Page 14 of Pucking Curves

“Don’t fucking come yet,” I warn her.

“I can’t help it!” she sobs.

“Not until I get a taste, wife.”

She pulls my hair harder.

I growl, burying my face in her pussy. My tongue spears through her folds, licking up every drop of honey. Her flavor… fucking hell. I want to die right here, with her gushing on my tongue and babbling my name.

I flick my tongue against her clit and then force the tip of it into her perfect little hole, wanting it as deep as I can get it. Wanting as much of her as I can take.

She sobs my name, coming unglued. Her body undulates beneath me, trying to buck me off as she shatters, coming with a sweet little gasp. I grind my hips against the bed, driving my cock against the mattress like that’s going to relieve the ache or pressure. It fucking won’t. Nothing will until I’m inside her, making her scream my name. Until she’s wrapped around my cock, clawing my back and coming all over me.

I’m two seconds from taking us there when the shrill ring of my room phone shatters the moment.

“Son of a bitch,” I snarl, pissed beyond measure.

I crawl up her body, snatching it off the receiver.

“Fuck off,” I growl, not really caring who is on the other end.

“Well, fuck you too,” Micah says in my ear, chuckling.

Son of a bitch. Micah.

“You’re supposed to be downstairs in fifteen minutes, fucker.”

“Goddammit.”

“Hung over?” he asks.

I scrub a hand down my face, my eyes locked on Wren’s face.

She sits up, staring at me. Her face is still flushed from her orgasm, her eyes dilated. But she knows it’s Micah. I see the realization settling over her little by little, undoing every bit of progress we made. Desire cools, turning cold. Her flush fades, leaving her pale. She wraps her arms around herself, trembling.

She’s slipping away right in front of my face, closing down on me.

“Yeah,” I lie to her brother, my eyes locked on her, silently pleading with her for…what? I don’t know. To stay in the moment that was gone as soon as the goddamn phone rang? To give me the chance I stole?

“Have you seen Wren this morning? I haven’t been able to get ahold of her.”

“She’s probably regretting her life right now,” I say. It’s not a lie, but I fucking hate that it’s true.

“I’ll go wake her up,” he mutters. “I’m guessing she’s probably hung over.”

Fuck. If he goes looking for her, he isn’t going to find her in her room. And he’s going to kill us both.

“I’ll take care of bringing her down,” I quickly say. “Give me five minutes to get dressed.”

“Fine.” He pauses. “What the fuck did the two of you do last night?”

“Lost a shit ton of my money. Your sister sucks at poker.”

He laughs loudly as Wren scrambles from the bed as if released from a spell, her movements jerky, nervous.

“Gotta go,” I mutter. “See you soon.” I slam the phone onto the receiver, reaching for her. But she’s already slipping away. “Wren, baby…”

“Don’t.” Her voice cracks. “Please…just don’t.” She presses her palms to her cheeks. “This can’t happen, Archer.”

---