“No, I don’t. Look at you.” Her gaze slides over my pecs, down to my stomach.
My cock twitches almost painfully against the front of my jeans.
“Look at you,” I return, my voice low. “You’re sexy as fuck with your innocent words and fuck-me eyes.”
She blinks. “What do you mean?”
“You stare at me like you want to fuck me.” I reach for the front of my jeans, undoing one button. Then the next. And the next one after that, relieving the pressure off my dick.
Her gaze tracks my every movement. “I don’t mean to look like that.”
“It’s okay to admit you want to fuck me, Wren.” I undo the last button, letting my fly hang open, revealing the top of my black boxer briefs. “I want to fuck you.”
“You do?” She sounds surprised.
Laughter bursts out of me. “Of course, I do.”
Her smile is small. “You want me to strip with you?”
“If you want.” I keep my tone casual, so I don’t seem too anxious.
She sits up straighter, shedding her sweater and letting it fall to the floor. She’s wearing the bra she had on a couple of nights ago. The one that barely restrains her perfect tits that I can’t help but stare at.
“This isn’t so bad,” she admits, sinking her teeth in her lower lip. “I like the way you’re looking at me.”
“And I like the way you’re looking at me.” I keep my distance, trying to pace this right, when all I really want to do is jump her.
Nervous laughter leaves her. “We’re being a little ridiculous.”
“Just having fun.” I shrug.
“Is that what sex is to you? Fun?”
I can’t describe any of my previous sexual experiences as fun. I was always just looking to get off, and to make sure she got off too. No savoring or lingering necessary.
“Not really.”
“Oh.” She rubs her fingers in between the valley of her breasts, seemingly lost in thought. “I’ve always taken it so seriously. Sex.”
“I know. You’ve got a ring on your finger to prove that.” I nod toward her left hand.
Wren glances down at the diamond ring her father gave her, twisting it around and around her finger before she slowly starts to pull it off. “This has felt like a burden lately. A reminder of what I shouldn’t do.”
“If you don’t want to—” I start, but she shakes her head, cutting me off.
“No. I want to. I do.” She climbs off the bed, dropping the ring onto the nightstand before she slowly approaches me.
Toeing off my boots, I wait for her, my breath stuck in my throat, my gaze pinging everywhere, too many pretty places to look at once. Her smooth, creamy skin. Her tits straining against the lace. The dip of her waist, the flare of her hips in those jeans. She kicked off her boots when we first entered the cabin and she seems shorter than usual. Smaller.
The need to protect her is fierce. Piercing my steely heart and filling me with all sorts of unfamiliar urges. I want to haul her into my arms and never let her go. Protect her from every other asshole out there who wants to steal her from me. Because if they knew, if they knew just how sweet she is, how sexy, they’d all want her.
She reaches out, settling her hands on my rib cage, her fingers spanning wide, as if she wants to touch as much of my skin at once as possible. It’s like she’s counting my ribs, memorizing the pattern of my skin, her touch featherlight. Goosebumps rise, a shiver stealing over me, and my heart thuds harder. Faster.
Her hands slide down, fingers curling around the waistband of my jeans, her knuckles brushing my skin. I swallow the groan in my throat, holding my breath as she spreads the front of my jeans open wider. As wide as the denim will go.
Wren lifts her gaze to mine, holding steady as she slides her hand inside the front of my jeans, her fingers curling around my cock, lightly holding me. Her breaths are coming rapidly, I can tell by the quickening rise and fall of her chest, and this time around, I let the groan escape when she gives me a squeeze.
“You’re big.”