Cut Through The Heart || Chapter 8. Wrennie and Dr T

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He’s kissing up your stomach, greedy open mouth kisses, up to your ribs, your breasts – and you’re blindly grasping for Thea’s bag. Where the fuck is it?! He’s kissing and growling, “Wren… Wren… Wrennie… Oh fuck… Wrennie…” Does he even realize that he is talking?!

You finally feel the silk of the pouch under your fingers and jerk it. Colourful packages and boxes scatter around the bed, and some fly to the floor. He pushes some of them away, and he’s finally above you. He’s supporting himself on one elbow, the other hand doing some magnificent things to your breast, and you bite into his bottom lip. Then you slide your mouth and bite his bearded jaw.

“Wren… Ugh… Ph…” Oh yes! You reduced him to gibberish.

You encircle his waist with your legs, and he groans. The scorching cock is pressed into your stomach, and you feel mildly terrified. How will this fit exactly? The answer is snugly and orgasmically, Wren, and hell, nothing in this world will stop you from doing it now! You grab a random package. He’s sucking on your neck, and it’s really hard to concentrate enough to read the bloody tiny letters. ‘A teardrop bullet’?! What the…?! You throw it away and grab the next one. Definitely too small! He lifts his upper torso above you and, continuing to nibble on your jaw, he’s also rummaging through the riffraff. He finally finds one with ominous XXXL on it, and you think you are going to kill Thea later. Mr Big and Pink, my ass!

You grab the package from his hands and quickly open it. Then you grab the base of his cock, and he growls a long and intricate swearing. Wow, you would never guess these words can come out of his overly posh mouth! You roll the condom out, and he catches your mouth.

“John…” You twist your face and try to halt him. He’s lowering himself on you, and you press your hands in his shoulders. Wait, wait, wait! He realizes that you’re trying to stop him, and a violent shudder runs through him.

“Wren, please…” You catch his eyes, and they are mad.

“I need to be on top…” You are stroking his cheek. “John, you need to let me… Please?”

He blinks, and for a second his eyes are less berserk. He rolls off you onto his back, and you climb on him. He hikes his brows up. His jaws are clenched; he’s obviously holding to the last shreds of self control. You take him into your hand and slowly lower yourself on him. He groans loudly and grabs handfuls of sheets. He’s not fully in, but you feel there’s no room left whatsoever. Oh fuck! You bite your lip and take a deep breath. He opens his eyes, and they are shining and suddenly tender. Whatever desperate urgency was there, he seems to have managed to rein it for now. He gently places his palms on the sides of your pelvis and strokes the hipbones with his thumbs. Caressing, and not pressing.

You exhale and lower yourself deeper. His tip presses in your cervix, and you moan. Then you slightly shift your hips, to settle better and get used to the size. He hisses, but keeps on smiling. Then he suddenly sits up, and his arms wrap around your back. He’s tenderly kissing you, and you bury your hands in his hair. His eyes are laughing.

“Good call, little one.” You lift a brow.

“I’m saving my life here, you twonk. You could’ve killed me.” He guffaws.

This is already the best sex in your life, and neither of you has even moved yet!

He’s kissing your neck, and you experimentally move your hips. He painfully nips your skin.

“God, Wrennie…”

You move more, and the ring of his arms tightens. Then he grabs your calf and moves your leg behind him. You move the second one. You both start moving – long, slow, rocking movements.

You’re moaning, and he’s mumbling in your neck.

“Fuck, Wren, I won’t last…”

You don’t understand anything anymore. The feeling of fullness, and fire raging in you, flooding all your senses, roaring in your ears, your hands on his shoulders…. You drop your head back and arch your back.

He’s whispering in your ear, “Wrennie… My Wrennie…”

You come. The orgasm is slow and terrifying, like falling, or dying, or diving in a hot tub. An avalanche of pleasure, spreading through your body, like a forest fire, and you are sobbing in his arms, clawing on his upper arms, and he’s murmuring, stroking your hair, kissing your temple.

You’re still, and then he shatters, apparently all this time holding it back, and raspily groans, and crushes you into him. Your ribs are all but cracking, and you are taking gaspy short breaths.

The world has disappeared, or the world is just John…

***

“Did I talk?” That’s the first thing he says, you are still intertwined, hugging each other tightly, your legs crossed behind his back, his arms wrapped around you.

He’s rubbing your shoulder blade with his thumb, his nose pressed to your neck.

“Sounded more like mumbling…” He chuckles. Feels funny with his cock still in you.

“I was told I talk… Haven’t done it in years…” He presses his lips to your temple.

“Is it some sort of a storm gauge?” He chuckles again.

“Apparently.” He tries to move away.

“No… I’m too comfortable here,” you whine, and nuzzle his neck.

“Common, Wren. Let’s make you even more comfortable.” He moves away from you, and picks you up under your arms. You realize that all your limbs feel floppy. He pulls out, and you moan. He puts you on the bed, gently kissing the lips, the nose, and he cheek, and then pulls the covers off the other side. You feel sleepy, the eyes are closing.

“Wren…” You look at him. He’s smiling. You crawl under the comforter he’s holding up, and he pulls the covers off the bed completely, shaking Thea’s treasures on the floor with it. He leans in and kisses your cheek.

“I’ll go clean up.”

You hum, and then it’s dark.

***

You jerk out of sleep. No, no, no, not now! You’re always the sleepy one after sex, but please, not with him! You hear water running and breathe out in relief. It’s only been a few seconds. He walks out of the bathroom, and slides under the comforter with you.

His head is on the pillow, eyes on your level, and you smile. He leans in for a gentle kiss. You stroke his face with your hand, scratch the beard a bit, and you hear a low rumble in his chest. Seriously, like a cat! You scratch some more, and he half closes his eyes. You slide your thumb on his bottom lip. He predictably catches it with his mouth. The cerulean eyes fly open again, and he sucks on the thumb. And there you wanted to do some ogling and have a good look…

Is that what you think it is, pressing into your thigh? Yep, it is. Well, hello, that was quick. Bloody roly-poly! He lifts a brow in a silent question. You press your body forward and wrap your leg around him in an equivocal answer.

And back to square one!

Katya Kolmakov
Katya Kolmakov. Mother. Writer. Artist. Fanfiction and Wattpad. First novel on Amazon http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00XJ16W7W.

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