Page 44 of Two Wrongs

His words release the strangle hold I’m exercising over my body, and I tremble harder. When his tongue starts flicking hard against my clit I get so close I’m dizzy. Then his fingers curl and stroke my G-spot and a guttural scream rips from my throat and everything goes black.

18

Griffin

“Wake up sleepy head,” I coax Wren awake the next morning with a mug of coffee.

She rolls away from me and pulls the pillow over her head. I rip it away from her. “Five more minutes,” she begs and reaches for my pillow.

“You’re going to be late for work,” I tell her and she bolts up straight.

The sheet slips revealing her full tits. I have to force my eyes not to look down. If I do, she’ll definitely be late for work. I set the coffee on the nightstand and start to back out of the room. “I’ll, uh, go make breakfast.”

I’ve got pancakes on the griddle when she comes out of my room wearing one of my shirts and nothing else. The spatula slips out of my hand and clatters against the floor. “Baby bird, we need to have that talk now, because if you think I’m going to let you out of my sight wearing nothing except for my shirt, I’m going to have to clarify what it means to be mine.”

“You keep saying that, but we both know I can’t be yours.” Her voice sounds melancholy, and I wish I could reassure her.

I’m so absorbed by her I forget all about the pancakes until the smell of them burning fills the kitchen. “Shit, so much for making you breakfast.”

I kiss the top of her head. “Let’s talk after you get off work. If we hurry we can swing through a drive through before I take you to your house to change and drop you off at your car.”

“We don’t have to go through a drive through,” she says.

“You have to eat,” I demand. “We burned a lot of calories yesterday, and then you passed out.”

Wren laughs. “You’re taking this daddy thing a bit far. We don’t have to go through a drive through because Dolores is going to swing by with something the second she sees your truck pull in so she can snoop.”

I laugh. “Yeah, that sounds like her. She really is a horrible spy.”

Wren pulls at the hem of my shirt she’s wearing. “Do you have some pants or something I can put on with this?”

I pull her to me and kiss her until she’s melting in my arms. It takes effort to stop, but we both have jobs we need to get to. “I’ve got just the thing.”

As much as I like seeing her in nothing but my shirt, I go to my dresser and dig out a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt that will have her drowning in fabric.

She laughs when I hand them to her. “I’m starting to get the idea you’re a bit possessive.”

“Wren,” I pull the sweatshirt over her head, “I’m alotpossessive.”

Her purse is sitting on the bench seat of my truck when we go to leave. She digs inside and pulls out her phone. “Huh, I usually have this thing glued to my hand, and I haven’t reached for it once.” She drops it back inside without checking her messages.

It makes me wonder what her life is like. My son has neglected her for months. She doesn’t really have any family. The aunt who stayed with her for a few months before she turned eighteen hasn’t been back in town since. Honestly, I was surprised Hattie came back at all. I’d gone to school with her like I had Wren’s mom. She never fit in here, but at least she came back when Wren needed her.

“I’m surprised someone of your generation isn’t rushing to check her messages. Surely your friends must be wondering where you are,” I say, fishing for more information.

Wren chews on her bottom lip and looks out the window. I haven’t started the truck yet, so I wait for her to gather herself. When she looks back, there’s a sadness in her eyes. “There might be something there from Bess.”

“What about Audrey?” They have always been attached at the hip. Personally I find her immature and loud, but Wren holds on tight to the people she cares about, even when she should let them go.

She shrugs one shoulder. “I’ve stopped calling her. Every time I do she blows me off. I don’t know what I did.”

“I can’t imagine you did anything,” I say.

“It must be something. We were fine, then a few months ago, she started avoiding me,” she says, turning back to the window.

I start the truck and leave her alone to her thoughts.

Dolores lives on the other side of Harriston, which only means it takes me ten minutes of driving through town to reach Wren’s small cottage. There’s no driveway direct to her place, and when I pull into the spot Dolores hasn’t used since her license was taken by the state, I notice the curtain swing in the front window.

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