Chapter 3

WREN

It happened in the middle of the night. I woke up sweaty and needed the bathroom.

Washing my hands after, I felt it — a hollow, aching wetness between my legs.

So much slick, more than I'd ever felt in my life. I showered, cleaned up, lay back down.

But the emptiness only got worse, throbbing through my whole body even though I hadn't thought about anything even remotely arousing.

This was it.

I grabbed the paper bag from under the bed, spread a towel over the covers, and lay down.

The pulsing ache built fast, faster than I expected.

I pushed the smallest dildo into me, and my hand moved on its own — in, out, the ridges dragging against slick walls until I came hard, shuddering.

No relief. As soon as it faded, I needed more. Bigger. Deeper.

The artificial knot sat pointing up on the bed like a weapon, thick and intimidating even just sitting there.

I crouched over it, insides cramping, slick dripping onto the toy, and sat down slow, easing myself onto it inch by inch.

It took a minute to find the remote, but having it inside already helped some.

When the head started moving, I bit my tongue to keep from crying out.

Orgasm after orgasm rolled through me, and I wiggled on the toy, breasts heavy, nipples aching until I scratched at them and came even harder.

I was loud. I couldn't help it, not even a little.

Then even that wasn't enough.

I found the right button and the knot swelled inside me until I nearly blacked out from the pressure.

I managed to lie on my side with it locked in place — it would deflate on its own in forty-five minutes unless I switched it off myself.

Sated and exhausted, I dragged the covers over me as the sweat on my skin cooled in the night air.

Ten days of this. I'd need the more powerful setting eventually, probably sooner than I wanted to admit.

Better not forget to charge it before the battery died on me mid-wave.

Being that full felt better than I'd expected, better than anything I'd imagined from Milo's stories.

But I was cold, and even tired as I was, I couldn't quite relax.

My stupid brain conjured an image of Dane instead, unbidden and unwelcome and impossible to shake.

What if he'd said yes?

He'd be inside me right now. Naked, knotted, unable to pull away even if he wanted to.

Would I like it? It sure as hell wouldn't feel cold, not with him wrapped around me like that.

I probably wouldn't have dreamed of him otherwise, but he was the last thing on my mind as I drifted off, his face the last clear thought before sleep pulled me under completely.

*In the dream, he holds me.

I'm curled in his lap, his thick arms wrapped around me, and he's warm and smells so good I rub my cheek against his skin.

I feel full and safe.

I want to ask him for more, but I can't speak, so I kiss his chest instead, over the scars, and they glow like coals under my mouth.

He hums against my hair. "Sleep, Wren. You're safe."*

When I woke, the deflated knot lay in a pool of drying slick, the towel having caught most of it, thank god.

I wished I could climb back into the dream instead of facing the empty room.

Dane's footsteps sounded from the kitchen, then the coffee maker gurgling to life.

I lay still until I heard the door click shut before dragging myself to the bathroom.

I cleaned the toys, showered, ate cereal standing at the counter.

His scent still lingered faintly in the kitchen, and the heat must have sharpened my nose, because even that faint trace of him had me squirming in my chair like an idiot.

Then I saw it — a black hoodie slung over the other chair, huge and faded soft from years of washing and wear.

I didn't decide to pick it up.

I just did, holding it to my face, breathing him in like it was the only air worth breathing.

Guilty, I carried it back to bed with me and slept with my nose buried in it the whole night.

I told myself I'd give it back eventually. I wasn't going to steal it from Dane, not really.

Maybe just borrow it a few days, just until the worst of the heat passed and I didn't need the comfort so badly.

When the next wave hit, I stripped it off along with everything else — I couldn't stand fabric against my skin by then, not even his — but I held it in my arms while I worked myself on the knot, his scent still caught deep in the fabric, and imagined it was him holding me instead of cotton and thread.