A Million Kisses in Your Lifetime(104)

“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.

I check out the photo. “You do. I can see it, but not very well.”

“I’ll wear a darker one next time,” she murmurs, her voice loaded with promise.

“You want to do this again?”

“There are lots of things I want to do with you.” I see the emotion shining in her eyes, and I realize this is my moment. I need to be open with this girl, and tell her how I feel.

“I want to do a lot of things with you too.” I pull her into my arms, just holding her. “You know I care about you, right?”

She blinks up at me. “You do?”

“Well, yeah. I—don’t do relationships. Not normally. My parents…” My voice drifts and she waits patiently for me to continue. “They aren’t the best example. There wasn’t a lot of love in my house growing up. Just money.”

Always money.

“We’re not our parents,” she murmurs, and I wonder if she’s thinking of her own.

“Yeah, but they influence us, and how we act. My dad was—is—such a controlling prick. He’s not a nice person.” That’s putting it mildly.

“You are though.” When I start to argue she shakes her head, and I go quiet. “You are. You’re sweet and kind. With me.”

“That’s because I like you.” Those words don’t seem big enough for how I really feel about Wren. It’s more than like. Or care. It’s…

I don’t want to put a label on it. Not yet.

“Then I guess I should feel honored.” She laughs, the sound soft.

Sexy.

I don’t answer her. Instead, I kiss her until she’s out of breath, my tongue doing a thorough search of her delectable mouth. Fuck, I can’t get enough of her. This feeling is so overwhelming, it almost fucking hurts.

Even worse? The thought of losing her. That’s downright unbearable to even imagine.

When she pulls away, she smiles, thrusting her phone in between us and taking a photo of me.

“What the fuck, Birdy?”

She’s already opening up the photo, smiling. “Your lips are covered in gloss.”

When she shows me the photo on her phone, all I see is a lust-filled idiot who’s left in a daze by the girl who just kissed him. “I look stupid.”

“More like stupid hot.” She tosses the phone on the bed, smiling up at me. “Thank you for indulging me and my little project.”

“Are you done?”

“I think so,” she says shyly.

“Good.” I lean in closer, stealing a kiss. Then another. “Because now it’s my turn.”





FORTY





WREN





I shiver when he grabs hold of my butt and hauls me up, then tosses me onto the bed as if I weigh nothing. I land with a bounce on the mattress, bracing my hands on it, so I won’t tip over, my knees bent. He stands at the foot of the bed, his gaze only for me, and I position myself in a more provocative pose, clamping my knees together before I slowly part them.

His gaze grows hot as he stares at the spot between my legs, and I can feel my panties grow damper and damper the longer he looks.

“You are a bad girl,” he murmurs. “I knew I could bring it out in you.”

I spread my legs as far as they can go, my feet planted firmly on the bed. “You like it?”

“I fucking love it.” His gaze turns molten. “Slip your hand in your panties.”

Shock courses through me. “Really?” I squeak.

He nods. “Show me what you like.”

“But…you won’t be able to see where I’m touching myself.” I can’t even believe I said that. Or that I’m contemplating actually doing it.