“Oh, God,” she whispered, and I peered at her through heavy lids as she sank even lower. She took me as deep as she could, legs spreading, clit rubbing against my lower abdomen. “Yes.”
She was close, I knew by the way she closed her eyes tight, pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, tensed her arms. It was perhaps the most intimate way to know someone, to be able to pinpoint the exact moment when they were on the edge of ecstasy, and I loved that I knew Wren like that.
I loved that she ground her hips against me slower, barely even lifting off me anymore, finding friction as I penetrated her deep. She wasn’t embarrassed, not even close, and one hand left its hold on the back of the couch and reached for her breast, instead. She rolled her nipple between her thumb and finger, moaning, pushing herself closer, and I spread my fingers wide to grab her ass firmly in both hands.
I helped her ride, pulling her against me, thrusting my hips up, and when I knew she was right on the brink, I dipped my index finger between her cheeks and pressed. I didn’t enter her, just applied enough pressure to send her tumbling, and her nails dug into my shoulders as she cried out her release, riding faster, rocking against me, using me.
It was the hottest thing I’d ever seen.
She was completely spent, body collapsing against me as her breaths evened out. For a second I just ran my fingers through her hair, kissing her neck, but then slowly she came back to life, hips lifting, her orgasm making her even wetter than before.
I groaned at the feel of her, holding her to me as I maneuvered us until she was bent over the arm of the couch, legs together, me positioned behind her. Just the view of her wet hair slung over her back, her sweater stretched and see-through as it clung to her skin was enough to make me come.
I pushed inside with a growl and she arched, moaning. It was too much—the feel of her, the sight, all of it—and with just three more pumps I found my release, moaning her name as I let go.
My body shook as every sense came back all at once, knees weak, and I gently pulled out and fell back on the couch. Wren crawled on top of me, head on my chest, our skin sticking together everywhere that we touched.
We weren’t cold anymore.
“So much for the hot tub,” I said on a breath.
Wren smiled, reaching over my chest for her phone that rested on the coffee table. Her smile kept spreading as she clicked through it, and I was just about to ask why when all of a sudden her speaker in the kitchen roared to life.
Wren laughed as the first beats of Pony swept over us, the same song from the night I’d first met her, and I groaned, rolling my eyes and pushing her off me.
“You’re the worst.”
She just laughed harder, moving until she was braced on her knees while I reached for my jeans. They were still soaked and freezing, which left me no choice but to remain naked while Wren mouthed Genuine’s lyrics to me and wound her body. I didn’t know if I wanted to bend her over the couch again or walk home naked to avoid another minute of the song.
But in the end, staying won out, because how could I leave a sexy, naked girl to dance to 90’s R&B by herself?
So we danced, and sang, and played songs I hadn’t heard since middle school while Wren baked us cinnamon rolls and I made us tea. It was the strangest, most amazing night of my life.
And when the music stopped and we climbed into her sheets, I tried to remember my life before her. I tried to recall the numbness, the comfort I’d found in every day being the same, the punishment I’d willingly taken from myself because I thought it was the only way to live.
No matter how I tried, it was impossible to remember.
So, even if just for the summer, or maybe just for the night, I let myself forget.
CANTANKEROUS
kan-TANK-uh-rus
Adjective
Difficult or irritating to deal with
I padded downstairs early the next morning after a long, hot shower, towel wrapped around my waist as I ran a hand through my still-wet hair and yawned. It was like auto-pilot, my body moving me to the coffee maker before I’d even decided it was necessary.
While the coffee brewed, I wrote down a list of everything I needed to do before the pig roast tomorrow. Wren and I were planning to run into Gold Bar for a few last-minute items, and then we’d all need to start cooking. I’d be helping Ron with the pig later this evening, followed by a run down to Davie’s to finish setting up the horseshoe tournament.
For the first time in years, I was excited for the pig roast. I couldn’t wait to see the loop crowded with people, not just residents but friends and even strangers. There would be great food, great beer, and great laughs.
And the best part? I’d get to share it all with Wren.
I paused, pen mid-sentence as the severity of my feelings rolled over me like a tidal wave. I’d let go of what Sarah had said to me, let go of the fact that Wren would be leaving, but the consequence of that was that I’d lifted all my reservations. No—I’d catapulted them. They were so far gone I hadn’t even thought to see if they even still existed at all. And now here I was, standing half-naked and bare foot on the cold, hard truth of it all.
I was falling for her.
My panic attack was cut short by two hard knocks on Wren’s front door. I jumped, turning and expecting to find Momma Von or Yvette, but instead I found a small, dainty woman with high cheek bones, a high bun on her head, and nose aiming for the highest of them all. It took all of two seconds of taking in her features before I knew she had to be related to Wren.
She’d already seen me wrapped in my towel through the windows, it felt foolish to try to hide the fact now. So instead I opened the door wide, smiling like this was the most normal thing in the world.
“Hi,” I greeted her. I was a little stumped on what to say next. She was there for Wren, that much was obvious, but I didn’t know who she was or how I was supposed to explain the fact that I was in Wren’s kitchen in nothing but a towel—or if I even needed to explain that. So, I aimed for ignorance. “Can I help you?”
The woman’s eyes dropped to my bare chest, just for a second, almost so quick I wondered if I’d imagined it. Then she pushed past me, hanging her purse on the coat rack before shimmying off her white pea coat to do the same with it. “I’m Wren’s mother.”
Shit.
I cleared my throat. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Ballard. I’m Anderson. Would you like a cup of coffee?”
“It’s Mrs. Prieston,” she clarified. “And I’d like you to fetch my daughter.”
She eyed me like a snake—a dangerous, slimy snake. It probably should have made me cower, but instead my guard locked into place like metal bars in a prison.
My face hardened, brows and lips flat as I set my own cup down on the counter and headed for the stairs. I knew enough about Wren’s mom to know she was a huge reason why Wren felt ashamed of who she was instead of proud, and if that hadn’t been enough to form my judgement of her, this first impression had finished the job.
Wren looked so peaceful as she slept, light cotton sheet only covering half of her, lips parted and eyes softly closed. Her hair had dried naturally from the river, so it rested in messy curls on her pillow. All I wanted to do was run my fingers through that hair, pull her onto my chest, drink my coffee, and hold her close. I didn’t want to wake her at all—and definitely not like this—but there was no other choice.