WREN
I arriveat the Lancaster building just before one, thanking Peter as he holds the door open for me to get out of the car Crew sent. The building is tall, imposing, and I tilt my head back, my heart racing at the knowledge that in a matter of minutes, I’ll see Crew.
“Give your name to the man at the front desk and he’ll instruct you to the penthouse elevator,” Peter advises after he shuts the door, his smile warm when he turns to me.
“Thank you again,” I say with a faint smile, pushing past the nerves that are dancing in my stomach.
I walk into the building, the lobby similar to where I live, and when I give my name to the man behind the massive wood and lacquer desk, he nods as if he’s been waiting for me, the instructions for the penthouse elevator rattling off his tongue as if he’s said it a thousand times before.
Tucking my coat around me, I make my way to the elevator, the doors sliding open immediately after I hit the button. The elevator is incredibly fast, making my knees wobbly when I exit, and I’m about to knock on the black door directly in front of me when it swings open, revealing Crew.
His hot gaze races over me, and now my legs are wobbly for a different reason.
“Birdy. I’ve missed you.” He opens the door wider, allowing me entry, and when I walk in, he immediately shuts it.
And is on me in a flash.
I’m pressed against the wall, his mouth finding mine, his tongue delving inside. I match his excitement, my tongue circling his, a whimper leaving me when he breaks the kiss to run his mouth down the length of my neck. His hands are on my waist, pinning me to the wall, his thumbs stroking my front.
“What the fuck are you wearing?” he asks, his tone full of wonder.
“A dress,” I admit shakily as I reach for his face, needing his mouth back on mine. “Do you like it?”
“I don’t know yet.” He kisses me again, and we stand there in the foyer, devouring each other for I don’t know how long until I’m finally pushing him away, desperate to catch my breath. To get my bearings.
One passionate kiss and I’m overwhelmed—in the very best way.
“Is no one home?” I ask as he wipes at the corner of his mouth. I wore the lipstick but chewed half of it off on the drive over, so his lips only have a trace of red on them.
“I told you they were all gone. I’m the only one left at home. My mother is in Mexico for a girls’ getaway weekend.” He rolls his eyes. “She claims the stress of the holidays sends her over the edge and that’s why she needs the trip, but come on. My mother doesn’t have to do anything to prep for Christmas. She hires out people to do all that stuff.”
“My mother and I decorated the apartment for the first time in years,” I say. “She used to always hire someone out to do it.”
“Why didn’t she do that this year?”
“I don’t know.” I start to take off my coat and Crew comes behind me, slowly helping me out of it. “But it was kind of fun. We haven’t done that since I was a little kid.”
“Hmm, that dress.” His tone is appreciative, and when I turn to face him, I see the lust in his eyes when they drop to the deep square neckline, the tops of my breasts on blatant display. “Fuck, Birdy, you look good enough to eat.”
“Um, thank you?” I laugh. I don’t think I’ve been this happy in a long time.
“It’s a compliment.” His gaze is still stuck on my chest. “Seeing you in that dress makes me want to fuck your tits.”
Shock courses through me at his comment. I don’t know how to answer him so I change the subject. “Take me on a tour of your place.”
“It’s my parents’ place, really,” he reminds me, his gaze dropping to the lug sole boots on my feet. “You’re going to have to take those off. You stain my mother’s white rugs, she’ll freak.”
“I don’t want to do that.” I start to take them off, placing my hand on the nearby wall, so I can pull one boot off, then the other.
Crew offers me a pair of fuzzy slippers and I step into them. He takes my hand and pulls me along with him, taking me around the massive apartment that puts my parents’ place to absolute shame. It’s huge and luxurious, with amazing views of Manhattan.
Our art is still better though. I see a few pieces by artists I recognize and they’re gorgeous. Extremely valuable.
“I see you eyeing the art.” We stop in front of an original Keith Haring, and I’m immediately taken with it. It’s not one I recognize, and I consider myself familiar with his art. “It was originally untitled, but it’s known as the Dancing Dogs.”
“I don’t think I’ve seen this one before.” I take a step closer, my gaze unable to land on one spot for too long. There are so many things happening all at once. The dancing dogs are the most prominent, but there are men dancing as well. He only used three colors in the entirety of the painting and there’s a few radiant babies crawling across the bottom of the canvas. “I love it. My mother has one of his pieces. It was my favorite when I was younger.”
“My parents bought this at an auction a few years ago. My mom has a thing for Keith Haring. She says she loved him when she was a teen,” Crew explains.