” My hand waves vaguely toward the world outside. “Wouldn’t the town get suspicious if they saw me with you?”
