Like me.
“You take me so well,” I whisper into their neck. “So fucking well.”
Their hand slips into my hair. “It’s like we were made for each other.”
I groan and bury my face farther into their shoulder, thrusting harder as I do.
My cock aches, a steady drumbeat of a pulse, as I try to hold on to this feeling.
“You were made for me,” I say, and I desperately hope they understand what I mean. That who they are is the person I was meant to be with.
Wren’s nails drag down my back. Not to hurt, but to hold, deeply.
I’m not going to be the same after this. I can’t be. Wren has gotten under my skin, past all my armor, right into the soft beating center of me.
To the man who wants someone to love and protect.
This is more than sex.
This is about the foundation of a home.
My rhythm stutters as the edge comes closer. Wren’s body squeezes around me, tight and wanting. And I want to give them what they need before I give in to the immense pleasure.
“I want you to come again, Wren.” My breath is ragged as I inhale. “I want to feel you lose it with me.”
Wren’s hands snake around my ass, holding me against them as they grind against me. I’m barely thrusting, but Wren’s cheeks flush. “Oh, God. Right there. Hold still.”
I do as Wren asks so they can use my cock however they need to to get off. Get us into whatever position they need. They fire their hips upwards.
There’s desperation in Wren’s movements, a frustrated groan escaping their lips when they don’t immediately come.
Shocks are hammering down my spine. I’m not going to be able to last much longer. “Come on, sweetheart, fuck me like you mean it.”
They lose all sense of self-control. Wetness pools between us, sweat gathers between our chests. And then, Wren’s eyes widen, and I fuck them through it. I watch them fall apart and come with a shout.
“River.” One word could be a prayer or a plea.
I pin their hips to the bed, and it takes only a few hard thrusts before I follow them over.
The world spins, and I’m surrounded by the scent and touch of Wren. Every part of me says they’re mine.
Wave after wave of dizzying sensation pounds through me as I spill into them.
At its peak, it feels like I come twice, which isn’t true. But it feels that good.
And when I’m spent, we lie tangled and slick, panting, our fingers linked.
Wren looks at me, their eyes bright, their cheeks pink. “That wasn’t just sex,” they say. It’s a statement, not a question.
“No,” I reply, my voice rough. “It was the start of everything.”
“Are you sure? Because this will hurt if it turns out you don’t mean it.”
I roll to face them. “What makes you uncertain?”
“This.” They gesture to their body. “Do you really want to deal with all this? Would you take care of me after top surgery if I have it? What if I go on testosterone and my voice deepens and my clit grows?”
I take a deep breath and smile. “Of course, I’ll roll with all that. Because none of it changes who you’re fast becoming to me.”
