Wren

For a moment we’re both speechless, frozen in time, almost like if we move or even breathe, the moment will be gone from us.

And so we stop and stare, eyes locked in each other, lost.

Ezra releases my wrist, and I gulp.

“You’re hard,” I say stupidly, pulse frantic.

He laughs softly. “I am. It’s my default around you.”

I glance down at my hand still on his length, his pants straining. I run my fingers over him and squeeze.

“Birdie,” he warns, voice raspy. His ...