City of wind and lies, p.28
City of Wind and Lies, page 28
The procedure went quicker than they expected. There wasn't any muscle or nerve damage, which was good in itself, but it also meant she wasn't under anesthesia as long. The weight of everything that happened set heavy on my chest, and when the obstetrician gave us the all-clear, the last brick was lifted away.
I'm painfully aware that I could've lost them both that night. My lifestyle isn't one that's earned me a bank of good karma or cosmic favors. I didn't make an empty promise in a desperate prayer to change my ways, but still, somehow the universe gave me mercy I didn't deserve.
"How was your first session?" I ask, lacing my fingers with hers as we step onto the elevator.
"Good," she breathes. "Way different than the online chats. Saying it out loud was a lot harder than I thought, but I feel this weird sense of relief just putting it all out there."
Giving her hand a squeeze, I tilt my head towards her. "I'm proud of you, and you know I'm here for you. I don't want you to feel like you can't talk to me about something."
"I know," her voice wobbles with her response. "Doctor Parsons said that at some point it'll be good to include you in the session too. We both got hurt that night. Trauma isn't just superficial, just because your pain isn't visible doesn't make it less real."
"Very true," I manage, my heart constricting at her words as I drop a kiss to the top of her head.
Wren's been so strong since Belluci kidnapped and tried to rape her. She didn't want to talk about it at first, and I respected her, never pushing her, just laying there beside her in the hospital and silently supporting her. The first night we came home, she initiated sex immediately, and when I hesitated, she broke down in tears. She honestly thought that I didn't want her anymore because some piece of trash forced himself on her.
That was the farthest thing from the truth. There isn't a thing in the world that could change how much I love her. We stayed up that night. She told me what she could, but mostly I just held her while she cried. When the tears finally stopped and she asked me again, I didn't hesitate. Even though I know Wren loves the rough and wild sex we have, that night, I made love to her. I took out my piercings, moving with languid, sensual strokes as I held her in my arms, telling her everything I love about her as I begged her soul to let me bear her pain.
She seemed better after that, her feisty personality that never fails to put me in my place rearing its head the next day. Things seemed fine for a while, but then a couple of weeks ago, the nightmares started. She'd wake up in the middle of the night crying, camisole soaked in sweat. I'd like to take credit for being the one who got her to go to therapy, but that was all Drea. Dallas didn't take kindly to me beating down his door at two a.m., but Drea was upstairs in ten seconds flat. Wren wasn't sure at first, but after a few online sessions, she was ready for the next step.
The elevator dings, pulling me back from my thoughts as we reach the parking garage. The doors slide open and my hand moves to the small of her back as we make our way to the car. The BMW chirps as I unlock it, stepping around to open the passenger door for her. My hand trails across the swell of her stomach, lingering on her bump before clicking her seatbelt into place.
Cazzo. I adjust my thickening dick as I slide into the driver seat and put the car in drive. The thought of her carrying my kid still elicits something primal in me. And even though my pride and happiness grow each day along with her belly, I can't fucking wait for her to have this kid so I can knock her up again.
"Where are we going?" Wren asks as I turn in the opposite direction of the Monarch building.
"It's a surprise," I say with a chuckle.
"Surprise for what?"
"Your birthday."
Her brows furrow together. "But that's not til Saturday?"
"So?" I shrug a shoulder.
"Bow-ie," she chides. "We're already going to the Bahamas, the trip is more than enough. I don't need anything else."
I plant my palm on her thigh, giving it a squeeze. "Just let me spoil my girl, okay?"
She twists in her seat, wrapping her hands around my arm and resting her head on my bicep. "How about you just tell me and I'll act surprised when we get there?"
"You're ridiculous."
"But you love me," she muses.
"I sure fucking do."
"Please," she lifts her head and juts out her bottom lip.
"Mhmm, you know I love it when you beg... but no."
"Fine," she sighs in defeat, leaning back in her seat and folding her arms across her chest.
We shift into an easy conversation, talking about what all we need to do before we leave for the Bahamas on Friday after Thanksgiving. Getting away from the city and who we are here will do us both some good.
Punching in a code at the new gate, I drive up the paved road to the hangar and continue past the building to a newly constructed area in the back corner. Wren's nose scrunches up as she looks at me in question, but I don’t say anything as I shift the car into park.
My lips tug up in a smile as I get out of the car and go to open her door. She takes my outstretched hand, and I lead her toward the gate door. "Close your eyes," I instruct over my shoulder.
She blows out a breath and her long lashes flutter against her cheek as she obeys.
Pulling open the cedar door, I guide her onto the concrete footpath that winds toward a small structure.
"No peeking," I admonish as I see a sliver of baby blue peering around.
She lets out a giggle as she clamps her eyes closed again.
I move her in front of me, settling her hands on the metal case that's laid out on the wooden bench under the overhang. Leaning forward, I whisper into her ear that she can look now.
"What's this?" she mutters as she undoes the latches and flips open the lid. Then she gasps, spinning around and throwing her arms around my neck, crashing her lips onto mine.
"Thank you!" she squeals, turning back to trace her fingers over the custom rose gold Sig P365.
"A promise is a promise, Passerotta."
The Sig is damn near tiny in my hands as I pull it from the case. I wanted Wren to have something small that fit her hands well and she could carry with ease. Starting with safety, I go over the gun and how to properly hold and fire it. I place it in her right hand, adjusting her fingers before having her interlock her left hand for support.
"Keep your wrists and arms straight, but don't lock out your elbows… good. Keep your finger off the trigger until you’re ready to fire."
I kick my foot between hers, widening her stance and settling my hands on her hips. "Don't let the shot surprise you. Pull the trigger smoothly when you're ready."
Wren tilts her head, aiming the gun down the range at the paper targets Rocco set up, and fires. She wince's slightly at the crackle of the gunshot echoing around us.
Her shot goes high, clipping the edge of the paper nowhere near the bullseye, but hey, at least she hit the paper. I slip my hands over hers, adjusting her grip and steadying her hands so they’re pointing the gun at the center of the target.
"Try again," I encourage.
She fires again, this time hitting the thick outline of the first circle. "That's it, Passerotta," I praise. "Keep going."
With each shot, Wren's aim improves, even hitting the bullseye once. Fuck, if the sight of her emptying the clip isn't a goddamn turn on. After the final shot, she clicks the safety into place, lowering the gun into its case and leaning back against me.
"Holy shit," she exclaims. "What an adrenaline rush!"
"You did so good," I rasp, snaking my arms around her form.
"Oh yeah?" She wiggles her hips not so subtly against my growing bulge. "Is there a reward?"
Dragging my tongue along her collarbone, I nip at her earlobe and glide my hands under her crop top to undo the front clasp of her bra. Her tits spill into my palms, heavy and warm, nipples pebbling up at my touch. She starts to pant as I roll and tug on the hard buds, moving one hand behind her to dip in the front of my jeans.
The pregnancy has made Wren's breasts overly sensitive and lately, nipple play alone can have her soaking through her panties.
I shudder a breath as her lithe fingers curl around my shaft, stroking it within the confines of my boxer-briefs.
"You like this Passerotta?"
"Mhmm," she hums in response, arching her back and kissing my jaw.
My lips find hers and she moans against my mouth as I pinch her nipples harder.
"Fuck, Bowie… fuck me already!"
"Not before I taste you," I say huskily, hooking my thumbs in her waistband and yanking her leggings and panties down her thighs.
"Bowie! Someone could see!" she gasps.
"Everyone knows better than to look at what's mine," I growl.
A flush creeps across her skin as I spin her around, lifting her to sit on the edge of the bench with her glistening cunt on full display. I knew she'd be drenched. I sink between her legs, hooking her thighs over my shoulders and licking a path from ass to clit.
Wren is the only woman on the planet that has ever brought me to my knees, and I will damn well stay on them if it brings her pleasure.
"Yes!" she shouts, threading a hand into my hair.
Sucking her swollen clit into my mouth, I gently rake my teeth across it before I plunge my tongue into her slick center. Banding an arm around her, I pull her closer, going deeper with my tongue and earning another moan as her thighs clamp shut on my ears. Her hips start to buck as she rides my face, digging her nails into my scalp, smothering me against her slit.
There's worse ways to die. At least I'd go out with my favorite meal on my tongue.
Her thighs start to shake, telling me she's close. I flick my tongue faster, nipping and sucking until she cries out, collapsing back on her elbows as her sweet juices flood my mouth.
I swipe a hand down my face as I straighten and stand, looking down at my entire world laid out before me. Then I pop the button on my jeans, shoving them and my boxer-briefs down my hips to free my aching cock as I step closer. Wren gazes up at me with hooded eyes, rolling her bottom lip between her teeth as I fist my length.
"You still want me to fuck you?"
A sheen of sweat coats her skin as she nods up at me demurely.
In one brutal thrust, I bury myself to the hilt and start to move between her thighs. Her pussy grips me tightly as I draw back slowly and punch inside. She raises her hips, meeting me thrust for thrust like her body’s as desperate for this connection as mine is.
"Such a good girl, Passerotta," I groan as my balls draw up. "Such a good fucking girl."
"Harder!" she moans as her inner walls start to spasm.
Leaning forward, I scoop her up, holding her against me as I rut into her quivering cunt at a relentless pace. My leg shakes as I find my release and Wren convulses beneath me, falling over the edge of another orgasm.
When our frantic heartbeats start to slow, I ease out of her and tuck my softening cock away. I help her down and she wobbles on her feet as she pulls up her leggings.
Heaving a sigh, she runs her hand through her hair as she pins me with a hard look. "We're going home to shower before we go to Zia Lisa’s.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” I chuckle, grabbing the gun case from the table and draping an arm across her shoulders.
“You sit through a family dinner with cum running down your leg, and tell me how much fun it is,” she deadpans, looping her arm around my waist as we head toward the car.
As much as the thought of my cum seeping out of her has me salivating, if a shower will make her happy, I’ll gladly oblige- maybe even getting in another round.
“Don’t even think about it, Bowie Lorenzo,” she scolds. “We’re gonna be pressed to get to Riverwoods by seven as it is.”
Nobody seems to care when we stroll in at 7:23, and by the sated look on Wren’s face, she’s perfectly happy that we’re late.
EPILOGUE
FOUR MONTHS LATER
The heat of Bowie's body bleeds into my back, his intoxicating scent filling my nostrils with each breath. A corded forearm lays heavily across my hips, and being caged behind his tattooed arms is my perfect prison. But if I ignore my screaming bladder any longer, I will wet the bed.
Heaving a sigh, I throw back the covers, squirming out of Bowie's grip and swinging my legs over to sit on the edge of the bed. I pad quietly out of the bedroom and to the bathroom in the hall so as to not wake Bowie. He's not a light sleeper by any means, but somehow the sounds of the flush or the faucet always earn me a groggy growl, demanding I come back to bed.
He's only been home a couple of hours, and asleep for less than that. A few associates from the outfit in Vegas are in Chicago for business, so Bowie invited them for a private poker game. If you put a bunch of alpha males around a table with money and liquor, it's sure to turn into a pissing contest. I could tell by his texts as the night went on that they were knocking back bottles and it'd be a late night. I didn't mind, though. Sal and Corinne came over for dinner with Isa, and the time passed quickly.
All the animosity I thought Sal held for me was really just curiosity and a guilty conscience. After the explosion took out the Northeast corner of their house, Sal and Corrine stayed in one of the apartments on the floor below us while it was repaired. Turns out my running actually saved their lives. They were just getting in the car to come look for me when the truck crashed into the house and partially detonated. The garage happened to be the safe room, with reinforced walls and bulletproof doors, so they made it out unscathed. Having them around has been great, and Sal's been able to tell me a lot about my family.
While my dad - still so fucking weird to say- may have betrayed the outfit in the end, he'd been an admirable leader until then. My mom wasn't from this life, and Sal thinks she was overly paranoid and it started to affect Frankie's judgment. No one really knew her and she didn't leave the house, which is probably why my existence remained unknown until the night they died.
I should've resented Bowie or Sal for taking away my family, but the anger never came. If anything, I felt relieved. My biggest fear was always that they gave me up on purpose because I wasn't good enough; I wasn't loveable enough or worth keeping. Knowing for sure that wasn't the case shone a light into my soul, casting out some of the shadows.
Turns out, all that unconditional and obsessive love Bowie has for me, more than fills the void.
I wish everything about that night was as easy to move on from. Belluci didn't just take me hostage that night, he took a part of my life with him to the grave. I may not have been in love with Trey anymore, but he didn't deserve to die. If it wasn't for him, who knows how long it would’ve been before Bowie found me? Even just a second later, and things could have been so much worse. I still shudder at the memory of how it felt to have Belluci’s disgusting dick pushing inside me, but thankfully he never got further than that. I used that as an excuse for myself, trying to shrink my experience and shrug it off. But in reality, I was still violated.
Doctor Parsons helped me see that, and I'm so glad Drea convinced me to talk to someone about it all- zero shame in my therapy game. Learning to shoot has helped too, and totally bragging here, but I'm getting pretty damn good at it. I low-key feel like a badass toting my Sig around.
Diamonds are cool and all, but get you a man who builds you a shooting range and makes you feel powerful again.
Instead of heading back to bed after tending to my business, I go straight to the kitchen. Late-night snacks have become a regular occurrence lately, and manzanilla olives are my current obsession. It's bad. The other night we ran out, and I was so hyper-fixated on them that I couldn't get back to sleep. Bowie ended up driving me to the convenience store up the road just to get my fix, and the next day, six jars appeared in the fridge.
I put a few olives in a bowl, fill a glass with ice and water from the fridge, and take a seat at the table. An edacious moan leaves my lips as I pop one in my mouth. So good.
"If my fingers and dick are dry, what's making you moan like that?" Bowie husks.
A hand flies to my chest as I jump. Turning in my chair, I start to scold him. "Don't sneak up on me or…" but the fight is sucked right out of me when I see him. A pair of gray sweats hang low on his hips and his arms are stretched over his head, gripping the doorframe and perfectly displaying the rippling muscles across his naked torso.
"Or what?" he challenges, folding his arms across his chest as he saunters closer.
I shift in my seat, rubbing my thighs together in a feeble attempt to dull the ache. Any witty retort I had dies on my lips as my eyes zero in on the outline of his hard cock behind the thin, gray material.
Even at thirty-three weeks along, my sexual appetite is as insatiable as ever when it comes to Bowie.
My throat bobs with a swallow as he closes the distance between us. His fingers curl beneath my chin, tilting my face up to meet his hungry gaze. "I think I need to remind you that I'm the only one that should make you sound like that."
His mouth crashes down on mine, teeth sinking into the cushion of my bottom lip as I moan against his own. Grabbing the waistband of his sweats, I pull him closer to me. My pussy is throbbing with the need for him to be inside me already. A deep laugh rumbles in his throat as he leans back and murmurs, "Mhm, not so fast, Passerotta. I'm gonna need to hear your body beg for it."
Bowie lifts me up, setting me on the table and dragging my panties down my hips. He brings them to his nose, inhaling deeply and humming before tossing them aside.
"Now, be a good girl and take your shirt off for me," he rasps.
I tug the black t-shirt of his I've claimed as my own off overhead and drop it to the floor. His hazel eyes shimmer with lust, tongue tracing his upper lip as he stares at me bared before him.
