Page 61 of Dolls & Daggers
His fingers are soft and warm through the thin material of my babydoll—no roughness, no intent tosubdue me. His thumbs rub soothing circles along the dip of my waist as he steps into me and—is that?
Looking down, I see he’shard.
Like, really hard. Straining against his pants, dick-trying-to-fist-bump-me hard.
Arching a brow, I glance back at his face just as a slow smile stretches across his handsome features. “Does watching me incite violence turn you on, Songbird?”
Wren digs his fingers into my waist and lifts me abruptly. My legs lock around him, arms winding around his neck as he murmurs against my lips, “Every fucking little thing about you turns me on, Dove.”
Dove. Not Doll.
Me.
“Besides, I never liked him anyway,” he whispers before crushing our lips together and walking us to the bed.
The fingers that caused death just minutes ago tangle in his hair as a desperate moan escapes from my throat. Wren gently runs his tongue along the seam of my lips, asking for entrance for the first time.
Greedily, I part for him, keeping my tongue glued to the bottom of my mouth so he can explore without feeling overwhelmed. I want to cry at the tenderness with which he lays me on the bed, lowering himself between my legs as they dangle off the side.
“You’re so fucking perfect,” he whispers against my skin, trailing kisses between my breasts.
“Perfect doesn’t exist, Songbird,” I murmur to the ceiling, raking my nails against his scalp as he shoves up my nightie and presses his warm mouth exactly where I want to feel it the most.
“Yes, it does.” He sucks softly before moving my underwear to the side to run his tongue through my aching center. “I’m tasting it right now.”
The bundle of death on the floor twitches—a chemical reaction that should concern Wren and shove him back into the reality that there’s a dead body on the floor next to us while we get our freak on.
Meanwhile, my nerves feel like they’re melting in euphoric bliss as Wren eats me out like his life depends on it.
Maybe he thinks it does.
Pushing up on my elbows, we lock eyes as he continues licking and sucking with alternating tenderness and wild abandon. “I need to feel you, Wren.”
I don’t have to ask twice. He’s on his feet, his belt and zipper undone in seconds. Wrenley is eight inches of velvet skin, rock-solid pleasure, and enough veins that it looks like his dick is a bodybuilder on steroids. I’ve dreamed of having him inside me since I first saw it outlined in his gym shorts.
Yet, there are still moments when he flinches at mytouch. Moments when I pause, ensuring he knows it’smethere with him, nother. So whenever we come close to consummating our relationship, I pull away, pretending I’m not ready.
But he’s ready now.
And I’m so ready, I feel like I’ll burst into a million vaporized particles if he doesn’t fuck me this second.
“Are you sure?” he asks, fingers grazing my jaw reverently as I stroke him. “I don’t have a condom.”
“I don’t care.” I nearly climb him, pushing to my knees as he removes his pants and kneels on the bed, letting me lay him down so I can get on top.
Our limbs tangle in a frenzy, his hands thrusting into my hair while he kisses me. He has to let me go, our height difference making it impossible while I line his cock up with my entrance and lower myself slowly. Wren’s moan cuts through the air as his fingers dig into my skin—that musical, high-pitched, purely sensual sound I love so much.
“Fuck, Turtle Dove, you feel so good.” He helps me ride him, our skin breaking out in a glistening sheen as we rock together slowly but with so much purpose.
I wanted our first time to be monumental—memorable. I suppose having a rapidly cooling body stuffed like a sausage in a prickly, coarse casing next to us fits the bill.
“Yeah?” Iask, pinning him with a heated stare. Using one hand on his chest to anchor myself, I arch my body back as I grind myself on him. We’re a tight fit, and I can feel each and every corded vein as it drags against my walls. “How does it feel to fuck your obsession, Songbird?”
“Like heaven.” He looks me dead in the eyes. “Use me, Dove. Use me in whatever way you want. Every breath in my body and every fragment of my soul… it’s all yours. I belong to you irrevocably.”
He flexes inside me with his beautiful words, eyes screwing shut as he tries to stave off his impending climax. I blink away the tears that try to form, knowing what it costs him to give up control to me.
“Look at me, Wren,” I command softly. He does as I say, and I slow my hips, rolling them with longer, deeper passes. “You don’t have to belong to me. We’re both broken. We can heal together.”
