Page 43 of Wren's Winter

Slowly, his fingers traced a line down the front of me, between the valley of my breasts, over my soft stomach, and between my thighs to the center of me. “And this pussy is begging to be fucked, isn’t it?”

“Why don’t you find out?”

He hissed as his fingers dug into my bare hip. Reaching behind him, I pushed his sweatpants down, taking out his hard cock and stroking it.

This time, there was no lengthy foreplay, no tenderness. He drove inside me in a single motion. My head snapped back, hitting the cabinet, but I couldn’t register the sting. Wrapping my legs around his waist, I drew him further inside me. His hand laced with my hair. With each thrust inside me, his hand cushioned my head.

“Your cunt fits so good around my cock.” He gritted out.

Grabbing his ass, my nails dug into the firm muscles, tightening with each thrust. He would probably have little claw marks on them later, but neither of us cared as he kept ramming into me. The angle of him inside me, paired with his kisses, was sending me closer and closer to climax. The tendons in his neck strained, and I knew he was trying to hold off until I came first.

“Keep fucking me.” My heels hooked around each other, my words in his ear. “All I need is this.”

In the back of my mind, the clock was ticking. Days—hours, really—left between us and then I would be gone. This was dangerous to allow myself to revel in him. My thoughts must have been all over my face because he pulled back, cupping my face in his hand as continued moving inside me.

“No one else between us.”

“No one,” I mimed back. The lie I tried to force on myself, that I could be casual, that this was nothing more than a fling, was falling apart faster than I was.

“No one had ever been this good. Your pussy is all I need, Birdie.” His words were hot against my ear and then the sharp sting of his teeth on my earlobe. Somehow, that was enough for me. The orgasm hit, cresting over me in wave after wave of white fire.

He followed after me, collapsing against me. His grip on my hips slackened, and his head rested on my shoulder while his breathing steadied. Winding my arms around his middle, I held him close. It was all so familiar, the slickness of our bodies together, the scent of his skin, and the rasp of his beard against my collarbone as I held him tight. To want more of this was foolish, but still, I allowed myself the moment where it could almost be. A world where morning sex and crepes were a constant reality. Where I could hold him tight and know he wanted the same as me. A place where I could belong.

When he pulled away, a soft expression colored his face. His hand came up to cup my cheek. “I wish every morning could be like this.”

It could be. Ask me to stay.

I shook my head at the idea. I would never do that. Couldn’t. He wasn’t the type to want forever. Regaining my composure, I flashed him what I hoped was a convincing grin. “Certainly not my usual wake-up routine.”

A dull thud sounded outside, and we both jerked or heads to the side to see a car parked beside Adrian’s truck. His grip stilled on my cheek, and the color drained from his face. “Oh, shit.”

He pulled away, grabbing the shirt from the floor and tossing it to me. “Quick, put that on.”

He pulled the sweatpants up over his still half-hard dick and then held his hands out in front of him as if he could grab a shirt from the air. “Um, um.”

He was stuttering.

“What is going on?” I asked, pulling the shirt over my head. He helped me down from the counter, pulling on the bottom of the shirt as if it would go longer than mid-thigh on me.

“It’s my parents. What are they doing here? They never come over.”

“Your what?” I whisper-shouted, glancing down at myself. I was obviously wearing nothing more than Adrian’s old shirt. My hair was likely a wreck of curls, and I was still flushed from my orgasm. “Why didn’t you say your parents were coming over?”

“I didn’t know.” It was too late to do anything but stand there in horror as his parents let themselves into the house.

His mother was first, long, straight ash-blond hair that was obviously professionally highlighted and shaped. She was tall for a woman and slender. Even in the snow, she wore a crisp beige pantsuit and heels. She stopped suddenly at seeing me. His father walked in behind her, almost running into the back of his wife. His father had darker hair, thinning on the top a bit, but a manicured beard. He glanced from me to Adrian with identical blue-green eyes.

“Hi, Mom,” Adrian said, his tone level as if he weren’t shirtless and standing beside a stranger to them. “Dad.”

“Adrian…” His mother cleared her throat. “We were in the neighborhood and…”

She glanced over at her husband with a pleading glance. The man stepped forward, putting his hand out. “Hi there. Gregory Winter, winner of Icicle Creek’s best Realtor five years in a row.” He put a hand on his wife’s back. “This here is Diane, my wife. She is the current champion.”

“Oh, please,” Adrian cursed, low enough only I could hear it. He cleared his throat. “And my parents. Mom, Dad, this is Wren Alexander.”

“Wren?” his mother asked with a raised brow. She took my hand, shaking it with a firm grip. “What an unusual name.”

“My mother is very attuned to nature, I guess.”

---