“Not really a key when it’s just a passcode to the elevator,” she clucked into her wine.
“But like I said, interior design—even for a firm as prestigious as the one you work for—doesn’t exactly line up with someone who wanted to design buildings. So, either you weren’t doing what you wanted then, or you’re not doing what you want now.”
Wren set her wine glass—still mostly full—on the ground. She perched her elbow on the back of the couch, turning to face me. “That’s quite an assumption you’re making from very little information.”
“Am I wrong?”
“You know what they say about people who assume.”
I leaned in. “Tell me.”
She mimicked me, leaning in, leaving a mere inch between our mouths. She had to tip her chin up to look at me. “It makes you an ass.”
“Maybe I am.”
Her eyes flicked to my lips. “I don’t think you are.”
“You about to make an assumption about me, Little Bird?”
Wren nodded. “Did you ever hear the story of the big, angry lion who had a thorn in his paw?”
“Uh-huh.”
She smiled. “I don’t think you’re an ass. You just want me to think you are.”
I cupped her cheek. My palm nearly engulfed the side of her face. “So that’s what this is? The story of the lion and the little bird?”
Wren laughed again, her breath caressing my lips. “I don’t think that’s how the story goes.”
I wanted to taste her. To ravage her. To devour her. If Wren thought I was the lion, I’d show her just how ferocious I could be. I tangled my fingers in the back of her hair, giving the silken threads a firm tug back and forcing her to meet my gaze. Her hand skated up my chest, sliding across my t-shirt. “Are you still on the clock?” I growled as I brushed her lips with mine.
Her breath hitched in her throat. “Not anymore. Why?”
“Maybe I want to know more about you,” I whispered against the corner of her mouth. “And maybe…”
“Maybe?”
I slid my free hand up her leg, beneath the hem of her dress, and gave her thigh a squeeze. “And maybe I just want to know you.”
Wine splashed on the balcony as I set her glass beneath the couch. I had the finesse of a freight train. It was a miracle the crystal didn’t shatter. Fueled by her buzz, Wren threw her arms around my neck and straddled my hips. Our lips crashed in a haze of wine and lust. Soft whimpers and moans escaped her mouth as we met in a tangle of lips, limbs, and tongues.
Her knees sank into the couch cushions, digging in beside my hips. My frame was wide enough that it spread her thighs, giving me access to what was sure to be a hot little pussy.
“You gonna get in trouble for this, Little Bird?” I asked between kisses. Her lips were silken, and I could still get the smallest traces of Syrah on her tongue. Two tiny hands cupped my jaw. When she didn’t answer, I pulled away and blazed a trail of kisses down the graceful column of her throat. “I don’t want to get you in trouble,” I murmured against her skin.
A hum of laughter buzzed against her skin as she tipped her head back. “Like you said,” she panted. “I’m just decorating houses.” There was a nervous tremor to her words when she added, “Unless I misread this and—”
I didn’t let her finish that thought. Instead, I pushed the hem of her dress up until it pooled around her waist. “Dammit, baby…”
Those tights that had a tear in the knee were held up by a lace garter belt. Matching panties stretched tight over her mound. A damp spot on the narrow strip of silk gave away her arousal.
She shivered and leaned closer to me. Her breasts pressed against my chest as her breath caressed my ear. “Someone could see.”
“Yeah,” I rasped as I hooked my index finger around the gusset and dragged my knuckle through her soaked folds. “Someone could.”
“Oh—oh my—”
“Does that feel good, Little Bird?” I asked and repeated the motion. Back and forth, back and forth. Teasing her sex and grazing her clit with each pass. Her thighs were trembling. Mouth parted. Wren was angelic.