by AnonYMous
I unsuccessfully dodged water on the way to my car, and then I clambered in. The only good part of the rain was I could no longer track the number of tears on my face in the rearview mirror. I turned my key in the ignition, and my breaks squealed as I whipped out onto the road heading toward the only place where I knew I’d be safe.
After a few minutes, I parked and stumbled out of my car. The rain was falling harder now, screaming toward the ground before splattering up. It had been a while since we’d had any moisture, and the ground was too dry to absorb it. Raindrops and flecks of dirt dotted my jeans, but my shirt was soaked.
I pressed as close to the house as I could, trying to get under the tiny overhang of the roof. I knocked, or rather slapped with an open palm. I was still sobbing. There weren’t really any tears coming, I’d shed them all, but the sup-supping hadn’t stopped yet.
Brad answered his door wearing a T-shirt and boxers, his glasses askew. “Jeez, Wren, what are you doing?”
I wasn’t entirely sure. I’d kissed him, escalated this, and he’d been right. He’d been so right, and I couldn’t see anyone else. Everything else had been leveled—except for him.
He opened the door all the way, and I stepped in on the mat. “Found something. Couldn’t go home. Couldn’t face my, my dad.”
He wasn’t listening to me. He’d assessed the state I was in and immediately had leaned into what must be a bathroom and had come back with a hand towel. He started ringing out my hair.
“What?” He was trying and failing not to stare at my shirt, which had gone translucent; underneath, my bra glowed fuchsia. It was ludicrous. My world was falling apart and I was wearing a pink bra.
I grabbed his hands and held them still. “There are tons, like tons, of drugs at Masters.”
His jaw and shoulders had been rigid—probably with disapproval. But as the meaning of what I’d said penetrated, he melted. He nodded and concern flooded his eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
I punched him in the shoulder with some heat. “Those fu-fucking fuckers. I can’t stop, can’t stop crying. But when I do, I’m going to—”
“Going to what?”
“Kick their asses.”
“Wren, listen to me, I’m glad you’re seeing this for what it is, but, honey, you’re you.”
“Me?”
“You’re not going to rat on your own father, not to mention your family appears to be pretty damn dangerous.”
I pulled the towel out of his hands and began blotting my shirt. “They’re such assholes. We’re talking meth. Pills. Hard shit. I didn’t get a good look before Larry showed up—”
“Larry knows you know?”
“Yeah, but he thinks I think it’s just his drugs.”
“Because that’s better?”
“Of course it’s better.”
Brad grabbed my shoulders, his fingers biting into me. “Wren, we have to leave now. Tonight. We’ll drive someplace. Missoula. Bozeman. Wherever you want to go. Tell your dad we fell in love and you’re going back to school. Hell, you should actually go back to school. The important thing is to leave, stay safe.”
“No, it’s not. The important thing is to . . .” I trailed off. There wasn’t one important thing, there were fifty. I wanted to beat my father soundly about the head. I wanted those drugs out of Masters and Fallow. I wanted whoever was responsible to deal with the authorities. But I wanted to protect the people I cared about. Oh, and I wanted to kiss Brad again.
It was a strange night.
I shook my head, pulled myself together. “We can’t leave. Not right now, anyway. I don’t know what I want to do and I need to a second to think.”
“We don’t have a second. Even now, Larry is probably moving those drugs, and once they’re gone, we don’t have any proof.”
“I don’t want to do something stupid.”
Brad screwed up his face. He couldn’t disagree with that, certainly.
But then I did something stupid anyway. “Can I stay here? I don’t want to go home.”
Brad nodded, somehow both soft and certain. “Okay. The bathroom’s down the hall. I’ll get you a dry shirt and make sure the guest bed’s made up.”
I narrowly kept myself from rolling my eyes. Yeah right I’d be sleeping in the guest bed. No, after the night I’d had, I needed distraction, and only Brad’s cock would do. It was selfish, and I was muddled, but it was the only thing that made sense.
*
Brad
I re-settled on the couch and fumbled with the remote. I turned up the volume on the TV, trying to cover the sound of the shower down the hall. Wren Masters was in my house. And she was naked.
My body had things—loud, emphatic things—to say about this. She’d kissed me, after all. She’d told Larry we were dating. And tonight, she’d come to me.
But my body was going to have to cool it because we had bigger problems than blue balls: Larry. And the drugs. And Mike. And whoever had sold those drugs to Lone Gun. Shit.
We knew where the drugs were, at least for the moment. We could just call the cops or the feds and let the chips fall. But I knew Wren wouldn’t agree to that until she had a fuller picture of what was going on and until she’d protected as many of the people she deemed innocent in this as she could.
I already knew I wasn’t going to make a move she didn’t like. As soon as I got over being terrified and, well, aroused, I’d lecture myself for being so stupid.
The water shut off. Wren was probably toweling herself dry and putting on the T-shirt I’d set out for her. Patting every inch of that lovely body of hers with one of my towels . . . and then covering it up. I sighed and pressed my eyes shut. Not tonight. All I had to do was shepherd her into the guest room and then spend eight hours across the hall in the dark in my own bed . . . wide-awake and buzzing with lust. I gave my dick a thump and pulled a blanket over my lap to cover up my erection.
A minute later, Wren shuffled into the living room. Her hair was damp and falling about her face and shoulders in inky clumps. My T-shirt came to right above her knees. I could tell she wasn’t wearing a bra and I worked not to stare at the points of her nipples, even as they signaled to me in raunchy Morse code. Dot, dot, dash. That probably translated into stop staring, dickwad.
I looked down and focused on her toenails, which were painted screaming apple red. Even her toes were pretty against the carpet of my living room.
She’d had a terrible night, probably one of the worst of her life. I was such an ass.
“Do you feel better?” I asked, still looking at her feet.
“I do.” At least she sounded calm.
“Good. Well, the guest room is down the hall, on the right. Do you need anything else?”
She didn’t answer. Not with words. No, instead she walked across the room and scrambled into my lap. Then she kissed me.
I wasn’t sure how she did it, but it was the kiss you might expect in the midst of sweaty, pounding sex. It wasn’t a soft entreaty. There was no question. It was a kiss that said we were in the middle of something and we were going to finish it. Now.
Her mouth was wet, greedy, and when her lips parted from mine for half a second, we both gasped. She pressed back into me an instant later. I shook with need, lust, and fear. And then I engulfed her in my arms. It was a bad time, but I couldn’t not reach for what she was offering.
My head fell back against the couch as her tongue filled my mouth. Her hands were in my hair. Her breasts were mashed against my chest. She took over every one of my senses. She’d used my shampoo, but underneath it, I could smell her individual musk. I could taste her, fresh and minty. I could hear our bodies, fighting to get closer but for our clothing. I could see us, silhouetted against the wall by the flickering blue of the TV. When I pressed my eyes closed, bright lights flashed against my lids. Wren, Wren, Wren. Everything was her.
I ran my fingers up the backs of her thighs, just dusted over her skin, until I was cupping . . .
 
; I broke from the kiss and hissed, “Where are your panties?”
“Wet. Hanging on your shower rod.”
She was naked under there. As in, under my shirt she was wearing nothing.
Wren tugged at the blanket I’d thrown across myself. When she’d wrestled it from between us, she tossed it over her shoulder onto the floor and set her hands against my chest.
“Wren . . .”
“Bradley . . .”
“I want this, you couldn’t know how badly—”
“Oh, but I do.” The room was mostly dark, so I couldn’t make out her features clearly. The only light gleamed on her wet hair, making it look as if she were wearing a halo. I could tell from the set of her jaw she was smiling. My hesitation amused her.
“I . . .” My fingers flexed on her thighs. “We . . . there’s a lot going on.”
“Uh-huh.” She canted forward and hummed against my hair. “So a little sex won’t hurt anything.”
But it wouldn’t be merely a little sex, would it? Not to either of us.
Before I could make this argument, however, she blew into my ear. It was a cold, arousing shot that went straight to the soles of my feet. My body rolled around her, drawing her closer. Then she did it again.
I cursed, or made a noise like a curse, and she clucked her tongue soothingly. Okay, maybe it didn’t need to be anything more than a little sex. That would be enough. I couldn’t resist her and I didn’t want to try.
I sank my fingers into her bare ass and licked her neck. Fuck, this was going to happen. I kneaded her hips, hips I’d watched so damn many times.
She rubbed herself against my erection. Only my boxers and the faded plaid pajama pants I’d pulled on were between us. I reached a tentative finger down and shifted through the curls pressed against my groin.
She was soaking wet. She truly did want this. Moving more slowly than I knew was possible, I traced a circle around her clit.
She pressed her face to my shoulder, her body softening now she knew I’d given in. “More,” she whispered.
As if I might be able to pass up the chance to do just that. She nodded, urging me on as I ran two fingers down the wet channel between her thighs and then slicked into her.
She was everything warm and generous, and I wanted to cry from the relief of being inside her.
She nodded, exhaled, and shifted to make things easier for me. I slid my fingers out and back in and ground my knuckles against her.
She lifted off my lap a few millimeters. “More, more, more.”
I added another finger and did it again. Her head fell back and she rocked a bit. Her eyes were mostly closed, though I would have sworn I could see the light of the TV dancing on her lashes. She was clutching one of my shoulders, and her other hand was knitted into a fist she slammed into my arm with some force while she keened.
“More,” she said again. She bore down and swiveled her hips. Then she moaned.
I would have given anything in that moment to satisfy her. I wanted to hear her say yes, enough, just like that more than I wanted my next breath.
But I was going to have to work harder to get it.
She jerked at my shirt and, regretfully, I pulled my fingers from her so we could get my clothing off. I threw my shirt on the ground. Hers swiftly followed it.
Wren Masters was even more fucking beautiful than I had imagined. Her breasts were heavy, tear-dropped shaped, and perfect. I lifted one and then let it drop.
“Damn,” I managed.
She laughed and rolled her eyes, but she didn’t protest.
I did it again. I did it with the other one. I chafed my nail around her nipple until it pebbled, and she bit her lip and quit mocking me. Only when her hips had started moving again did I continue my exploration.
I brushed my hand over the soft slope of her belly. I could feel the shiver that followed. That I was doing this to her—having this effect—made me hungrier. I wanted to wrench every possible reaction from her. To drink them as deeply as I could in case this never happened again.
Miracles did tend to be one-time only occurrences.
But she was done being passive. She rasped her nails down my chest. Her eyes were open now. Avid. She squeezed my shoulders. “I’m going to have to start feeding you.”
“Oh, babe, I intend to eat very soon.”
This garnered a scoff, but then she reached into my pants and boxers and pulled my dick out. One of her fingernails caught under the head and I shoved my hips up, pushing further into her hand.
“So now you’re impatient?”
I shook my head. “I want everything.”
“Then take it. Nothing’s stopping you.” As if to prove her point, she resettled, bringing the tip of my dick into her soft wetness.
“Not stopping, savoring.” I wrenched the syllables from between gritted teeth. The circuits in my brain were flashing with the desire to slam into her. I had precisely enough thought left to know I shouldn’t.
“Fuck that,” she whispered and she dropped further onto me.
I grasped her hips and held her still. “I need to get a condom.”
“I’m on the pill. I got tested two weeks ago because Zack, well, he’s an ass.” She meant, of course, he’d been chronically and constantly unfaithful, which anyone with eyes had known since high school.
“I haven’t been tested in—” I tried to remember when it had been “—a while. A year maybe.”
Wren didn’t say anything as she processed what I’d told her. Then she swallowed. “Oh.”
I exhaled and my breath rustled the soft bits of hair at her brow that had already dried. Her face was totally shadowed, closed to me. What was I supposed to have done? Just waited for this day like a monk?
I dislodged her gently from my dick and set her back on my thighs. I framed her face with my hands, angling it so I could see her eyes. “It’s always been you.” I ran my fingers over her cheekbones. “Since forever. There has never been anyone else who . . .” I trailed off. I wasn’t sure what to say. I wanted everything from her. White picket fences and kids; the whole nine yards. But she was reaching for this as only a little sex.
I might be a masochist, or maybe just stupid, but I’d take it if that’s what she had to offer.
She shushed me with a kiss. A soft, romantic wisp of a kiss. “We don’t have to.”
“I want to.” And there was a lifetime of desire in there.
She paused. Considered. And kissed me again. “Where are the condoms?” she whispered against my neck.
“Nightstand.”
“I guess we should be there then.”
I hauled her over my shoulder and carried her down the hall.
Chapter 8
Wren
I shook when Brad dropped me on his bed, his comforter icy against my back. My emotions were a tangle: fear and horniness and envy and anticipation. Who had he been fucking? And why hadn’t I been fucking him sooner?
Jealousy was a stupid thing to feel, and so I generally tried not to. For all the times Zack had strayed, I never had been mad at the women. It wasn’t their fault he was cheating. I’d been mad at Zack. At his disrespect, maybe. Or maybe I’d thought I should be mad. He’d cheated on me—that rat bastard. It didn’t take much to get me to down a pint of ice cream and some cocktails.
But now, with Brad silhouetted in his bedroom, I knew I hadn’t been mad before. Hadn’t been jealous before. Hadn’t known what those things meant. Brad made everything realer.
He’d said he’d always cared, and I believed him. The pieces of my life were whipping around me in a vortex, but I was going to reach out for this one and keep it forever. He, this, scared me in the good way.
I reached up and tried to pull him down to me, but he wouldn’t budge. I wanted to kiss him, to claim him, to erase anyone else who may have been in this bed. Frankly, I wanted to salt the fucking earth, but life-altering sex seemed more achievable.
There was only one problem: Brad wouldn’t move.
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I didn’t know what he was feeling, or why he’d brought me in here if it wasn’t for this, but I knew what I wanted and I had a plan to get it. I licked his stomach and worked my way up his chest. He was breathing hard, and I could feel his heartbeat hammering under my mouth.
So I did the only logical thing. I slid down and put my mouth around his dick. He was long, not too thick, but he had plenty to work with and I’d always had a gag reflex. I took as much of him as I could, my free hand closing around the base and working him until he was panting.
“Wren, Wren, Wren.” He rolled up onto the balls of his feet, pushing more into my mouth, then he backed off like that might be impolite. Good sex wasn’t polite. It wasn’t nice. It was selfish, and Christ, I wanted to know he wanted me.
I pushed him back a few steps and slid to the floor where I knelt at his feet. I’d hated this position before, had hated when men would put their hands on my head and shove inside my mouth. But I wanted every inch of him, the smooth skin over the hardness beneath, the slightly salty taste of him, the way his breath caught when I used my teeth. This was for me as much as for him.
I could see our reflections in a mirror in the corner of the room—a mirror etched with stalks of wheat, I might add—and it was the hottest thing I’d ever witnessed. Brad’s eyes were closed, his hands were in fists and pressed against his thighs, and his stomach muscles were drawn taut. My movements were almost wanton, like all my joints had loosened. The mirror didn’t show what I could feel: my core was softening, growing full and needy. But I could see it in the sway of my body as I slid up and down him. I was drunk on wanting him to fuck me.
“Close, close,” he managed to get out between repetitions of my name.
I released his dick from my lips with a wet pop. He gasped.
“Get on the bed,” I instructed, and finally he did.
I climbed over him, fully expecting to find a condom and to ride him as soon as possible, but when my nipples brushed over his thighs, his hips flexed.