Stone lifted up and took her nipple in her mouth, thrusting in time with her, meeting her down-stroke with lifted hips, rolling inside her and suckling her breasts and moaning as she rode him. He fell back against the bed, took her hips in his hands, his thumbs in the indents, pulling her down onto him and groaning her name. “Wren…Wren…shit, Wren…God, I love you…oh God, I’m—I’m coming…”
Wren leaned back and moved with her hips alone, balanced so he was deep, buried skin to skin, rolling and rolling with aching and tender ferocity, unrelenting desperation. She was there too, a third detonation erupting within her, brought on by the throbbing of his cock inside her, the press of his hands on her hips, the knowledge of love and safety making each breath she took erotic, each thrust pulsing with fervor and the coiling blasting heat of impending release for both of them.
Soul-to-soul, they moved together, loving each other.
She felt Stone come apart beneath her, felt the hot flood of his release inside her. He juddered, pushing into her desperately, eyes open and locked on hers, and she came with him. Time slowed, stopped, froze mid-stream as Wren felt her body shake and tremor and spasm, heat and pressure unfolding inside her and making her brain go blank, ripping tears from her eyes and whimpers from her throat.
Stone seemed possessed, wordless, fraught with emotions of such potency he had no way of expressing them. “Wren. Tell me…again…say it again,” he gasped.
Wren saw him, saw into him, felt the same intensity inside herself, and how impossible it was to express such love, such wild and heart-pounding, stomach-lurching emotion.
She rode him, leaning forward now, collapsed on his chest, her mouth against his throat, sliding down against him, milking him with each pulsation of her hips. “I love you, Stone. I love you, George Alexander Pressfield.”
“The third,” he muttered. “Don’t forget that part.”
“The third,” she agreed, smiling into his mouth as she kissed him.
Stone watched Wren sleep. Black hair wafted across her face, blown by the oscillating fan in the corner of her dorm room. The sheet had slipped down while she slumbered, and was now bunched around her naked hips, leaving her upper torso bare in the near-black of midnight. Moonlight shone through the window, a sliver crescent shedding silver across her tan skin. Her mouth pursed, her eyes scrunched tighter, her fists clenched beside her cheek, and she shook her head, moaning, whimpering, emitting tiny, fearful noises.
“No, no…don’t, please!” The terror in her voice ripped a hole in Stone’s heart. “No more…please no more…”
He reached over and touched her shoulder, skating his fingertips over her warm skin. He nuzzled her cheek with his lips. “Wren. Wake up, baby. It’s a dream. It’s not real.” Wren shook her head violently, then her eyes flickered open, locking on his. At first, all he saw in her eyes was disorientation and fear. He brushed her cheekbone with his thumb, smiling at her. “You’re fine, babe. Just a bad dream.”
She closed her eyes and shuddered. “It wasn’t…wasn’t a dream. It was a memory. I saw…the naked girls, locked in tiny rooms. Never getting out. Never getting away. Never being free. I saw him, saw him in the darkness, coming for me, with the drugs. The needle, it erased me. Made me forget who I was.”
Stone gathered her in his arms. “I know.” His heart broke for the agony in her voice.
“We have to do something. I can’t—I have to help them. I have to do something to stop it. At least try. Raise money, or awareness. Something.” She pressed her face to his bare chest, and he felt the warmth of her skin and the wetness of tears. “Stone, we have to do something.”
“We will. I promise. We’ll do something. We’ll get everyone we know in on it.”
She nodded, and began to drift once more. Stone held her and watched her sleep, his own nightmares keeping him awake, his mind whirling with ideas.
20
~Six months later~
Stone tugged on the cuff of his sleeve and took a deep breath. He’d never been comfortable in the full dress uniform, with all the ribbons and medals and all the other official bullshit. It was hot and stuffy and uncomfortable. He preferred BDUs, or shorts and T-shirt. Anything, really, other than the full dress uniform. He’d even take a suit and tie, which he didn’t own. But here he was, in full dress, hair freshly cut to regulation length, about to step into a ballroom packed with hundreds of people. It was worth it, though.
Wren had campaigned tirelessly over the last six months, organizing a fundraising dinner to benefit the victims of sexual slavery and human trafficking. She’d pulled in organizations from all over the world, non-profits, charities, political groups from both sides of the aisle. Stone had used his few connections into the political world to get more people involved. Senator Johnson had been the first person to donate money, and he’d also used his enormous amount of political clout to bring attention to Wren’s efforts. His daughter Lisa—whom Stone and his men had rescued from Cervantes’ operation—was a keynote speaker, along with Wren and several others. There were senators and congressmen, ambassadors from all over the world, lobbyists, mayors, governors, movie stars, sports stars, and a host of ordinary citizens.
Stone had worked alongside her to get this event off the ground, and to make it as visible as possible, but Wren had been the driving force. She’d continued her classes at the university, but her life had become focused on this event, on raising awareness and gathering funds to benefit those who had survived experiences like hers and Lisa’s.
It was astonishing what she had accomplished, really. Even before the fundraising dinner, she’d raised tens of thousands of dollars. She was planning on using the money this event raised to establish her own non-profit organization, which would work hand in hand with governments all over the world to crack down on human trafficking and sexual slavery, as well as providing aftercare to survivors.
Now, it was all coming to fruition. Wren was in another room, having her hair and makeup attended to by a team of professionals, a service contributed by a high profile film actress. In just a few minutes, she would enter the ballroom and make her presentation, beginning the dinner event and sharing her story.
Stone was nervous for her, although she claimed to be more excited than nervous.
A knock sounded at the door and Stone spun on his heel. Wren stood in the doorway, clothed in a custom-made gown contributed by some designer Stone had never heard of. When the event was over, the gown would be auctioned. She was also wearing earrings which would be auctioned as well.
Stone couldn’t breathe as he stared at her. The gown was sapphirine, made of some kind of silky, slinky material that hugged her every curve. The neckline was high, circling the base of her throat, but the back was open to just above her waist, and the hemline brushed the floor. She held a clutch purse in both hands and her ears sparkled with tear-drop sapphire earrings.
Wren ducked her head. “Say something. Do I look okay?”
Stone took three long steps to cross the room. “I—I’m speechless. You’re so beautiful I don’t even know what to say.”
She grinned, tilting her head up to meet his eyes. “I feel…silly. I don’t know. I’ve never worn anything like this.”
Stone took her hand in his and kissed her knuckles. “I know what you’re saying. I hate wearing this uniform too. But you honestly look stunning. That’s not even a good enough word.” He pulled her flush against him. “You’re beyond beautiful. Just…breathtaking.”