Wren
He tsks. “How do you sound?”
My hands freeze on his skin. “Excuse me?”
“If we weren’t interrupted,“ he drawls. “I would have found out what you sound like when you come.”
“You wouldn’t have because I wouldn’t let you touch me.” I tie up the thread and place a band aid over it, a little harder than necessary.
He hisses, chuckling. “I would believe you, I swear. But if I recall, you were begging me to kiss you. ‘Kiss me, Ezra,’ who said that?”
Heat flares up my cheeks, and I glare. “Adrenaline, Ezra.”
“I have a sudden urge to test that theory right now.”
His fingers skim my thighs, exposed by the small sleeping shorts I decided to wear. My skin pebbles.
I jump away from him. “Touch me again, and you won’t have any fingers left.”
“Feisty.”
“For someone that’s not attracted to
