Cut Through The Heart || Chapter 6. Wrennie and the Fun Bag

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You’re pulling the hem of his tee; he grabs the bottom of Thea’s top. Arms and clothes get tangled, and you both are laughing. He lets go and cups your face again. The kisses are slower, but no less heated. He ‘s savouring, and you can’t breathe. He’s walking you backwards, and you realize that you’re in the living room of a giant suite. You twist out of his arms and pull off his tee. Then you grab his hand, see the door to the bedroom and drag him there. A surprised guffaw bursts out of him. You really don’t care right now.

He speeds up, and the last few steps you’re already levitating since he picks you up and throws you on the bed in one fluid precise movement. You quickly get up on your knees on the immense bed and jerk off your sweater. His eyes fall on your bra, and then… he freezes. It’s such a contrast with his grabbing and nipping and biting from a second ago that you’re suddenly mortified.

Fuck, Thea was right. He’s looking at your white cotton bra with cheerful pictures of apples and pears, all green and yellow and each in possession of a smiley face, and now he will never want to have sex with you. He probably feels like a pedophile and a predator. Or wondering what it is that he’s doing with an unsophisticated chavvy bird like you.

“I don’t have a condom.” His voice is gruff, and he clears his throat. He finally lifts his eyes at you. “Tell me you have a condom.”

“No…” Oh thank goodness! It’s not the bra!

“No?” He just parrots what you said and shakes his head to clear his thoughts.

“How come you don’t have one? Don’t you have a hang up?”

“I wasn’t planning on having sex today.” He looks utterly dumbfounded. “Really didn’t think we were going there tonight.” You start giggling.

He blinks and finally manages to slightly focus. “Right… I’m going to go to the pharmacy on the ground floor and get some.” He speaks slowly and with difficulty. This hazed unhinged look is very good on him. “Right? Does that sound right? Where is my wallet?” He looks around completely baffled. You’re plainly laughing already.

“It’s in the hall where you threw it on the floor with your jacket and my coat.” He blinks again. Awwww… “But I have a better idea. I’m going to go back to my room and borrow some from my friend Thea.”

“Wren, I’m not sending you to fetch condoms!” He pronounces it with such aplomb and pathos – standing in front of you with no shirt on and unbuttoned jeans, his hair disheveled and sticking around in whimsical squiggles – that you fall on the bed in hysterics.

He stares at you for a second and then pounces and presses you into the covers. His hot hands slide under your shoulders, and he pins you with a stare. Does he seriously think he’s even a bit intimidating?

“Stop laughing at me!”

“I distinctly remember that you said that shagging me was always at the back of your mind. How come you are not prepared?” You are snickering, and he bites your shoulder.

“Quiet you!” He’s grinning too now.

And then you abruptly realize that you have a barechested Dr. Delicious between your legs, and you are not wearing much yourself. Your skin is pressed to his, his flat stomach on your pelvis. and he’s supporting himself above you on his elbows. The awareness hits him at the same moment, and his pupils dilate in front of your eyes.

“Wren…” He’s rasping and suddenly jumps off you. “Right, I’m going.”

“No, I’m serious! I will go to my room and get them. The quality will be much better than anywhere else. And the choice…” He cocks a brow at you. You climb off the bed and sway a bit. “Wow, I’m fine, I’m fine, it’s just that was…”

“Yeah?” Can he look any more smug?

You pull on the top and stagger back to the first room. You push your feet into your shoes and turn around. He’s standing in the middle of the room, posture relaxed, long arms hanging along the body. Fuck, he is delectable.

“Right, I’ll be right back. Hold the thought.” He gives you a feral grin.

“Wouldn’t dream of forgetting it.”

You really need to hurry up before you combust.


You practically run into the room.

“Thea, I need the Fun Bag!” Thea is sitting on her bed, in her glasses, reading a book. Is it an alternative universe? She stares at you. “The Fun Bag, Thea! I need it, now!”

The Fun Bag is a red silk Chinese drawstring pouch where Thea keeps her supplies. She never travels without it. The content of it is meticulously picked, regularly refreshed, and covers all possible needs and circumstances. Some of the objects in it you are not familiar with.

Thea gives you a lookover.

“Fuck me, Wren, you are on fire! So, the date is going well?”

“Yep!” A giggle bursts out of you.

She jumps off the bed and starts digging through her suitcase. But then she stops and gives you an attentive look.

“Wren, are you being safe?”

You’re trying to rule your curls in front of the mirror. You are so worked up that the hair’s static and stands around your head like an orange halo. Something in her tone makes you stop and look at her.

“That’s why I’m here.” But then you see her eyes and remember that day when you found her crying in her bed. “Oh, Thea…” You give it a thought and with full clarity and certainty you answer, “Yes, I’m being safe.”

“Are you sure?” She’s asking about so much more right now. You smile.

“Yes, I’m absolutely sure.”

She smiles back and gives you the pouch.

“Go, Wren! Rock his world.”


Your return trip is short, but you manage to plummet in a state of complete panic in those seven minutes that it takes you to get back to the penthouse.

You’re going to embarrass yourself. You’re going to look inexperienced and clumsy. Something will go wrong, and he’ll regret even inviting you into his room. You’ve slept with a fair amount of men, but they were nothing but boys. You have an almost fifty year old male, skillful and experienced, waiting for you behind that door. Your hands start shaking.

Then comes a backlash. You had a fair amount of one-night stands, a few semi-permanent relationships, and dated Phil Durinson, for fuck sake, for two weeks. You know pretty much everything that there’s to know about traditional sex. You didn’t go into much kinkier stuff, but nonetheless… You’re going to look like a slut.

Fuck, you are so jittery that you need to stop in the middle of a hall and breathe. You press your palms to your eyes and slowly count to ten.

Focus, Wren. Think about it. You are not going there to have sex. You are going to the room of the man you are in love with. You are going there to be together, to kiss, to talk, to do what you feel like at any given moment. If this is to work, you two just need to appreciate and accept each other – all of it, the good, the bad, and the ugly – and try to be open with each other.

It’s not about prowess and skill. You can finally look, touch, taste, like you’ve dreamt for so long. You just need to go in and relish him and revel in the closeness to him.

You exhale, lift your chin and knock.

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