Wren“Ezra,” I croak, his hands slide up and down my thighs. “I don’t think we should—”“I’m not doing anything to you, Birdie,” he rasps with a chuckle. “I asked you a question.”We both watch his fingers as they trail up my skin in featherlight touches, as if they were only whispering, teasing at the things they could do to me.God, did I want to find out.“You can’t ask me things like that,” I reply, clearing my throat but it doesn’t help.“Mhm,” he hums, tracing the hem of my dress. “This dress…I’m dying to know what’s beneath.”My heart thuds painfully in my chest, toes curling. “Are you drunk?”Ezra smirks, raising his eyes up to my face. “Do I look drunk?”“No, but you sound drunk.”“You smell good.” He rubs his nose against my neck, then he pushes back. “Do you want to go back to Mr. Blonde?”“Oh god, yes,” someone moans, interrupting my response, the source sounding too close.Ezra wraps a hand on my throat. My eyes dilate, arousal floods my panties, and I struggle to keep my
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