by Aubrey Rose
"I bet you could," Wren said, but she sat down cross-legged on the picnic blanket anyway. Dawson beamed and sat down beside her.
For the next hour, they chatted about her work and his. He told her about growing up in southern California and moving north to become a ranger in the state park. She told him about growing up in Chicago and then afterward, when she'd moved all over the country for her work. She was vague on the details of her consultancy, but freely talked about the places she'd lived—New York, Boston, Atlanta, Phoenix. Then, finally, Washington.
"All big cities, huh? You're a city girl?"
"That's where the work is," she said with a sigh.
"Not if you're a squirrel wrangler."
"Speaking of," she said, pointing up to the fire lookout where a squirrel was perched on the wood ladder. It was watching them eat with rapt attention. "Can you wrangle that squirrel?"
"I'm off-duty right now," he said, tearing a piece off of his pancake and tossing it over her head. It landed halfway between them and the squirrel, who jumped off of the ladder and approached the pancake cautiously.
"So you bribe the squirrels in order to wrangle them later?"
"Maybe. Don't tell my boss, okay?"
"This is a con. You're not a real squirrel wrangler."
"Hey, it gets the job done." Dawson grinned. "Come on, little guy. I won't hurt you. It's just a chocolate chip."
The squirrel tilted its head warily and then darted forward, snatching the pancake up in its paws. With a few nibbles, it had stuffed the entire piece of pancake into its mouth. It twitched its nose and looked up at Dawson.
"Ha! See, he wants more. Not until we're done."
"We're not done?"
Dawson doted over her, insisting that she have more pancakes, more whipped cream, pouring more juice for her when her glass ran low. She protested and then ate more until, at last, she was finally sated beyond measure.
Wren flopped back onto the picnic blanket. The sun hadn't yet come up over the horizon, and the air was nice and cool, but the sky above her head was a bright blue.
"You didn't finish your pancakes," Dawson said, clearing the plates off of the blanket.
"Liar. I'm so stuffed my eyes are going to leak orange juice."
"You left a chocolate chip." Dawson leaned sideways and plucked the leftover chocolate chip from her plate. He held it above her face. She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. His face twinkled.
"Come on," he said. "Just one more chocolate chip."
"Mmm-mmm." She shook her head. "No more."
"More."
"No more."
He lowered the chocolate chip down and set it on her nose, where it balanced precariously.
"This is a bribe," Wren said, her eyes crossed from looking at the chocolate chip at the tip of her nose.
"Not a bit," Dawson said.
"You're trying to wrangle me."
He took the chocolate chip and set it down again, this time on her closed lips. The brush of his fingertips on her lips set off all kinds of shivers in her nerves. She smiled, trying not to let the chocolate fall off.
"You're un-wrangleable," he said. "That's one thing you've made very clear."
Wren opened her mouth and caught the chocolate chip on her tongue. She chewed it slowly, watching Dawson watch her. His eyes tracked her tongue as it licked the last of the melted chocolate off of her bottom lip. She grinned, the taste of chocolate still on her tongue.
"Am I?"
Dawson turned onto his side to face her. She thought he would kiss her, but instead he reached out and cupped her cheek with his hand. His palm was hot and dry and smooth against her skin. The touch burned her from the inside out, and she felt the desire inside of her twist and ache for him to fill it.
His thumb drew a line over her cheekbone. They lay there for a moment next to each other, simply looking into each other's eyes. His light brown eyes hid a sadness that she saw again behind the fierce desire, just for an instant.
His lips parted, and she watched them move as he spoke.
"Can you stay here for a little while?"
"Stay here?" Wren raised her hand and took his, lowering it from her face.
He squeezed her fingers and brought them to his lips. Again, not a kiss. He brushed his lips over her knuckles thoughtfully. Even the light pressure of his lips burned flames of desire through her skin, down to her deepest core. She felt dizzy. The sky was so blue behind him, a perfect blue unmarred by any clouds.
"Just for a little while. I don't want you thinking about going anywhere else."
"Why would I go?"
"Wren... that's a good name for you. You're like a little wren. Darting here and there. I don't know if you'll ever find a place to settle. I feel like you're only perched here for a moment, and then you'll fly away."
Tears sprung to her eyes, hot and stinging. In place of the desire, or perhaps next to it, there came another ache. This ache was not from physical desire, but an ache that swelled from her heart, that made her chest hollow out in pain.
She wanted to scream that it wasn't her fault, that it was all her work, it made her run around from place to place. But it wasn't her work—she had chosen her work, after all. She'd always wanted an escape, a backup plan. She'd always wanted to be able to start over. And the easiest way was to run, to move, to leave without thinking about the return.
This was the first time she'd ever forgotten about leaving.
"Will you stay here with me?" Dawson asked. His voice was a whisper, his lips pressed against her fingers. "I know you'll fly off soon, but for now, just for a little while, maybe?"
"Here with you?"
Dawson nodded. His hair shone brightly, a ring of white gold curtaining his face. Behind him, the branches of the pines swayed slightly in the invisible breeze.
"Yes," Wren said.
She wasn't aware that she had opened her mouth to speak, but as soon as she did she knew that the answer was the right one. She knew it as Dawson's eyes lit up from within, the desire burning through his irises and turning them as gold as his hair. She knew it as she reached up and combed her fingers through his hair, brushing it back even as she pulled him forward to her. She knew it as he leaned over her and pressed his lips to hers in the softest kiss.
The sun rose behind the trees, its rays filtering through the high branches and falling over the picnic blanket. At the top of the ridgeline, surrounded by nature, they were isolated from the outside world. In this clearing, in his embrace, Wren felt the worries of her work and the mission slip away, like pollen drifting on the ocean winds.
Dawson's kiss grew harder, more insistent. His lips burned hers with each new kiss, his lips taking hers, licking, sucking, biting. She yelped as he took her bottom lip and sucked, his tongue immediately caressing the place where he had drawn pain from her nerves.
There was a power behind his kiss that she did not recognize in him at first, a ferocity that he held back. Some strange power that was walled up inside of him. He kept it back, kept restraining himself. With each new kiss, Wren could feel Dawson being pulled forward and then drawing back again, as inexorably as the tides drawing in and out of the sand.
Wren could not see such a challenge without meeting it. As soon as she recognized that he was holding back, she ached to draw him out of himself. Her hands gripped his hair and her tongue pressed hard against his, probing, questioning.
In response to her passion, he rolled over on top of her. His hands ran along her arms, drawing her wrists up and pinning them down to the blanket above her head.
"You've been driving me crazy since you got here," Dawson whispered. He kissed her nose, her cheek, his mouth running down to the spot just underneath her ear. There he stayed, his breath warming her ear.
"Oh?" Wren asked, choking out the word. She couldn't do more before his mouth moved to suck lightly at her neck, his tongue sending thrills of desire shooting down to where she was already wet and ready. Dangerous. She felt too mu
ch. This was dangerous.
One. Check your surroundings. Wren twisted her head, but the forest was a mass of dark green around her, her vision blurred by the agony of her ache. Two. Weapon. Three...three...
“Ohh,” she moaned.
She forgot everything she knew, and was glad of it. There was nothing she wanted more than this, Dawson’s strong hands stroking her to the edge of frustration. All she could hear was the pounding of her heart.
"Going off trail,” Dawson continued. “Interrupting my morning swim. Bringing a gun into the woods."
Dawson had her wrists pinned with one hand now, and he brought the other down, running it along her side. She twisted at the touch of his fingers through the fabric.
"But more than that, you drive me crazy when you look at me. When you turn those gorgeous green eyes on me and tease me with your smile."
Dawson kissed her again on the mouth, seizing her lips greedily. She gasped, breathless, when the kiss was over. His mouth moved to her bare arm and kissed her on the soft spot just above her elbow.
God, she burned. There was nothing more that she wanted than him, right now. There was an ache inside of her that she longed for him to fill. But he had her pinned down and he was taking his sweet time. His lips moved all the way up to her hands, pausing there to lick at the inside of her wrist.
"Ohhh," she moaned. The sky, oh, the sky looked so blue. He was coming back down her arm on the other side, kissing, sucking, nibbling.
"Now I'm going to drive you crazy," Dawson murmured.
Wren moaned as his hand slipped down, unbuttoning her blouse and following his fingers with his mouth. He let her wrists go to unclasp her bra, and she leaned forward to help him take the clothes off, the fabric falling to the blanket beside them.
He pushed her back down onto the picnic blanket, a bit less gently this time, and his eyes blazed with a fierce want. Her lips parted as he bent his head and kissed one of her breasts, letting his tongue run along the underside.
"So beautiful." Dawson moved his mouth in slow circles until his tongue was sliding around her nipple, teasing her with every touch. He would begin to kiss her and then ease back on the pressure. His licks would reach almost to her nipple, then at the last second he would pull away.
"Please," Wren said. Her hands pulled him forward, but still he held back. "Please."
If he heard her, she couldn't tell. He moved to the other breast, his touches growing harder but still teasing her around the edge of her most sensitive spots. Her nipples stood hard as pebbles, aching for him to take them inside of his mouth.
"Please, oh Dawson, please..."
She was begging, aching for him. As he bent his head and took her nipple in his mouth, she felt his hardness against her leg. Her mind exploded into bright flashes of pleasure as his tongue worked her nipple, making her cry out with each flick against the aching tip of her breast.
He was hard, so hard against her leg. God, she wanted him inside of her. He was straddling one of her legs and she brought up her thigh slightly to press against his erection.
At her breast, his lips fell open in a gasp. She felt him shudder on top of her, a shudder of pure want. And then again, that holding back. Something more behind the wall. She knew he was suppressing his true desire. It made her even more eager to draw it from him. She rubbed her leg again against his, a long slow stroke against his hardness.
"Wren!"
She smiled, glad to see that she could move him as much as he moved her.
"You're playing with fire," he warned, grinning down at her.
"Good thing we're right next to the fire lookout, then," Wren said.
Dawson's hands moved lightning quick. Without another word, he pulled her pants off of her, leaving her dressed in only her panties.
He paused, looking down at her body. She crossed her arms over her stomach instinctively. Nobody was coming up the trail, and the forest around them was empty except for birdsong. Under his gaze, though, she felt utterly vulnerable. Dawson smiled gently down at her and drew her arms back so that he could see her body.
She'd never been naked outside, never naked in the daytime. All of her hesitation, though, vanished when Dawson moved down and pressed his mouth hard against her panties.
"Ohhhh!"
His breath was hot, and his tongue pressed against her. She bucked only once before his hands were on her hips, pinning them down to the picnic blanket. Shudders wracked her body and she writhed, her hands gripping his in a paroxysm of desire.
But no, he would drive her crazy first. With long strokes of his tongue, he met the wetness of her folds with the wetness of his lips until her panties were soaked through. The motion was a slow delicious friction that made her ache more, even more. She had never wanted something so badly.
He was completely in control. When she tilted her hips to meet his mouth, he pressed her back down. When she twisted and cried out for more, he released the pressure and sent her into another dizzying spin of desire, not letting her reach the crest of her ecstasy. It was intolerable. It was unbearable. She wanted it to last forever.
Minutes passed that could have been hours. The sun's rays came through the tree limbs and cast warm slips of light over her skin. The burning, though, was between her thighs, where Dawson continued to suck and lick, harder and harder. She rose to meet him, arched against his teasing tongue, wanting him. Wanting more.
"Would you like to come now?" Dawson asked. His face grinned from between her thighs. "Will you come for me, Wren?"
"Yes, oh god, yes," Wren gasped. "Please don't stop. Please—"
His fingers hooked around the waist of her panties and pulled them down and then his mouth was on her completely. Incredible suction, his lips locking on her swollen ache and tearing another moan from her throat. She rocked into him as his tongue flew furiously over her, flicking as he had done to her nipple.
"Yes! Yes!"
"Now," he said, his lips breathing over her mound. "Come for me."
His mouth pressed down onto her body and she rode his tongue up and up, up into the crest of the wave until she couldn't hold it inside of her anymore.
"Ohhhh!"
Wren tilted her head back and lost herself in the dizzying blue sky as she tumbled over and over into her orgasm. The climax ripped her apart, tearing her body into pieces that whirled in pleasure. Her fingers gripped his hair, clawed at the blanket as she shuddered, arching, then shuddered again. Her core clenched once more, then relaxed.
He fell down on his side next to her. His clothes were still on, and she reached out to touch his chest, her fingers pulling at the top button.
He took her hand and kissed it.
"Not now," he said.
"But—"
"I have to go to work," he said, smiling. "I know, right?"
Wren could barely speak after the shuddering orgasm that had taken her breath. Still she yearned to have him inside of her, to have more. Her fingers stroked his length through his pants. He was so big, so hard.
"Hey. No more driving me crazy." Dawson grinned. "I'll see you tonight. Then you can drive me crazy all you want. Okay?"
"Tonight..." Wren's voice trailed off.
"Tonight," Dawson said firmly. "And you stay on the trails today. No more wandering around with a gun."
"Okay," Wren said. Her mind was already imagining the things she would do to him to make him pay for leaving her. Such things...
"Thanks for coming to breakfast with me," Dawson said. He kissed her nose. He smelled like warmth and sun and the forest. She longed to stay in his arms.
But work... that was something she understood.
Chapter Seventeen
Wren changed her clothes—well, her panties at least— back at the hotel. Her body was still trembling from what had just happened and she still felt small thrills of pleasure shooting up through her back and into her shoulders.
What had happened to her? She was here on an assignment, a mission. She was here to finish what
Tommy had started. There was no reason at all she should be letting herself gallivant around with some tall, handsome ranger, rolling around on a picnic blanket like some hormone-wild teenager.
She pulled on her pants and tucked her gun into her waistband, letting her blouse fall over the handle of the gun. She straightened the hem of her shirt and redid her braid, smoothing her hair down in the mirror.
Looking up at the reflection, she couldn't understand what had changed. Her cheeks were flushed, to be sure, from all of the terrible, wonderful things his tongue had done to her body. She tilted her head one way, then the other. No idea. Something had changed, something was different, but she couldn't put a finger on it.
Steeling her shoulders, she left the hotel room and headed up toward the trailhead.
As she came up to the side loop, Dawson was coming down the trail from his own cabin, his ranger uniform rather wrinkled and disheveled, an expression of pure happiness on his face.
"Ho, ranger," she said, suppressing a grin. Dawson skipped down the last few steps and picked her up in his arms, twirling her around as he kissed her. Then he frowned.
"What's this under your shirt?" he asked, his hand trailing down Wren's front to where she had tucked her gun.
"It's...it's just..."
"I thought I told you not to bring that around," Dawson said. "You know, you're more likely to hurt yourself than any wildlife you find."
"It makes me feel safe," Wren said firmly. She wasn't about to go traipsing around in the woods unarmed to look for the shifter who'd killed Tommy.
"Okay, but—"
"Isabel!" A voice came from the hotel parking lot.
"I can take care of myself," Wren said.
"Isabel! Isabel!"
She recognized her alias on the second call, and turned to see Matt, the hotel owner, huffing and puffing as he came up to the trailhead.
"What is it?" she asked.
"Isabel, I just got a phone message for you," he said, leaning forward and resting both hands on his knees. Wren waited patiently until he was breathing normally again.
"From your mom," Matt panted. "I guess she was calling you by a nickname; I didn't realize who it was until she described you."