Chapter 9

9

All the air in my lungs was practically punched out of me when Bowie impaled me on his massive cock. To make matters worse, he expects me to go over the backdoor path I found in the software while trapped in sexual purgatory.

His calloused hand caresses my thigh as I shift forward, reaching for the mouse. "Oh-kaay," I choke, my voice breaking as the barbells of his pierced cock massage my inner walls.

My fingers are trembling in the post-orgasm high as I navigate through the files on the computer. "I, uh, found where someone created a malicious point in the software which allowed for the user to have root access to everything, including negating authentication procedures."

I draw in a breath, peering over my shoulder at Bowie, and his lips curl into a smirk as he arches a dark brow. Clearing my throat, intense pleasure courses through me and I can't help but grind my hips needily across his lap.

"So, Allen's first file he sent me was corrupted. However, my roommate was able to restore a previous version that showed a file path in the data."

God, it's surprisingly hard to concentrate when your boss's dick is buried deep inside you.

"I used that to map from my software and - ahh," I gasp as he rolls his hips, thrusting up, edging me further. I wait for more, hoping this is killing him as much as it is me.

But he doesn't.

"And what?" His warm breath skates against the shell of my ear, sending a chill down my spine. I clench around him in response, slapping a palm against the top of his desk at the sensation.

"And...it's Allen! He's diverting funds off of profits to another account," I rush out. "Now will you please just fuck me?"

A low growl reverberates in his chest and my muscles tense, heart seizing in trepidation as I wait with bated breath.

Without warning, his hips punch up and he belts an arm around my belly, squeezing me tightly against him. He starts hammering inside me relentlessly, my mind going blank in delirium with each brutal snap of his hips as I give him full control over my body.

The line between pleasure and pain blurs as the aggression from Allen's betrayal bleeds into his motions, and I don't mind being his relief. I let him use me- in fact, I like it when he uses me. I feel an odd sense of purpose in being this for him; giving him a place to anchor amid a storm.

Trey turned to drinking- or apparently drugs- when he needed an outlet. He never opened up to me, never asked me for anything other than money. There was never passion there, the undeniable need to be so close with someone, to connect in a way that doesn't use words or definitions.

I have no clue what this is, or how to even start to explain what is forming between Bowie and me. And I don't want to.

I know I'm a little fucked in the head, constantly trying to tether myself to anyone willing to spare me the attention. But the way Bowie looks at me, like it physically pains him not to claim my body as his own, sets my dopamine receptors on overload and elicits a visceral reaction that triggers some insane sense of pride.

He lurches forward, bending us over his desk, my face and palms splaying across the surface as his arm cradles my hips from the punishing strokes he delivers. I can feel myself toppling over the edge of another orgasm, going boneless in his grip, and it's like a whole out of body experience as his hot release paints my insides and earth-shattering bliss washes over me.

His chest rises and falls against my back until his heart rate slows, and I instantly feel the loss of our connection when he eases out of me. My legs are numb with a paroxysm of pleasure as I stay folded over the desk, unable to move even if I wanted to. Blood rushes to my ears, and I think I hear him mutter a string of curses in Italian before I feel his fingers brush my cheek.

"Christ, Wren. There's blood." His voice is laced with apprehension.

My vision is blurry with tears I didn't know I'd shed as I blink chaotically, trying to focus on his face and understand. His hazel eyes are brimming with concern as I lean into his touch, relishing in the intimacy of the motion.

"I'm sorry, Bella," he coos, pushing my damp hair from my face. "I didn't- I shouldn't have been so rough."

"It's okay," I breathe out, pushing up from the desk to stand and instantly feeling a jolt of pain between my thighs.

Rolling my skirt up, the bright crimson trickles and mixes with the cum to decorate my flushed skin. Looking up at him, he quickly tucks his blood-stained dick back into his boxer briefs, fastening his pants before stepping into the ensuite bathroom.

I hear the tap running and I mindlessly waddle into the doorway to watch as he runs a washcloth under the water. He wrings it out, guiding me to sit on the closed lid of the toilet. The silence is deafening as he gently wipes away the evidence of his claim from my skin.

Tossing the rag aside, he extends his hand to me and I take it, letting him help me to my feet. I start to fix my appearance, tucking the fabric of my shirt back into the waistband and smoothing out the rumples of my skirt.

Bowie's face is stoic, an impassive mask slipping over his features not giving me any sign of what he's feeling. I don't know what I can ask; what I can say to break this awkward veil that's fallen around us.

"I'm fine. Probably just my period," I offer up, hoping that the growly man isn't scared of a little menstrual blood. He washes and dries his hands, unphased by my comment, rolling the sleeves of his crisp white shirt back down his inked and corded forearms.

He stills as I place a hand on his bicep. "Worst case scenario, I tore a little," I say with a shrug. "It's no big deal."

Heavy footfalls ring out as his response when he turns on heel and goes to take a seat at his desk. And I swear my teeth start to chatter at how quickly he ices me out.

Clearly, I'm not good with being snubbed, the itch of fight or flight bubbling up inside me. Ignoring the pain, I stomp out of the bathroom, resting my hands on my hips as I stand in front of his desk. "Seriously? You're just not going to talk to me?"

He doesn't even move an eyebrow. The man just sits there, clicking away on his computer, like he didn't just fuck me bloody over the very desk he's sitting at.

Maybe it's the dopamine flooding my central nervous system or the fear of being rejected, or hell, maybe that pesky overly emotional, impetuous thing- whatever it is, I don't really care. I lean across the desk, closing the lid of his laptop, hand holding it shut using every last drop of my bravado.

My heart creeps into my throat as his eyes ping up, pinning me with a pensive stare.

"Is all the proof of Allen's guilt on this drive?" he asks as he steeples his hands, voice even and full of decorum, like I'm just another employee.

The fiery spirit inside me goes tepid, my mouth hanging open in bewilderment.

"Y-Yes," I manage.

"Thank you. I'll let you know if I have any further questions," he states tersely, opening his laptop and resuming his work. "That'll be all, Miss James."

His words sucker punch me in the gut, leaving me gasping and trembling as I recoil back. I bite my bottom lip, tears pricking at my eyes as I do a shitty job of hiding my feelings.

Rolling my shoulders back, I gather what little is left of my pride and head for the door. When I reach for the handle, I notice the lights of the reception area are on now; Cami must be in. I pause, blinking away the tears, fingers swiping away the remnants of my pain as I steel my expression.

"Wren," he calls out, and a tiny bit of hope flutters to life inside me.

I hum in response, slowly swiveling on my heel to face him, and with three simple words, my stomach plummets.

"Remember the NDA."

Heat floods my face as my fingers scrabble for the door handle, twisting and pulling before I've even turned around. I rush out into the lobby, needing to be alone in my office like yesterday.

"Whoa!" I hear a second too late as I collide into someone like the slow motion car wreck that is my life. I'm so lost in my frenetic stupor I start apologizing before I even look to see who I ran into.

"Are you okay?" Allen asks, hand sliding effortlessly to my hip.

"Yeah, yeah," I mumble, jerking back from his touch like a skittish cat.

"Bad meeting with the boss?" He hooks his thumb towards Bowie's door.

"Something like that," I mutter, sidestepping toward my doorway.

He forces a chuckle. "Nothing quite like getting bent over and reamed to start your day, am I right?"

You have no idea, pal…

The flight response fully swallows me as I duck into my office and plop into my chair. I fire off an email to Bowie asking to work remotely for the day under the guise of not feeling well. His response is fast and short, allowing me to 'take the time I need to feel better'.

Jamming my laptop in my bag, I grab my purse and toss the undrank latte into the trash with my vomit. What a fitting representation of my morning.

The entire drive home, I wrack my brain, trying to figure out what caused that personality snap in Bowie. Nothing makes sense. I knew it was a taboo thing we had going, but he initiated it every time.

Is this just something he does? Fucks his way through his employees, then just drops them like yesterday's news?

Did Cami know? Has he fucked Cami?

God, for all the gossiping she does, I feel like she would have mentioned it at some point. What if he's just out here using work NDA's as an idle threat to keep the women he's sleeping with quiet?

No. I shake that thought away, because somehow I just know that's not his MO. I mean, he's definitely not a predator. A royal prick? Sure, but he's not that level of creep.

I swing my car along the curb, shifting into park and killing the engine outside of Drea's condo. Unbuckling my seatbelt, I let loose a scream, banging my fists against the leather of the steering wheel. Is it necessary? No. Does it make me feel better? A little.

Grabbing my keys from my purse, I shift it and the tote onto my shoulder and make a beeline for the empty house. Drea will be helping her parents at the restaurant until after the lunch rush, so I know I'll have the place to myself.

The quiet of the house practically screams at me as I try to decide what I need to do right now to feel less used.

Food? Sleep? Bubble bath? Trash TV?

None of the above sounds particularly appealing. I'd rather be curled up in Bowie's strong arms in our normal post-sex cuddle as he strokes my back and calls me his good girl.

Normal, ha.

There's nothing normal about any of this.

Fuck.

I scream again, because apparently, that's my thing now.

"Wren?"

Drea's soft voice pulls at the thread, unraveling the curtain of my dreamless sleep as consciousness seeps back in.

I blink my eyes open to see her leaning over my bed, the slightest bit of concern etched into her forehead.

"Hey," I say with a yawn, stretching my arms above my head. "How was work?" I roll over, searching for my phone as I feel the bed dip behind me.

"Fine, but it's almost three, why are you home?"

"Glad to see you too," I quip.

"Oh, shut up." She shoves my shoulder playfully. "You know what I mean."

I rub the sleep from my eyes, feeling mildly better after the bubble bath and nap. Pressing myself upright, I swing my legs over the side of the bed to sit up beside her.

"Bowie and I fucked, it got messy, and I came home," I say nonchalantly, picking at the loose thread on the hem of my faded purple tee as I stand.

"Messy how?" she questions, pushing to her feet and following me as I pad toward the kitchen.

"Well I bled on him, he freaked out and told me to leave, so I did." I shrug, grabbing a glass from the cabinet and turning on the tap.

"Wait." She folds her arms at her chest. "He fired you after fucking you?"

"No," I sigh, taking a drink of water. "We had sex, like mind-blowing sex. Like, the best we'd had so far."

She raises an eyebrow. "And?"

"And, then there was some blood after and he shut down. Like full on, 'that'll be all Miss James'," I say, mimicking his icy tone. Folding one foot beneath me and pulling the other knee to my chest, I curl into the corner of the couch as Drea crosses her legs and sits beside me.

"It was just so weird. I could feel his emotions bleeding into me while we were going at it, like he needed me and it was fine." My fingers tap against the glass in my hand. "I didn't stop him when I felt the pain, it made the release so much better, ya know?"

Her lips tip into a smirk and she nods at me in agreement.

"I knew he needed that after the whole Allen thing, and then it was just done. No response, no reason, just radio silence."

I can feel tears starting to brim in my eyes as I take another sip of water. I lean over to place the glass on the table, the movement inviting the pulse of pain to reawaken between my thighs. I swipe away the moisture, inhaling and releasing my breath slowly. "But it's fine," I insist, my lips tilting into a small smile as I meet Drea's gaze.

"Wren," she replies, her tone clipped. "It's okay not to be okay." She shifts, slinging an arm around me, and it's the soft touch that cracks my facade. "You feel things deeply. And that's okay," she says, her voice gentle. "You have all this love to give and you just go around giving it freely and I love that about you, girl."

My shoulders sag as I feel the tears welling up. "But," I sniffle. "I feel a but coming."

"But," she grins. "You have to stop giving people all the things that you want them to give you."

Her words go down dryly, settling in the pit of my stomach like a brick, fully dismantling the wall I'd built.

I cry, and I don't even really know why, but the release is a welcome one. I don't like being psycho-analyzed, but Drea's right. Just because I let him hold me when he needed someone, didn't mean those same arms would still be open when I did.