“No. Like I’m fine and you’re the contradiction.”
“Youarefine.”
Wren grins. “I know I am. But I like that you’re willing to shift your worldview for me.” They point beyond the door. “Not sure everyone out there is.”
“I can’t control what everyone out there does. But I do know that I became a biker because I saw I could build my own set of rules for my life. And that hasn’t changed.”
Wren suddenly climbs over me, then drags my hand to get me to follow. “Come with me.”
“Why? What are we doing?”
“I want to kiss you. And I want you to kiss me. But I’m not doing that until we’ve brushed our teeth.”
“Like I care,” I say, but I let them tug me into the bathroom. “Here. I got a spare toothbrush somewhere.” I pull open the cupboard under the sink, then the first drawer of the vanity. I find it in the second drawer. “Use this.”
Standing side by side, in front of the mirror, I assess us as we brush. We’re a study in contrasts. Without their boots, Wren stands about five and a half feet tall. I’m six foot three. They have long black hair, and I have short blond curls. I’m shirtless; they’re swamped in my hoodie. Their piercings catch the light, and I don’t have a single hole in my body except the ones I came out of my momma with.
Wren leans over the sink first to rinse and spit. I follow. And then, with a grin, they lead me to the bed.
Wren pushes me onto my back, and I let them. “Can I kiss you now?”
I grip a handful of their hair and tug them to me. “With pleasure.”
This time, when our lips meet, there’s nothing soft and gentle about it.
In fact, it’s powerful. Our mouths collide rather than touch.
Wren fights the sheets, trying to tug them out of the way so they can climb over me, and I’m utterly down with that plan.
Something rips.
I don’t give a fuck what it is.
Because the sooner our bodies are aligned, the better.
I slide my hand beneath the hoodie Wren wears.
My hoodie.
And their skin is soft and smooth, their muscles strong. I run my hands over their ass, cupping their cheeks and lowering them over my cock, which has been hardening since Wren told me they wanted to kiss me.
“Wren,” I murmur.
They don’t answer. Instead, they settle into a deeper grind. I feel the heat of them through my denim. My hands shift to their hips, gripping them hard, and I freeze.
“This okay?” I whisper.
“More than,” Wren murmurs against my lips.
They rock against me, our hips on the same rhythm. The fabric between us does little to soften the pressure. For a moment, I consider rolling us, taking the lead, but then I realize, none of that matters.
Becausethisfeels good. So fucking hot I want to?—
“You do something to me,” Wren says. They’re flushed, mouth parted.
I shift my hands to cup their face, drawing their lips back to mine.
They grind harder, and I lose it…just a little. My hips jerk up to meet theirs. The drag of fabric, the friction of it, the ache that starts deep in my balls—it all spirals tight and fast.
