The bra she’s wearing is made of the palest, sheerest pink trimmed with red lace. I can see her nipples. The panties match, and I can see her pubic hair too. She may as well be naked, but fuck, she’s not.
She’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.
“You like it?” Wren asks shyly.
Nodding, I start to approach, pausing when there’s still a few feet between us. It’s now or never. I want to pounce, and I assume she wants me to, considering what she’s wearing, but fuck.
I need to make sure.
“I love it.” The gentle curve of her stomach, that small indentation of her belly button…I want to stroke her there. With my tongue. “I’m afraid once I get my hands on you, I won’t be able to control myself.”
Something unfamiliar shimmers in her gaze, and she licks her lips. “That was the reaction I was hoping for.”
Her permission given, I go to her, settling my hands on her hips, toying with the thin lacy waistband of her panties. “You make me feel out of my fucking mind, Birdy.”
She tilts her head back, smiling up at me, though her eyes are wide. I see fear in them, and I want to banish that. Banish everything that scares her so she feels safe with me. “I like that you make me feel confident.”
I pull her into me, her body colliding with mine. “You are the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen.”
Her eyes flare with heat.
“I can see you.” I cup her left tit, gently squeezing, making her eyelids waver. “Your nipples.” I place my hand over her pussy, the heat from her body radiating, coating my palm. “Your pussy. You wanted me to see you.”
She nods, her lips parted.
“And your mouth.” I touch the corner of her lips, pulling away to find faint red gloss coating my fingertips. “You remembered what I said.”
“I want to do something,” she whispers. “Will you let me?”
“Yes.” I don’t even hesitate.
Whatever she wants, I’ll give her.
Wren shifts away from me to go grab her phone off the nightstand, her ass cheeks jiggling as she walks. My dick surges against my jeans, and I reach between my legs, cupping myself. Trying to get comfortable.
“I want to take a photo,” she starts, and I lift my brows.
“You fucking serious?”
She seems mildly aggravated. “Let me finish. I want to take a photo of you. And then me. Us. Together.”
“That’s called photographic evidence, baby.”
Her smile is sassy as she approaches me. “I’m not scared. Okay, take off your sweater.”
I do as she says, whipping it off over my head and letting it drop. Her appreciative gaze skims over my shoulders. My pecs. Dips down to my stomach. All that wide-eyed wonder as she takes me in makes me want to rip off my jeans and show her what she really wants to see.
“Okay, hold still.” She takes a few steps toward me, her mouth close to my left pec. Pursing her lips, she leans in and presses a long, sticky kiss to my skin before pulling away.
Then she snaps a photo of the mark she left.
“Trying to brand me?”
“Making a memory with you.” She kisses me again, in a different spot, yet close enough to the first one. She takes a photo of that as well, then checks it out, her brows furrowed in concentration as she studies the image.
“How did it turn out?”
“I need darker lipstick, I think.” She holds the phone out to me.