Nothing Less Than Everything

TATUM

My phone buzzed with Wren’s name as I parked my car in the garage under my building. Seth had begrudgingly gone home, promising to stay on the straight and narrow.

Wren: The crew is finally out. Hope I didn’t throw off your night too much.

I didn’t bother texting her back. “Hey, beautiful,” I said the minute the call connected. I rushed inside and jumped into the elevator. “You still at my place?”

She let out a quiet laugh. “No, I had to slip out for a bit, but I swung through a few minutes ago just to check and make sure everything was tidy.”

“I must have just missed you.”

“Bummer.” But she didn’t sound disappointed at all. She sounded devious. I wondered what the little minx was up to. She seemed lighter than she had earlier. Whatever was weighing on her must have lifted.

I decided to call her on it. “What are you up to?”

She laughed. “What makes you think I’m up to something?”

“You’re a shitty liar.” I chuckled as the elevator doors opened. “And I can hear it in your voice. You’re not waiting to smack me in the face with a pie, are you?”

My phone buzzed with an incoming text. Wren sent me a selfie. Of her in bed. A satin nightie barely concealed her body. Her blonde hair was in loose curls, splayed over the pillow.

“Fuck,” I said on a heavy breath.

“You like?” Her tone was coy, yet playful.

“What do you have on underneath?” I asked, throwing my keys onto the kitchen island and heading straight to the bedroom. The scent of fresh paint lingered in the air. She could have painted the walls neon purple for all I cared. One picture from her—still completely covered—had me ready to blow my load. She hummed something noncommittal. When I cut the bedroom lights on, I figured out why she hadn’t responded.

A pair of silky panties were on my bed.

“Wren,” I growled. “What are you up to, Little Bird?” I kicked my jeans and boxers off and stretched out on top of the bedding. Grabbing the tiny scrap of fabric, I wrapped it around my fist and began to stroke my cock.

Her only response was a desperate moan.

“Are you touching yourself?”

“Uh huh.”

“Tell me.”

“I—I’m touching…Oh God…”

I grunted as pressure built low and fast. The feel of her panties moving up and down my shaft was almost too much to handle. “Are you wet for me?” I asked.

“Uh-huh,” she whimpered.

“Good girl. Put two fingers in your pussy and play with your little clit. I come when you do, and baby—I’m almost there.”

Static burst through the call as she groaned and writhed on her own sheets. I would have chopped off my hands if that’s what was required as payment to see her right now.

“T-Tatum—”

“You… Close?” I croaked as I pumped my cock in my hand. I wanted—needed—to see her. I could just imagine her, legs spread wide, back arching, breasts seeking my touch. Her chin would be tipped back, lips parted as she sucked in desperate, shallow breaths.

She didn’t answer my question. Wren cried out as her orgasm exploded into powerful tremors. My own climax came rushing in, hard and fast. Thick spurts of my release jetted onto my stomach. I laid there, spent, as my breathing steadied.

“Holy shit,” she muttered from her end.

I chuckled, still riding the clouds of ecstasy. “You are the best surprise, you know that?”