I jolt awake, my hand already reaching for the gun under my pillow before my eyes are fully open. But something’s off. There’s a weight on my chest, warm and soft. A scent hits me—sweat and sex and cheap shampoo. Wren.
Yob tvoyu mat’.
I blink, trying to clear the fog from my brain. Sunlight’s streaming through the gaps in the curtains, painting stripes across the tangled sheets. Wren’s sprawled half on top of me, her wild dark hair tickling my chin. She’s out cold, her face smooshed against my chest, drooling a little.
It should be fucking disgusting. It’s not.
I can’t remember the last time I slept this deep. Usually, I’m up at the crack of dawn, restless and ready to move. But now? I feel… calm. It’s unsettling as hell.
Wren shifts in her sleep, mumbling something I can’t make out. Her leg slides between mine, and suddenly, I’m very aware that we’re both naked.
My cock twitches, and I grit my teeth. Fuck. This wasn’t supposed to happen. One time, maybe two—that I could write off. But four? And now this?
I should get up. Should wake her up and kick her out. But I don’t move. Instead, I find myself tracing the line of her spine with my fingertips, feeling her shiver in her sleep.
“Mmm,” she murmurs, nuzzling closer. Her eyes flutter open, unfocused and sleepy. For a second, she looks… soft. Vulnerable. Then awareness hits, and I see the walls slam back up.
“Shit,” she mutters, pushing herself up. She winces, and I remember how rough we got last night. “What time is it?”
I shrug, not bothering to check. “Late. Early. Who gives a fuck?”
Wren sits up, the sheet falling away. I can’t help but stare. Her skin’s marked up—bruises from my fingers on her hips, a bite mark on her shoulder.
She catches my gaze and gives me a coy smirk. “Enjoying the view, hulk?”
I grunt, sitting up and stretching my arms over my head, the muscles in my shoulders and arms flexing under my skin. “Trying to boost my ego,kotyonok?” I ask, a smirk of my own tugging at my lips.
Wren rolls her eyes, but I can see the flush creeping up her neck. “Please. Like your ego needs stroking. It’s like a goddamn horse.”
I reach out, running a thumb over that bite mark. “Looks like I did enough stroking last night.”
Wren shivers, then pulls away. She starts gathering her clothes, scattered across the floor like fucking confetti. I watchher, not bothering to hide it. She’s all lean muscle and curves, moving with a grace that comes from years of training.
“You want coffee?” I hear myself ask.
What the fuck am I doing?
Wren freezes mid-motion, her hand clutching her bra. I hear her suck in a sharp breath, holding it for a beat too long. Then she’s moving again, snapping the clasp shut with more force than necessary.
She yanks her shirt over her head, then perches on the edge of the bed. There’s a fucking chasm between us now, more than just the rumpled sheets.
“It’s better we don’t do coffee… orpizza,” she mutters, not meeting my eyes. “Or anything else.”
I run a hand through my hair, frustration coiling in my gut. “What, afraid you might actually enjoy yourself, printsessa?”
Wren’s head snaps up, her eyes flashing. “Fuck you, D. This isn’t—”
She cuts off, her gaze landing on the clock on my nightstand. “Shit!Is that the fucking time?”
I glance over. 8:35 AM.
“Fuckballs!” Wren hisses, scrambling off the bed. She nearly faceplants, trying to yank on her jeans. “Joe’s gonna have my ass for this. Third time this week!”
I watch her hop around, cursing up a storm as she fights with her boots. “You could always quit that shithole,” I offer, leaning back against the headboard.
Wren shoots me a glare that could strip paint. “Some of us have bills to pay, asshole.”
She grabs her bag, shoving her phone inside. Her hair’s a mess, her shirt’s inside out, and there’s a hickey peeking out from her collar. She looks thoroughly fucked, and something primal in me growls in satisfaction.
