Page 39 of Press Play

“Huh,” she says while placing some sauce on the bottom of the dish.

“Why do you ask?”

“Just curious.” She shrugs and presses her lips together.

I don’t say it, but I know why she’s asking. Wren mentioned years ago that she never experienced an orgasm during penetration, and most women don’t. I also think back to her recent confession ofneverhaving any orgasms—penetration or otherwise. She probably watches porn and wonders why it comes easily to those women. Most of them are overdramatic, but not all.

It took time for me to learn how to properly pleasure someone. Most men are selfish lovers, but I find my joy in giving rather than receiving.

“You haven’t watched any of my?—”

“Hell, no,” she responds as she layers the lasagna. “I shouldn’t have asked. My curiosity got the better of me.”

“You’re allowed to ask.” I drop my arms to my sides and turn the oven on. “You still haven’t—” She raises her hand to cut me off. “Okay, okay.”

Grabbing a spoon, I position myself next to her to assist. Our shoulders brush, and her natural honeysuckle scent fills my nose. We work in silence, chuckling when we bump into one another and making it a point to try and make each other smile.

With the lasagna in the oven, we start cleaning up. She turns the music louder, and we dance around the kitchen, singing and laughing until our middles are sore.

“Fantasy” by Mariah Carey comes on, and Wren quickly spins in tight circles and sings her heart out.

I stop in my tracks, admiring the woman who makes my house feel like home. When her attention lands back on me, I offer her a soft smile, and when she returns the favor, my heart swells.

The chorus starts, and with no time to react, she leaps into my arms and releases a happy exhale.

“Remember when you promised you would always take care of me?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you,” she says. “I took care of myself for a while, and I think I did a pretty good job. Thank you for stepping in when I needed you the most.”

“I’ll always be there for you,” I tell her.

Our eyes lock, and it makes butterflies break out in my stomach. Without removing herself from my arms, she traces her fingertips along my jawline and slightly parts her lips.

I swallow past the lump in my throat as the idea of kissing her overwhelms me.

“You really are wonderful,” she murmurs.

“You’re breathtaking,” I say without thinking.

“I’m a mess.” She snickers. “But thank you.”

I’ve always pushed down any feelings I’ve had for her, not wanting to risk our friendship, but they always return. Now, with Wren in my home, with her in my arms, I’m powerless to stop them. This time, I don’t fear the repercussions because the way she looks at me makes me think she might feel the same, but she’s fighting it.

After Wren untangled herself, we piled our plates with cheesy noodles and made ourselves comfortable on the couch.

The food is steaming hot, but it doesn’t stop me from shoving a forkful in my mouth. “Fuck,” I moan, my eyes rolling into the back of my head. “You haven’t lost your touch.”

“Thank you,” she laughs softly.

“Really, this is incredible. I would kill to have a woman cook for me like this every day.”

“Well, lucky for you I’m here for a whole month.”

“Not long enough,” I remark before placing more food in my mouth.

“I’ll teach you everything I know.”

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