sweats, his thumbs dipping down below his waistband, smirking ruinously at me. There’s a dare in his eyes—something insolent and brazen that tells me he’s going to be naked if he pulls down those sweats.
“Wanna go back downstairs and drink more coffee?” he asks. He’s giving me an out. A chance to back away from this situation before it goes any further.
“I appreciate the offer,” I say breathlessly, “but I’m gonna explode if you don’t get back over here in the next three seconds and take care of me.”
Wren smiles, but it’s a humorless expression. He must feel it. This electricity between us must be eating him alive, the way it’s eating away at me. He takes down his sweats, and as I expected, his cock springs free from the thick material, standing proud as he steps out of the pants. A moment passes, where I dig my fingernails into my palms, so close to breaking the skin, and Wren stands absolutely still, allowing me to see him.
He’s hard as hell. And really fucking big. I expected nothing less; Wren gives off mad big dick vibes twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. I just wasn’t expecting him to be this big. The heavy head of his cock bobs, and I feel like I’m sinking into the bed beneath me, disappearing into it, being swallowed up by the comforter and all the confusion of pillows.
Wren takes one step forward, palming himself in his hand. “Sure about that coffee?” He gives me an open-mouthed grin that almost makes my eyes roll back inside my head. Jesus wept, he’s fucking beautiful. I snuck a peak at him back at the gazebo, the night of the storm, but I didn’t let myself drink him in the way I’ve given myself permission to do now. His abs are ridiculously cut, his pecs standing proud from his muscled chest. And the defined vee that leads the eye down, down, between his legs, guiding me right to his erect dick…I can’t fucking look away. So, I look down instead. His balls are big—suspended, heavy and swollen between his thighs. Wren notices where I’m looking and moves his hand down, cupping himself, shuddering slightly when I let out a breathy whimper that’s embarrassing as hell.
“Is this what you came here for, Little E? Did you know this was going to happen? Were you thinking about my dick the entire way down the mountain?”
I swallow, trying to make sense of what’s happening inside me right now. I’ve never been so conflicted before. There are too many thoughts and needs and wants, all quarrelling with one another, screaming over the top of one another, begging to be heard. My emotions are like one of Wren’s stormy paintings—a swirling mass of color and light and darkness, all mixed together, blurring and surreal.
Is this even really happening? Am I even really fucking here? Is this a feverish, delicious nightmare that I’m going to wake from, panting and covered in sweat?
“No,” I whisper. “I didn’t let myself think…this.” I didn’t. Such a thought would have been far too dangerous. If I’d let myself for one minute think that this might happen, I’d have been running back up the hill like the very devil himself was at my back.
Smart girls don’t tangle with the devil.
Girls who have a good head on their shoulders steer clear of this kind of trouble.
I used to know exactly who I was—someone who’d make the right call when faced with temptation. I’m only realizing now that I’ve never truly been tempted before. It was easy to walk away from parties, and booze, and cute boys when I was back in Tel Aviv. My father made it easy. The promise of a hot and heavy make out session with a guy I liked couldn’t compare to the never-ending world of shit I’d be in if my father found out. But Wren…fuck, I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want Wren. And no matter how stupid it is, I’d risk everything to have him.
He grabs his dick, too, groping squeezing himself with both hands now, his eyes hazy and unfocused as he approaches the bed. “Since you’ve made it perfectly clear that you’re disinclined to beg, I’m gonna need you to tell me what you want out of this situation.”
My heart trips and topples over the edge of a forty-foot cliff, taking my stomach with it. “Probably more than you have to give,” I admit in a timid