Chapter 17

17

Hearing light taps against the glass, I swivel around in the large office chair to look out the windows. It's just starting to rain. I watch as the first few drops fall, denting the glassy surface of Lake Michigan and sending ripples across the water. Turning back toward the desk, I curl my fingers around the warm ceramic mug resting upon the surface and lift it to my lips, blowing on the hot tea before taking a sip. The strong smell of peppermint seems to be working well to quell my morning sickness these last few days.

The rain grows heavier, pelting against the floor-to-ceiling windows of Bowie's home office like nature's own metronome as I swivel back to face them. The steady beat traps my attention, and the way the rain slices through the air at an angle mesmerizes me. I've always loved rainstorms- the way the sky darkens, the clouds open up, and the wind whips things around. It's therapeutic in a sense, like a gentle reminder that there's beauty in chaos.

The ping of my phone breaks the trance I'm in and I turn back around to the glass desk, placing my mug down and reading the message on the screen.

Bowie

I'll be home around two. Dr. Marino will be by around three. Is there anything I can bring you?

I think it over for a minute, picking up the brand-new phone Bowie gave me last week and drumming my fingers against the back of it. The phone is a safety precaution, supposedly untraceable, and it has a new number that isn't on my employee file at work. I still hadn't updated my address after Trey showed up- how else would Allen know where to look for me? The fact that he's still out there somewhere doesn't sit well with me, but Bowie assures me he's handling it, and I trust that he will. I hope Allen finds his way to Cook County and drops the soap.

My eyes dart over to the plate of half-eaten peanut butter toast sitting on the desk. Usually when he asks if I need anything, I'm begging him to stop off for a sugary pastry of some sort, but today I don't have much of an appetite. I type out my response and set the phone down, shifting my attention back to the online training course for work on my screen.

It's been a little over a week since Allen attacked me, and I've been working from home- er, Bowie's- since. With as busted up as my face looked, we both agreed that it was better this way. If I'd shown up at the office all black and blue, I'd have been met with a barrage of questions, and the last thing I want is to keep telling that story. So as far as my department and Cami know, I'm in Cleveland for two weeks for management training.

Bowie said his men- still not clear what that means- were looking for Allen, and once they found him, he'd feel safer letting me come and go as I please. For now, I'll have to stay here… which isn't exactly a punishment.

Is it a tad annoying to be confined to this house? Yes.

Does it make it better that it's my boyfriend's fancy penthouse? Also yes.

I kinda like the possessive and protective thing. Not to open that little box of feelings again, but goddamn this is what I've always wanted. To be wanted by someone else, to be viewed as something worth losing, someone cared for. It's not like I'm actually being held here against my will. We talked it out until it all made sense and brought Bowie some peace of mind. It's his baby I'm carrying, after all, and the appointment this afternoon will prove it.

Some women might be offended by the paternity test thing, but for fucks sake, we were strangers the first time we hooked up, and with the kind of money that Bowie has, he's got a right to want to know for sure. I have no doubt it's his, and he hasn't treated me like it isn't. In fact, he's treating me like a queen.

Shifting in my seat, I rub my thighs together to try to dull the ache that's started to throb between them. It seems to start up every time I think about Bowie. He doesn't just treat me well, he takes care of my needs, physically and sexually. I was a little shocked to wake up to his dick in my mouth, but fuck, I was even more shocked to realize what a turn-on it was for me. The man wanted me so badly that he couldn't even wait until I was awake.

I breeze through the next section of the online course on navigating difficult decisions and difficult people. My life has been filled with difficult people and having to use my best judgment to make decisions. Okay, so I may not be the best at making good decisions in my personal life, but professionally, I'm a pro. The people are the hard part. I'm not unfriendly, but that flare of temper won't do well to win over my direct reports. Glancing at the clock in the corner of the screen, I see it's almost noon. I'm still not hungry, but my eyes could use a break.

I push back from the desk, grabbing my mug and the plate of toast, and pad off down the hall to the kitchen. Setting the cup on the counter, I step on the trash can pedal to pop the lid open and tilt the plate to dispose of the toast. Just as I'm adding the plate to the dishwasher, my bladder screams in need, and I start to jog towards the hall bathroom to pee for what feels like the hundredth time today.

Maybe I should just bring my laptop in here, save me some time.

While I'm washing my hands, I catch sight of my face. The swelling has completely gone, and while there's still a little bloody spot in the corner of my left eye, the bruises themselves are mostly faded. A faint smear of a pale yellow and brown remains under my eyes, but it can easily be masked with concealer. Even though it was my face that was hurt, I didn't miss how pain flashed in Bowie's eyes every time he looked at me after the attack. He hasn't said it, but I know he blames himself. Though really, who would have suspected Allen of being anything more than a first-rate creep?

I finish washing and drying my hands and head back into the kitchen, debating on whether I want another cup of tea or just a glass of water. Deciding I want something warm, I fill the stainless steel kettle with water and place it on the front burner, turning the heat to high.

Leaning back against the counter, I look down at my flat stomach. "I'm doing this for you, y'know. I don't even like tea that much."

Being pregnant is a cool idea. Growing a whole fucking human inside of you? That's wild. But I wasn't emotionally ready to give up coffee cold turkey. The doctors said I could have small amounts of caffeine, but only having a small cup instead of my normal few would be like edging, and no one enjoys that. I start to hear the water bubbling, so I twist around, lift the lid of the glass jar, and pluck a tea bag out.

The peppermint tea was actually Rocco's idea. I guess when his mom is sick, she swears by it. I was so tired of retching or puking at the most random things that I was willing to try anything, and once Bowie saw it helped, the man went out and bought a dozen boxes. It's the little things like that, or the way he insists on washing my hair every time we shower together, that make my heart stutter in my chest.

I unwind the tea bag, stringing the tab over the rim of the mug just as the kettle starts to whistle. Killing the heat, I lift it from the stove and carefully pour the water in until the cup's filled and place the kettle on the back burner. I really should thank Rocco the next time he's around. He lives on this level too with his wife, but I've yet to meet her. I'd like to meet more of Bowie's family, actually.

Does that make me sound like a crazy-obsessed girlfriend?

I just see the way Rocco and Bowie interact and I want to know so much more about my baby daddy. Their relationship reminds me a lot of me and Drea, except they're actually related.

I get a little pang of sadness as I curl up on the chaise end of the couch nearest the windows. Seeing families interact always lifts the edges of the perpetual scab on my heart.

Cupping the mug, I stare out the windows, the rain coming down in sheets as I get lost in my thoughts. I let myself think about what it'd be like to tell my mom that I'm pregnant. Would she be happy at the news, or disappointed that I wasn't married first? I watch my reflection in the wall of glass, slowly sipping the tea, and it unlocks a core memory.

When I was eleven or twelve, I played this stupid little game where I'd sit in front of a mirror and tell myself the exciting things that happened at school or the things that made me sad, and then I'd pretend to be my parents. I pictured them as two loving and important business people who traveled for work all the time and this was our routine video chats. I'd tell myself how proud I was of me or that the kid who tripped me in the hall was just seeking attention- all regurgitated statements from the evening sitcoms the Bradley family I was living with was into. I did that almost nightly until one of their real kids, Joey, barged into my room and started making fun of me. I punched him in the face and he went crying to his parents. I was back at the group home the next day.

After I lean forward and set the empty mug on the coffee table, I snuggle into the corner of the couch, watching the rivulets of water trail down the window and rest a hand on my stomach. "I promise to never leave you wondering where you came from."

The heady scent of woodsy spice floods my nostrils on an inhale before Bowie's voice registers in my ears. I swear my sense of smell is fucking supercharged lately.

"Wren," he murmurs in a low, gravelly tone as he shakes my shoulder.

"Hmm?" I grunt, reaching my arms out above my head and blinking my eyes open. "Oh shit, what time is it?

Bowie's hazel eyes flicker with a warmth that seems to be reserved for me as his knuckles graze my cheek. "Just after two-"

"Fuck," I groan, swinging my legs over the edge of the couch and pushing to my feet. "I didn't mean to fall asleep. I wanted to get through the next training section before you got home. Now I won't have enough time to complete it and take a shower before the doctor gets here." I huff out a sigh. "Actually," I say, pacing the floor and talking with my hands. "Maybe if I read the material instead of watching the videos I can get to the-"

Bowie's hand darts out to catch my wrist and he yanks me into his chest, his lips slamming down on mine and abruptly ending my spiral. My own lips part with a gasp and his tongue tangles with mine for a moment before it retreats and he breaks the kiss.

"I can talk to your boss," he whispers in my ear, his warm breath sending chills down my spine. "He seems like a reasonable man. I'm sure he'll let you make up for it tomorrow."

I roll my bottom lip between my teeth. "Oh yeah? I don't know… he's kinda a hard ass, I'll probably get in trouble."

"Hmm," he muses, leaning back to face me. "Would you prefer it if he punished you?"

Heat pools between my thighs at his insinuation and I nod up at him demurely.

"Well then, Miss James," he says, his voice turning serious, face schooled. "It's come to my attention that you didn't make it through your assigned coursework today. Is that true?"

"Yes," I say, stepping back and dropping my head, playing my part to a tee.

His fingers grip my chin, tilting it up to meet his gaze. "Yes, what?"

My heart pounds with excitement. "Yes, Mr. Sorrentino," I breathe.

Bowie folds his arms across his chest. "I really don't like giving extensions…"

"Please sir," I beg, clasping my hands together in front of me. "I promise to make it up to you."

"I guess I could let it slide, but I'm still going to have to punish you."

My stomach knots in nervous anticipation as he guides me toward the sofa, instructing me to kneel facing the back of it and grip the edge. I do as he says, my heart slamming against my ribcage, palms starting to sweat as I curl my fingers around the back of the suede sofa.

He rests his hands on my hips, the heat of his palms singeing through the material of my leggings as he leans forward and murmurs, "Good Girl," in my ear.

Fuck, I love it when he says that. The praise sends a ripple of adrenaline through me and the ache between my thighs grows more intense by the second. It's almost twisted how powerful I feel when I surrender control to Bowie. No matter how rough he gets, he always makes it good for me.

I trust him.

Huh, maybe that's why it's so easy to explore my sexual boundaries with him.

Hooking his thumbs in the waistband of my leggings, he slowly drags them down, stopping when he gets to the crease below my cheeks. I shiver as the cool air passes over my exposed skin.

"Cazzo," he growls. "This ass is gorgeous."

I hinge at the hips, sticking it back further, begging him to touch me. He doesn't say anything, and my stomach flutters as I sink my teeth into my lower lip and brace myself. The seconds creep by feeling like hours, the tension growing stronger as I wait.

"Mr. Sorren-"

THWACK! His palm lands on my right ass cheek, stinging the flesh.

"AH!" I cry out, flinching forward.

He rubs his hand over the offended skin as he scolds, "Don't try to hide from me. You're going to get four more, a total of five. One for each video lesson you missed today. I'm going to count them and I want you to thank me for each one, understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Two." His voice rumbles as he makes contact.

I gasp, "Thank you, sir."

The sound of skin slapping reverberates around us and by the time we get to number five, I'm panting, squirming in place and dripping with desire, desperate to have him inside of me. His hands instantly caress my cheeks to try and soothe the burn. A sheen of sweat covers my skin as he hovers closer, praising me and placing a kiss on my shoulder blade.

"Bowie?" I ask breathlessly.

"Yes?" he replies, his voice softening.

"Please," I whimper, reaching my hand behind me. My palm grazes the hard ridges outlining his dick through his slacks as my fingers tug at his belt buckle.

Bowie chuckles lowly, undoing his belt and lowering his zipper before the sofa dips, his knees denting the cushion beside mine as he lines his head at my entrance. A satisfied moan falls from his lips as he snaps his hips forward, burying himself deep inside me. He bands an arm around my waist, blanketing my body with his as he pumps in and out of my soaked center. My leggings bind my thighs closer together, making him feel even larger with each shallow thrust. My eyes roll back into my head and I lose myself to the pleasure, melting in his embrace as he chases his own release.

Flipping my head upside down, I gather the wet tendrils of my hair together in one hand and tie the scrunchie around it with the other. With the impromptu role-play session, I barely had time for a shower, let alone to blow dry my hair, too. I adjust the messy bun on top of my head, turning to examine the extent of my "punishment" in the bathroom mirror. A hand-shaped pink welt adorns my right ass cheek, a blush creeping across my face and my heart fluttering at the sight.

It hurt a lot more than I expected. After the third strike, I was biting back tears and ready to ask him to stop. We've never explicitly discussed boundaries- something we probably should do- but I know Bowie would have stopped the moment I asked. He's spanked me before, but not quite like this, and after trying it, I'm wondering what else I can do to earn a punishment.

Wrapping the towel around my body, I step into the bedroom and head into the master closet. There was a whole dresser in there that wasn't being used, and it was more than enough space for my suitcase of clothes. I grab a new black thong and sports bra, because who wears a real bra unless they have to? Pulling those on, I sift through the drawers for my Northwestern shirt and fresh leggings. The material is soft, but I still hiss through my teeth as it grazes Bowie's brand on my ass.

I can hear voices coming from the living room when I twist the door handle open and start down the hall. Bowie is sitting and chatting to a man with slicked back salt and pepper hair on the sofa when I turn the corner.

The sofa he just spanked and fucked me on.

My face heats in embarrassment at the thought. Thank god we didn't make a mess.

"Ah, there she is now," Bowie drawls as he pushes to his feet and extends his arm out toward me as I draw closer. Draping an arm around my shoulders, he tucks me into his side. "Doctor Marino, this is my girlfriend, Wren."

My stomach swoops hearing him use that term. He asked me about it last week when we were watching some indie rom-com after dinner, and it was kinda cute to see his stoic face a little flustered as he stumbled over his words in a nervous way I'd never seen before. As if I'd actually have said no.

"Wren, Doctor Marino is an old family friend. He and my father have been friends for decades."

On cue, he sticks his hand out. "Nice to meet you, Wren."

Offering him a smile, I return the gesture, and I can't help but notice how much he looks like Joe Pesci in Home Alone. I stifle a giggle at the thought of this pinned-up doctor breaking into a sneaky kid's booby-trapped house.

"Bowie sent over all the forms you filled out earlier, so unless you have any questions for me, we can get started," he says as he places a cliché black leather medical bag on the coffee table.

"I don't have any," I reply, taking a step forward. "So where do you want me?".

He points to one of the charcoal gray wingback chairs opposite the sofa as he snaps on a pair of latex gloves.

Taking a seat, I watch as he opens various medical supplies and lays them out on light blue cloth beside his bag. He drapes another cloth over the arm of the chair before he grabs my wrist, turning and inspecting it. Once he seems satisfied, he ties rubber tubing around my bicep and swipes a cool sterilizing wipe across the crook of my elbow.

As soon as he grabs the needle, I turn my head. I just can't with needles. I was fine when I got the simple heart tattoo on the outside of my wrist or the matching sun and moon on my ankle with Drea, because after I dealt with those needles, I was left with something that made it worth it. But he's taking my blood, and I don't care how much that doesn't make sense to you, it does to me.

"All done," he says, placing a cotton ball and bandaid on the spot as he folds my wrist to my shoulder. He turns toward Bowie. "I'll have the results to you in a couple of days, was-"

Bowie's phone rings and he holds up a finger as he excuses himself and walks towards the kitchen muttering in Italian.

Doctor Marino makes small talk with me about the pregnancy while he seals the tubes of blood in little biohazard baggies and deposits them in a specially marked container.

"Wren, did you want me to do a physical exam today, or-"

"Absolutely the fuck not," Bowie interjects, returning from the kitchen and sliding his phone back into his pocket. "Family friend or not, I will be the only man to look between her legs."

The doctor pales as he swallows harshly and nods, muttering, "Of course sir, I understand."

I sit there in awkward silence as he quickly packs up the rest of his stuff while Bowie's intense gaze practically bores holes into his head. Then he hurries toward the door, repeating his timeline for the results as he steps into the hall.

"You didn't have to scare the poor man," I scold as I pass Bowie on my way to the kitchen for a glass of water. "What are you going to do about the doctors at the hospital when I give birth?"

Pressing up on my tiptoes, I reach for a glass from the upper cabinet. These were clearly organized by someone over 5'3.

"They have female doctors, don't they? Your procedure was performed by one, no?" Bowie muses as he plucks the cup with ease and hands it to me.

Twisting the handle of the tap, I stick the glass beneath it. "Yes, but how-"

"Money," he shrugs, folding his arms across his chest. "And if not that, fear."

I swallow and my mouth hinges open as Bowie grabs the glass from my fingers and finishes it in one gulp. "Don't worry, Passerotta. Money was all it took. This time."

I'm about to tell him how he can't just do that when my stomach growls loudly and my eyes round in surprise. His lips curve up into a grin as he places the glass on the counter.

"How about we get you two something to eat?"