Chapter 7

DANE

Sharing my apartment with Wren was sweet, sweet torture.

Her heat had infused every room, worst of all the bathroom — on Sundays I closed early, and by the time I got upstairs around eleven the air was still hot and humid from her shower.

Unable to resist, I braced against the shower wall and stroked myself, gulping down lungfuls of her scent, imagining her mouth, her eyes on mine.

I came fast, guilty, the base of my cock throbbing like the knot wanted to grow. It didn't.

I went to bed telling myself this was wrong and fell asleep telling myself the same thing.

I dreamed of her — naked, no towel, no sheet, and Wren curled in the corner in my hoodie, staring at me with fear in her eyes.

I wanted to tell her I'd never touch her against her will, but the words came out garbled.

A crash woke me for real.

I found her in the kitchen in one of my T-shirts, wiping up a toppled water pitcher with shaking hands, swaying like she was drunk.

"Go to bed, Wren."

"I'll clean it up." I breathed in without meaning to and regretted it immediately — ripe heat, fresh slick, a Rare's sweat at full strength.

She winced, braced on the counter, and the rag slipped from her fingers.

A wave.

"Let it be. Go." She didn't. She stared at me, pupils blown wide.

"Dane," she whispered, taking one unsteady step toward me.

I turned for the door, but a small hand caught my wrist — fragile, and somehow it held me better than iron could have.

"Stay with me."

"Wren, let go. Now."

"Please, stay." She tugged, whimpering, and the scent thickened around us.

I broke.

I spun and pulled her into my arms, mouth on her neck, her jaw, lapping at her skin like I'd lose my mind if I didn't.

She moaned and climbed me, and when I got my hands under the T-shirt there was nothing underneath — just heated, slick skin.

"I want you in me. Please, Dane."

"You have no idea what you're asking."

"I do. Please, fuck me."

"I'd knot you, little one. You can't want that."

"I do. I want you."

My conscience screamed at me to carry her to the guestroom and lock the door on my way out.

Instead I held her tighter, her taste in my mouth, her slick on my fingers, and I couldn't let go anymore.

I slid a finger into her and we both groaned — she was so wet, so hot and silky it didn't feel real.

"Please, Dane. Please!"

Her insides squeezed around my finger and she whimpered — cramping. She needed relief.

I pinned her against the wall, freed myself one-handed, and lined us up.

The first push slid in like sinking into something soft and slippery, and I was in heaven.

She stiffened, nails biting into my skin, legs locking around my waist.

For one long moment we just stared at each other, and I silently begged her to tell me this was really what she wanted.

"Dane..." My name on her lips sounded like a prayer. "Fuck me."

I sank into her fully.

Her cry would live in my memory forever — some part of me was horrified at what I'd just done, taking her innocence against my kitchen wall.

But she exhaled, and a small, satisfied "yes" followed the cry, and every doubt I had evaporated at the sight of her face.

I rocked into her and she came apart fast, grinding against me, nails in my shoulders, arousal soaking through my pajama pants.

"Please, don't stop."

"You like this?"

"Yes. Oh God, yes. Hold me and fuck me harder."

I gripped her tighter, pushed her higher against the wall, and she bit down on my shirt as I drove into her, her groans filling the kitchen.

When she cried out my name and pulsed around me in her first orgasm at my hands, the scent of her hit me sweeter than anything I'd ever smelled.

"Hold on," I said, and carried her to my bedroom.

I laid her out on my bed and she spread herself wide, begging with her eyes alone.

I tore my shirt off but left my pants — I couldn't stand pulling out of her even for the seconds it would take to strip.

I ripped the T-shirt off her next, baring her small breasts, and fucked her the way she'd asked me to: long, full, deep strokes that rocked her whole body up the mattress.

She looked impossibly small stretched around me, and for a second I worried I was hurting her, but her cries were pure pleasure, back arching off the bed.

I pulled her into my lap, found the angle that made her cry out sharpest, and circled there until she shook through another orgasm on my thumb against her clit.

I brought my fingers to my mouth and nearly lost my mind at the taste.

Orgasm after orgasm rolled through her until she was nothing but soft gasps and my name, her walls clenching so tight around me I couldn't hold back the knot any longer.

It grew, stretching her, and for one terrified second I thought it might be too much — but she arched and came again around it, pulling at her own nipples, and I spilled into her right as she cried out.

"Dane. Dane..."

Spread beneath me, spent, she looked like something I had no right to.

I gathered her against my chest and rolled onto my back, leaning against the headboard with her straddling my lap, still locked together.

She kissed along my pecs, found a nipple, and suckled it like she wasn't entirely herself anymore — pure instinct, fucked out and touch-starved.

I held the back of her head and let her.

"Are you okay, little one?"

More kisses over my scars. "I'm so full." God, I'm a monster. "I'm sorry, Wren. I'm so sorry."

Glassy green eyes blinked up at me. "I like it. Feels amazing. You're in me."

"You're not in pain?"

"No." She rubbed her cheek against my scarred chest, smiling. "I like the way you smell."

"Can I sleep like this?"

My chest ached. "Of course, little one. Rest."

"Dane? Will you take care of me until it's over? Fuck me again?"

Like I had a choice anymore. "I'll take care of you. I promise. Now sleep."

She kissed my breastbone once, long and lingering, and was out almost instantly.

I couldn't stop touching her — her hair, her thighs, the soft skin between, her shoulders and hips, until she purred in her sleep like something small and content.

Not so fragile after all, given everything I'd just watched her body do.

I would take care of her. She needed me, and I'd made her feel good — hadn't I?

Maybe I could even show her what it felt like to be loved.