“You’re the most incredible person I’ve ever held in my arms.”
“Yeah?”
“You’re mine, Wren. I want to take you apart like this every night. Want to spend every goddamn day building a life with you. Not what the world expects, but what we want to build. Just you and me.”
Their mouth crashes to mine, and I feel the tension coiling between the two of us. My hands are everywhere. Over Wren’s hips and ribs and chest.
Wren is gasping and moaning, riding me like they want to live up to their promise of riding me into the rug.
Their knees must hurt.
“I’m close,” they whisper against my lips. “I need…fuck…I need…”
“I’ve got you. Come for me, baby.”
I place my thumb over their clit and rub firmly. The increased pressure is exactly what Wren needs, and they fall apart, their cry ricocheting around the cabin as they clench so tightly around me that I lose it too.
“Wren,” I groan.
We collapse together, forehead to forehead, Wren slick with sweat and shaking. I pat around on the floor to find the hoodie they took off and cover their back with it while we catch our breath.
Wren pulls back just far enough for me to be able to look into their eyes. “I’ve never let someone do that with my chest before. Not like that.”
“Did you enjoy it, though? I don’t want to do anything that ever makes you feel shit about yourself.”
“I did,” Wren says quietly, the corners of their mouth turning up in a shy smile.
They curl themself into my chest, and I wrap both my arms around them, hoping I’m strong enough to do what I have to do to keep them safe.
And I know I’ll give up everything I’ve got to do it.
29
WREN
The clanging of iron on iron wakes me, and it takes a few seconds to realize where I am.
The cabin.
Memories of the previous evening filter through my brain. The way I felt riding River. My eyes flutter open, and I watch him, shirtless in spite of the cold, tending the embers of the fire that has died down overnight.
He crouches, the muscles pulling tight across his shoulders as he loads in more wood. His movements are efficient and yet, lazy. Like he has all the time in the world. In times of stress, my heart rate accelerates until I can barely breathe. River seems to be the opposite.
He slows.
And thinks.
And acts.
He pours some water from the large pot into the smaller one on top of the fireplace, and I sigh. Realizing that for all my thoughts about how I react under pressure, I feel relaxed.
I guess great sex and no internet connection will do that to you.
When he stands, he brushes his hands against his jeans and turns to face me. “Morning,” he says when he sees me watching him.
“Morning.” I lift up the sleeping bag we’d put over ourselves to keep us warm so he can climb back underneath it.
“Warning, my hands are cold,” he says seriously.
