Page 59 of The Wrong Guy
“You’d think if you were that worried, you would’ve stopped by last night or the night before that,” he speculates. “I don’t think it was concern for Wren that had you barging in like some out-of-control, raging bull, but rather concern for yourself. Your jealousy got the best of you and made you think I was charming the pants off your girl, literally or metaphorically.”
He makes it sound like I’m a juvenile, irrational child, but he pulls at his collar, and I note that despite his argument to the contrary, he’s lost his tie, his top two buttons are undone, and he’s rolled up his sleeves to reveal muscled forearms. It could be a bit of relaxation after long hours of working on a contract, or it could be getting comfy to break down Wren’s typically well-honed defenses.
“No one charms Wren. She’s too smart for that and will see right through your bullshit.”
“She’s also right here, watching you two measure your dicks like that’ll decide something when it most definitely won’t. You, read over that clause again.” She points at Oliver. “You, come with me.” That one was to me.
Wren stands, and I realize she doesn’t have on shoes, probably having kicked them off under the table after the long day. She passes Oliver on her way to the door, and he makes it a point to look at her ass in her tailored slacks and shoot me a grin, knowing I can’t do anything about it without pissing Wren off further. But he doesn’t know me that well.
“Fuckin’ asshole,” I growl, stepping closer to the table, dropping the bag of food, and rearing back for a perfect punch.
Unfortunately, Wren steps in my way to stop me. But not before the smile melted from Oliver’s face and he scooted back from the table quickly, damn near running from me. “Crazy bastard,” he mutters.
But we both know who won that nonfight. Only one of us backed down, and it sure as shit wasn’t me.
I hold an arm out in invitation for Wren to leave first, keeping my eyes on Oliver. Before I turn to follow her in her barefooted steps, I pause for one quick second ... just long enough to leave a little present behind. I send a silent vow of thanks to Tayvious for the greasy fries earlier, because they allow me to crop dust Oliver and then leave him to stew in it.
I can hear him coughing as I follow Wren into her office and can’t help but feel a little victorious. Is it immature? Yes. Do I give a fuck? Absolutely not.
I close the door behind me, preparing for Wren’s wrath. I deserve it. I interrupted her work, I didn’t trust her, and I probably jeopardized the contract. “Give it to me,” I tell her. “All you got.”
She stares at me, her green eyes deep and unreadable for two seconds, and then she launches herself at me so hard and fast that my back slams into the door. I catch her ass in my palms as her legs wrap around my waist and her arms go around my neck. Burying her face in my neck, she whispers, “I’ve missed you so much.”
Well, hell, seems like I’m not the only one who was feeling lonely with all this work keeping us apart.
I grip her ass a bit tighter, and fight to find her mouth as she squeezes me tight. “I missed you too,” I say between kisses. “I texted you, but you didn’t respond.”
She nips at my lip playfully. “Too busy. Contract.” Her explanation is choppy, but given the way she’s kissing me back, I don’t mind a bit. “You brought me food?”
Huh, guess Roscoe wasn’t wrong about that. Even if there’s no caffeine or chocolate. But I know Wren, and chili is one of her love languages. “Yeah, knew you’d need it,” I explain as I lay a trail of kisses down her neck to the point where it joins her shoulder. I lick in the tiny hollow there, and she shudders.
“You’re jealous because I’m working with Oliver?” she asks, her hands shoved into my hair and nails scratching my scalp deliciously. She also doesn’t make jealous sound as bad as Oliver did. In fact, Wren sounds ... turned on?
“Fuck yeah, I’m jealous. He’s getting your time, and I want some of it. Some of you. Because you’re mine, Wren.” The possessive claim is growled against her skin as I squeeze her tightly and bury my nose in her hair. I let my teeth graze over the sensitive skin of her neck, and she moans, deep and throaty.
I whirl, pinning her against the door for another kiss. I try to use it as leverage so I can get one hand between us, but Wren wiggles to get down. I let her feet touch the floor, and she drops even lower, sitting on her shins on the cold floor. “Wren?”
But she doesn’t answer, at least not aloud. But her hands are doing plenty of talking as they brush over my thick cock. The zipper of my jeans is uncomfortably tight, and when Wren releases the button, the zipper shoots down on its own. I sigh in relief, but immediately groan when her hands cup me and she brushes over the top of my cock through my underwear.
“You’re already leaking,” she whispers, grinning up at me.
“Fuck yeah, I am. I’ve been leaking for days, wanting you. This bitchy mouth, your tiny hand, that tight pussy.” I run my thumb over her bottom lip roughly, smearing whatever lipstick she had left from the day.
I want to ruin her the way she’s ruined me. Make sure that she doesn’t even notice other men or their flirtations. Because she can’t help it, men are going to see her and want her.
But she’s mine. My Wren.
She yanks my underwear over my cock, freeing me fully, and looks up at me with eyes as bright as the rarest emeralds. “They’re yours.”
She licks a swirl around the tip of my cock. Even the slightest touch feels so good, and my eyes squeeze shut as a groan escapes. “Ssshh,” she admonishes me sharply, her hands going to my thighs with her nails digging in the tiniest bit. “Be good.”
“Fuuuuck, Wren,” I whisper, trying to be quiet even though I don’t give a shit if anyone hears me. It’s her sounds I’m possessive of.
She takes me deeper into her mouth, sealing her lips around my length and finding a pace that quickly takes me higher. I’m not surprised that she knows exactly how to work me, and I’m so on edge, I’ll blow in just a few strokes of her sweet mouth.
I grip her hair in one hand, holding the back of her head against the door, and brace myself with my other hand on the wooden door too. Wren wraps her hand around the base of my cock and lets me fuck her mouth with long, slow strokes that hit the back of her throat.
“Yesss,” I hiss when she swallows involuntarily, her throat massaging my head. I stay there, deep in her mouth, teasing over her throat and watching her carefully. Her eyes start to water, but she’s sucking me as she swallows. I know what she wants, and I want to give it to her. “You ready, Wren?”