A Million Kisses in Your Lifetime(120)

“Do you want it back?” I ask, knowing what my answer will be if she says yes.

A firm no.

Wren slowly shakes her head. “I don’t know what I’m going to say when I’m asked where it is though.”

“You lost it?” Which is true.

She lost it—her virginity—to me.

“He’ll be mad.”

“He’ll be mad no matter what you tell him. What would he do if you told him the truth?” I raise a brow.

“Rip this right off your neck.” She traces the gold chain.

“I wouldn’t give him the opportunity.” My smile is smug. I could take Harvey Beaumont. That man doesn’t scare me. I’ve had to deal with my father and uncles my entire life. Those guys would slay Beaumont dead with just a fucking look.

“Ooh, you’re so tough,” Wren teases.

“You like it.”

“I do,” she whispers before she leans in and presses her mouth to my chest once. Twice.

A few more times.

I bend my head down, watching her leave her mark, pleased to see the red lipstick shows up, vivid against my skin. She leans back, studying her work, her lips curled up in a closed-mouth smile.

“I like it.”

I lift my gaze to hers. “You’re a little weird, Birdy.”

“I don’t think you mind though,” she says, her cheeks turning a faint pink.

“I like anything that makes you happy.” I reach for her but she leaps off my lap and grabs her phone. “You sure your dad won’t find these photos?”

“I’m positive.” She nods. “I changed my password.”

“What to?”

“Oh, I’m definitely not going to tell you.” She aims her phone at me, taking a few steps closer to focus tightly on where the kiss prints are. “This is going to look good.”

“And you said you didn’t want to recreate it,” I murmur.

She frowns. “Recreate what?”

“Your favorite piece. A million kisses in your lifetime. You’re doing that right now. I’m your canvas.”

She blinks at me. “I guess you are.”

“I don’t mind.”

“I want to do your back next,” she says as she checks out the photos on her phone. “Oh, this looks amazing. Just how I wanted it to.”

“You know what I want to do?”

“What?” she asks, her gaze still on the photos.

“I want to see those bright red lips wrapped tight around my cock.”

Her wide-eyed gaze lifts to mine. “No photos, right?”

I would love photos. I would never share them with a soul. Only her.

“If you don’t want me to take your picture, then I won’t,” I say. I’m no Larsen Van Weller, that’s for damn sure.

“I don’t.” She slowly shakes her head, and I realize in this instant, she still doesn’t fully trust me.

And I also realize in this instant, just as she dips her head and wraps those red lips tightly around the head of my cock, that I want her trust more than anything else in the world.

How did she get past the iron fortress and worm her way into my heart in such a short period of time? I was the one who refused to believe in relationships and love and all the bullshit that comes with it. When you’re in a family like mine, you witness fake love on a constant basis. With the generations before us, marriages were made as business transactions. Powerful families coming together and becoming that much more powerful. Hell, it still happens. Look at my sister, married to a man because of our family name and his.

I don’t want a fucking merger. I want someone I can laugh with. Someone who’s admittedly a little different and likes to press her lipsticked mouth to my skin. A sweet, innocent girl who has a dirty mind.

Like Wren.

I push her hair away from her face so I can watch. She has no idea what she’s doing, but it doesn’t matter. Her enthusiasm more than makes up for any lack of experience.

She grips me tight and licks me like a fucking lollipop. Swirls her tongue around the head before she envelops it completely with her mouth, sucking on it. Making slurping sounds that make me clench up, knowing the end is already coming closer.

Damn this girl. Despite her inexperience, she makes me come faster than anyone else ever has. Is it because I care about her? Is that why?

How do I tell her this? How do I express myself when I grew up in a house where feelings were mocked, especially if you’re a guy. We’re supposed to be cold and unfeeling.

This girl makes me feel the complete opposite of that.

She draws me deep into her mouth. A little deeper. Until she almost gags and my cock is sliding rapidly out of her mouth.

“Sorry,” she murmurs, blinking hard.

I touch her cheek, tilting her face up to look at me. “You don’t have to deep throat me, Birdy.”

Her cheeks flush pink. “I might’ve watched more porn last night.”

Oh, fuck me. “In private mode, I hope.”

She laughs. “Yes, definitely.”

“I don’t plan on coming in your mouth,” I tell her, pushing her hair away once again. “Just—play with it. Until I can’t take it anymore and I have to fuck you.”

And damn, does she ever play with it. She pushes me to the brink in a short amount of time, until I’m practically tearing her off my dick, positioning her so she’s flat on her back and I’m hovering above her. I slide inside her with ease, going completely still when I feel all of that hot, wet heat grip me.