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No customer demanding flowers.
No world beyond the walls of this room.
Only Wren.
She slides her hand along my jaw, and I lean into her touch before I can stop myself.
“You’re doing that thing again,” she whispers.
“What thing?”
“Looking like you’re trying very hard to behave.”
“I am.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to touch you everywhere, and I do not yet know where I am welcome.”
Her cheeks flush.
“Well, that’s refreshingly direct.”
“I see little purpose in pretending otherwise.”
She takes my hand.
Places it against her waist.
“Here is good.”
I smile.
“An excellent beginning.”
She laughs and kisses me again.
Her fingers travel into my hair, and I draw her closer, feeling the warmth of her body against mine.
Every new sensation threatens to undo me.
The softness of her lips.
The gentle pressure of her hands.
The way she sighs when I kiss her cheek, then her jaw.
“Vidar,” she whispers.
I stop immediately.
“Yes?”
She smiles.
“You don’t have to stop every time I say your name.”
“Then you should refrain from saying it in that voice.”
