20. Wren

20

WREN

WONDERLAND (WREN that’s just weird.”

“Whatever you say, pretty boy,” I tease. I cross my arms against my chest, tilting my head up to the sky. “You’ve got to admit that we’re lost. Let’s just give up. The sun is about to set, and all the freaks come out at night.”

He grins. “Oh, so you mean you?”

“Is your love language bullying?”

“You know, over the last few weeks, it’s changed. Words of affirmation might be taking the top spot, actually,” he says.

“Huh. I wouldn’t have guessed. You don’t do much of that with the girl you’re supposed to be dating,” I say, laughing.

“What do you want me to do, Wren?” He groans, dropping his arms from his hips.

“Right now? I’d appreciate it if you could try to get us?—”

“No, I mean with the fake dating. What else do you want me to do, to tell you?”

My heart stutters. I thought we were just joking around, but maybe not. “What are you talking about?”

His eyes darken, and he steps closer to me. I’d back up if I wasn’t already pressed to the tree. "Do you seriously think I don’t compliment you enough?”

“I-It was a joke,” I spit out.

“But do you really mean it? If you want me to tell you how stunning you are every day, I’ll do it.” He steps closer, and his hand grazes my cheek. He’s not wearing his gloves, and I feel my entire body melting into him. He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, and I blink up at him. “If you want me to admit that you’re all I fucking think about, this is me admitting that to you. You consume all my thoughts, princess. You consume me .”

I try to search his face for something. For some sort of sign to tell me that he’s joking, but I find nothing. He flirts with me all the time. It’s been our go-to banter since we met, but this doesn’t feel like it usually does.

“Are you being?—”

“Yes,” he bites out. His hand curls around my neck, and his other grips my hip. “I mean it, Wren.”

I stare up at him, and no words come. I want to tell him he’s lying, that he doesn’t mean it, that he can’t mean it, but I’m legitimately speechless.

I let him grip the back of my neck tighter, and he searches my eyes for some sort of answer, but I don’t give him one. His breath tickles my neck before he kisses me there. The sensation is so intense and unknown that my head tilts to the side, giving him more access.

“My god, Wren. You’re perfect. So fucking perfect, and you don’t even know it,” he murmurs into my skin, pressing the hottest kisses to my neck like I’m paying him to do it. “Can I keep kissing you here?”

“Yes,” I breathe. I clutch his shirt, and I don’t have it in me to tell him to stop. He doesn’t kiss me; he just keeps worshiping my neck and my chest until I’m writhing beneath him.

He kisses across my jaw, and I laugh when he gets to a sensitive spot. “Keep still, baby,” he rasps against my cheek. He drops his knee between my legs, pinning me there, and he pulls my arms up, pinning them together with one of his hands. “Let me do this for you, okay? Let me show you what you do to me. Let me show you how good I could be to you.”

I nod, and he continues. He kisses and sucks my skin into his mouth in the most maddening ways, biting and then smoothing it out. I ’ve never had a more sensual feeling in my life, and I don’t ever want it to stop.

He nudges his knee between my legs, and I grind into him. The friction between our clothes and his knee pressing into me sends a ripple of pleasure through my entire body. I can feel myself get wet, and the faster his kisses become on my neck and on my chest, the harder I grind into him. My body is spinning out of control, and I don’t want to catch it.

“Jesus Christ, Miles,” I mutter when his warm hand spreads across my stomach, reaching up to cup one of my tits. His thumb swipes across my nipple, and I arch into him, my hips moving faster. “What are we doing?”

“Do you want this as bad as I do?” he asks into my skin, still not kissing me where I want him to.

“I don’t know,” I whine. I don’t know what I want. Everything about this is screaming yes while also saying no at the same time. It’s confusing as fuck. My patience runs out, and I say, “Are you going to kiss me?”

His grip on my wrists tightens. “Do you want me to?”

“I don’t know what I want anymore,” I pant. This is all too confusing. Too much. He leaves one long kiss on the top of my breast before he drops his hands from mine, smoothing out my shirt and stepping back from me.

“Okay, then we’ll stop,” he says.

I blink at him. “W-what?”

“You need to be sure, Wrenny girl,” he says, tucking my hair behind my ears. “I’m not touching you again until you’re sure.”

He smiles at me like he didn’t just put my entire body through a workout, getting me ready to let him fuck me against a tree. I’ve never wanted to punch and kiss someone more.

He tilts his head to the side. “Is that okay with you, princess?”

No, Miles, it really isn’t fine because I almost let you kiss me just t hen, and if it happens again, I really don’t know if I can convince you to stop.

But I don’t say that. Instead, I smile and say, “Fine,” before turning in the opposite direction and hoping I can find us a way home. I don’t trust myself to be alone with him anymore. When I’m with him, I find myself losing more and more control, and there’s nothing more terrifying than that.