Page 87 of Dolls & Daggers
He laughs, kissing me softly. “No, but I can make that happen.”
Wren leans in for a deeper kiss, but a sharp squeal makes us both jump.
“Are you two together?” Cecilia shrieks, nearly shattering my eardrums.
Wren and I exchange baffled glances. “We’ve been together for a while now, Cecilia,” I tell her.
“How long is a while? You’d never know with the way you two carry on at the office,” Sharon chimes in, standing beside her friend, who gapes at us like we just murdered her dog.
Wren leans in, voice low against my ear. “I just had you for lunch on my desk Thursday. What do they think we do when we lock the door?”
Giggling, I tell the women, “I guess we’re just really good at keeping secrets.” I glance back at my man with a knowing smile. “Aren’t we, Songbird?”
Wren’s fingerstighten in my hair, the prominent veins of his cock sliding against my tongue as he hits the back of my throat. Saliva pools from the corners of my mouth, “erotic and aesthetically pleasing,” as Wren once told me.
“Fuck, Turtle Dove. It’s your birthday. I should be the one on my knees.” His head tips back, another curse falling from his lips as I suck harder, swirling my tongue around him while he pulls out.
I speak against his tip like it’s a microphone. “How many times do I have to tell you, Songbird? It’s my birthday. I get to do what I want.”
Wren moans as I trail my tongue along his shaft until my chin presses against his balls. I suck each one into my mouth, massaging them with my lips before kissing my way back up, savoring every whispered curse.
I love watching him unravel, surrendering to the pleasure I give. Love the way he loses himself to the deep, euphoric bliss that permeates the body when you trust your partner. Our give and take is instinctual—an ebb and flow like rhythmic ocean waves.
This is what pure contentment is.
Wren jackknifes up, momentarily choking me as he lodges deep in my throat, gripping my shoulders to haul me onto him. “Get up here and hold onto the headboard, birthday girl.”
I obey, throwing my head back as he lowers me onto his cock. His first thrust is painstakingly slow, but then he picks up his pace, kissing down my throat as he grips my hips, pulling me onto him while propelling his own upward.
“I haven’t even started your birthday spankings,” he murmurs into my neck before his palm strikes my ass.
Pleasure spikes through my spine. Wren digs his fingers into my flesh, grinding me down on him. My nipples tighten, toes curling as my orgasm coils in my belly.
Another sharp slap. “Are you going to count for me, Turtle Dove?”
“Three,” I squeal as his palm lands again.
“You’re so fucking good for me.” He nips at my nipple, my back arching deeper.
“Four,” I cry, fisting his hair and holding him to my chest.
He pulls me forward as he reclines, guiding me to ride him. His hand tangles in my hair, his other striking my ass, building me higher.
“Fuck me, Dove. Ride me until you make a mess all over my cock.”
I use the headboard for leverage, bouncing against him, counting every sharp smack until my voice breaks. Sparks detonate under my skin, pleasure coiling tighter, sharper.
“Baby, I’m going to come.”
“That’s right, Turtle Dove.” Wren takes over, pistoning into me, striking that sweet spot over and over until stars explode behind my eyes. “Fuck, you’re gripping me so tight. I’m coming, too.”
Moans and cries tangle as we chase our release, bodies moving in tandem to stretch the moment longer.
“Fuck, Songbird.” My fingers ache as I pry them from the headboard, slumping against his chest. “Best birthday gift ever.”
Wren chuckles, tracing lazy patterns down my spine. “That wasn’t your gift.”
Fang whines outside the door, scratching to be let in, cutting me off before I can ask what else he has planned. Wren slides from bed, tossing on boxer briefs before letting our dog inside.
