Wren

The request zings through my body, my core pulsing, aching. I nod.

“You words, baby girl.” His voice is hoarse, deeper than normal.

Even though the garage is darkened, some lights illuminate him enough to see his face clearly, and even the bulge in his jeans.

I nod again. “Y-yes.”

He smiles, and pushes his hands into my gown, dragging my panties down my legs. He stares at it.

“This one’s red,” he says, pocketing the lace.

Heat burns my cheeks, cool air brushing against ...