Chapter 19

19

Itug at the deep V-cut neckline of the black bodycon dress Drea brought over, turning my back to the full-length mirror in Bowie's closet to face her. "I can't wear this, I'm one sneeze away from a nip slip."

Drea rolls her eyes, pulling her leg up beneath her as she sits on the chair in the corner. "Shove it, you look hot as fuck. My little B cups are SO jealous that yours keep getting bigger."

"I'm serious," I whine, bending at the waist to sift through the pile of dresses she brought over again. "Nothing feels like it fits right."

"Babe." She tilts her head to the side and cocks an eyebrow. "When was the last time you wore anything besides leggings?"

Folding my arms across my chest as I straighten, I roll my lip between my teeth and narrow my eyes at her. "Two weeks ago," I admit.

"Ha!" She barks a laugh. "Trust. You look every bit a stunner in that dress."

"Fine." I heave a sigh, slapping my hands down at my sides. "I'll wear it."

"Where's he taking you, anyways?" she asks, toying with the end of her braid.

"He didn't say," I shrug, twisting back around to face the mirror. "Just said he was taking me out for dinner tonight and that panties were forbidden."

"That's got to be a good thing then, right?" She waggles her brows as she presses to her feet, coming to stand behind me and taking the liberty of twirling my hair into a low bun.

"Maybe?" I tug a few strands out by my face, testing the hairstyle with the dress. "Or he just feels bad that I literally haven't left this apartment since I came home from the hospital."

Turning on my heels, I stride across the closet and out to the bathroom, plugging in my straightener and pulling out my makeup bag.

Drea follows behind, claiming a seat on the edge of the jacuzzi tub. I haven't gotten a chance to use that yet, but the long toasty baths I like to take are apparently bad for the baby, and a quick lukewarm bath just doesn't have the same appeal.

"Do you think they caught Allen and that's why he's taking you out?" she asks, flipping up the cap of an expensive-looking bath oil and taking a sniff.

"I don't think so," I say, dabbing a light layer of foundation across my face as I watch her through the mirror. "Last time I asked, he said there were still no updates."

She pulls a face, re-capping one of the oils and wrinkling her nose. "Hmm, then maybe it's just a date."

"Yeah," I sigh as I grab the mascara from my bag, twisting open the tube. I rock back on my heels and turn slightly. "I mean, we were supposed to have one the night of the attack, but it was to get to know each other, and it feels like we're well past that now."

Leaning forward, she rests her elbows on her knees and cradles her chin. "Please, you fucked him and didn't even know his name. Don't act like you two don't have more to learn about each other."

Okay, she's not wrong.

Swiveling back towards the mirror, I open my mouth, wiggling and swiping the mascara wand across my lashes.

"I'm right," she quips smugly, pushing up from the ledge of the tub and striding across the bathroom in my direction. "Aren't I?"

"No," I lie, reaching for my favorite tube of nude pink MAC lip stain. It's low-key ridiculous how she can read me so easily.

She folds her arms across her chest, lifting her chin. "What's his favorite color?"

"Black," I deadpan.

"Too obvious," she scoffs. "What's his middle name?"

"David."

"You're a liar, liar pants on fire."

"Okay, fine," I concede. "If I tell you you're right, will you do my hair?"

Drea grabs the straightener, and with a smirk she starts gliding it through my hair as I stare in the mirror absentmindedly. If overthinking was an Olympic sport, I'd be bringing home the gold each and every time. My eyes slide to the clock on the wall. The closer it ticks to seven, the higher my anxiety seems to climb. For godsakes, why am I nervous about going to dinner with my boyfriend, the father of my child… okay that's still so fucking weird to say.

"Mmkay," she says, twirling a piece of hair near my face around her finger. Releasing it, she steps back, placing her hands on her hips. "Whatcha think?"

Half of my hair's pulled up into a sleek high pony, pieces teased to give texture and volume and two soft waves framing my face. It's nothing fancy, but the sight of myself dressed up again sends a surge of excitement coursing through my veins. It's so easy to forget how a sexy dress, a touch of makeup, and cute hair can instantly make you feel so much better.

"I love it!" I chirp, looping my arms around her neck and pulling her in for a quick hug. "Thank you."

"Of course!" She smiles, tapping the screen of her phone on the counter. "But I need to get going, got a catering gig."

She slips her phone into the back pocket of her jeans and we head out of the ensuite, toward the living room. "Let me grab my elevator key and I'll take you down," I say, grabbing my wallet.

"Nah." She pulls the door open, revealing a stone-faced Dallas standing beside the elevator. "I've got an escort."

I arch a brow in her direction, folding my arms across my chest.

A coy smile spreads across her face as she shoots me a wink and steps into the hall. "Oh," she calls out, glancing over her shoulder. "I want a full recap of the night later!"

"Likewise," I say, leaning a shoulder against the door jamb as the elevator doors slide open.

My eyes round in surprise as Bowie steps out from the elevator and into the hall, trading places with Drea and Dallas.

"Cazzo," he murmurs, teeth raking his bottom lip as his eyes tour my body. "You look fucking stunning."

Heat licks up my spine, flushing my cheeks as I mumble a thanks before stepping back and widening the door to let him in.

His eyes are still locked on me with a predatory gaze as he moves closer, kicking the door shut behind him.

I'll gladly be his prey any day.

"I just need to grab shoes," I say, hooking a thumb over my shoulder and starting to turn. "And then I'm all ready."

"Not so fast," he growls, fingers circling my wrist. "Let me see it from every angle."

An appreciative groan slips from his lips as he twirls me around in front of him. "Go," he instructs, releasing my wrist and tapping my ass. "You've got two minutes before I'm ripping that dress off and having you for dinner."

His words have desire coiling in my belly as my lips curl into a smile, and I take off running toward the bedroom. It's so incredibly tempting to just sit on the bed and wait for him to come stalking down the hall, tear this dress off, and let him devour me. By the look in his eyes and this afternoon's phone exchange, I know it'd be one of his trademark hard fucks, the kind where he drills me into the mattress, pummeling my insides as my nails dig into his biceps so hard, blood beads down his beautifully tatted skin…

But I really like this dress, and I so want to get out of this place tonight.

I squeeze my thighs together in a futile effort to relieve the ache growing between them as I slip on the nude pumps, shove my phone into my champagne clutch, and double back down the hall.

Bowie is resting on the arm of the sofa, his dark locks slightly disheveled from the day, adding to the dangerous and handsome look he wears so well. He straightens as I tuck my wallet into the clutch, not saying a word as he strokes the longer-than-usual stubble on his chin. He goes longer between trimming it since I said I liked it that way, enough length that I can grip on and pull his face to mine to greedily take his kisses on demand.

He holds out an elbow in offering. "Ready, Passerotta?"

Butterflies flutter to life in my stomach as I loop my arm in his and let him lead the way.

"You really do look beautiful tonight, Wren." His voice is soft, even softer than the normal tone he reserves for me as he opens the passenger door of the sleek black BMW in the parking garage.

"Thank you, Bowie," I say, tilting my chin to look at him as I sink into the tawny leather seat. I catch a quick glimpse of apprehension weighing on his features before it dissolves and his enigmatic mask slips back into place.

The gentle flutters of butterfly wings are replaced with the raucous energy of wasps, and my mind darts down a rabbit hole of what could be wrong. Fleeting thoughts of the Allen incident surface, but I quickly dismiss those; that situation makes him angry. The paternity test results riddle my thoughts, but no, that can't be it. I'm certain it's his. He bends at the waist, hands dragging torturously across my body as he buckles my seatbelt.

"Hey," I coo, snatching his hand and lacing my fingers with his. "Are you okay?"

He twists his fingers, bringing my hand to his lips and placing a soft kiss on the back of it. "As long as I'm with you, I am."

Damn, he's smooth.

My nerves dissipate in an instant as he shifts upright, presses my door shut, and rounds the hood to slide into the driver's seat.

The engine whirs to life as he shifts into drive and maneuvers out onto the streets. I know jack shit about cars if I'm being honest. I can recognize most of the common makes and the ones that scream opulence, and sure, I've dreamed of being behind the wheel of a G-Wagon, because who hasn't? Tell me something about cylinders, exhaust, or turbos, and you've flown right over my head. But even I can recognize the power this car holds as Bowie shifts through the gears, the deep purrs of the engine filling the silence between us.

"Where are we going?"

"Someplace worthy of that outfit," he answers coolly.

I take the response at face value, because at the end of the day, I really don't care where we're going. I'm just so freaking excited to go out with Bowie. We've fallen into the comfy co-habiting stage, but I want the dates, damnit! Everything has been a whirlwind in reverse, and a nice dinner with my hot-as-fuck boyfriend is exactly what I need for some semblance of normalcy.

His hand comes to rest on the crest of my bare thigh, and I shiver under the heat of his palm.

"Are you cold?" he asks, moving to adjust the temperature.

My lips part with a sigh at the loss of his touch. "No, quite the opposite actually."

"Oh, I can adjust it-"

"Bowie." I reach for his hand that's fumbling with the controls and place it back on my leg. "That's not what I meant…"

The heat of desire burns hotter in my belly and my breaths become more shallow with each fervent pass of his thumb against my flesh.

My throat bobs with a swallow as he inches closer to the apex of my thighs, fingers toying with the hem of my dress.

"Are you wearing panties?"

"No," I breathe. "You said not to."

He chuckles lowly. "So, you decide to follow instructions now, but not when I'm with clients?"

"You still owe me a punishment for that," I point out, knowing full well I'm poking the beast.

His grip tightens, my heart pounding in my chest, and right when I think I'm going to get his fingers where I so desperately want them, he withdraws his hand.

"What are you doing?" I ask as Bowie hits the brakes, downshifting and taking a hard left. He whips the car into a dimly lit parking lot and kills the engine.

"Punishing you," he growls, undoing his seatbelt and then mine.

His eyes darken, mouth curving into a smirk as he gathers my hands, pinning my wrists above my head. "Wha-" I start, but his lips silence mine as he steals my words with rough kisses.

The seat reclines as our mouths slide together, tongues tangling in a battle for dominance that I don't even want to win. Breaking the kiss, his free hand twists the seatbelt around my wrists and the headrest, tethering them in place.

My breath catches and heat licks up my spine as he towers above me. Aside from using his hands, Bowie's never restrained me before- and while I know he won't hurt me, hurt me, it doesn't stop the fissure of fear from tearing inside me.

"Cazzo," he whispers, licking his lips as he rucks up my dress, exposing my bare pussy to the cool air.

Reaching up, his calloused palm tugs at the black lycra, effectively putting my breasts on full display right as I spot someone passing by in my peripheral.

"Bowie!" I squirm, but the polyester seatbelt only digs deeper into my skin, seemingly getting tighter the more I pull.

"Stop moving, Passerotta. You'll only hurt yourself."

My body stills. "But someone could see me."

A devilish grin splits his face as his fingers trace my wet pussy. "Someone could have seen what you sent me today." He slips a finger inside, slowly rubbing my clit with the pad of his thumb.

"But," I start to protest, but it turns to a moan as he increases his pressure and leans forward to suck my pebbled nipple into his mouth.

I cry out, my back arching from the seat as he bites down and pinches my clit at the same time.

"Don't worry," he murmurs, tracing his tongue up the hollow between my breasts. "You're mine." His warm breath whisps across my wet skin, sending chills coursing through me. "Nobody would dare look at you, and if they did, you'd be the last thing they saw."

My breath shudders as he plunges a thick digit inside me and, like the desperate and needy bitch I am, I buck my hips, chasing his touch. Ever the dichotomy, he trails soft kisses across my chest as his fingers pump in and out of me at a rugged pace. My mind and body wage war on how to respond to the tortuous brand of pleasure Bowie seems to have trademarked.

I can feel my orgasm building, my mouth hinging open with a rapacious moan as I reach my precipice, and right when I'm about to fall over the edge, he stops.

He's done this before, and I know if I just wait a little longer, he'll give me what I want.

As if reading my mind, he thrusts two fingers back inside me, thumb strumming my clit. I sink my teeth into my bottom lip as his other hand squeezes my boob and he nips at my collarbone. The coil in my belly winds tightly as he works me back toward finding my release, and with the first flutter of my inner walls, he stops, again.

I huff out in annoyance, leveling him with a glare.

Unaffected, he raises his fingers to his mouth, humming in approval as he sucks on them.

Patience was not a virtue bestowed upon me. I've always had a bit of an issue with impulse control, especially when it comes to something I crave. And lately, Bowie is all I crave. I draw in a deep breath, working to still my racing heart. I wait for him to release me from my binds, sink into me and impale me on the hard length that's tenting his slacks, but he doesn't.

"How torturous is it," he whispers as he leans over, kissing up my jaw, teeth raking on my earlobe. "To be tempted by something so sweet, but forced to watch as it remains out of reach."

He grips my chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting my face towards his. "That's what you did to me today, Wren."

I swallow thickly, recognizing that white-hot flame of lust searing his features. A sheen of sweat covers my body, and with a featherlight touch, his fingers walk down my body. The moment they pinch my clit, my body arches up like a woman possessed. I mewl with every ministration, grinding myself harder against his palm as his fingers curl deep inside me.

The waves of the orgasm build quicker than ever, and I clamp my thighs around his wrist in a greedy attempt to get the release I desire.

I'm on the brink of insanity when he stills, shifting back in his seat, leaving me gasping and trembling.

"Goddamn it!" I hiss, thrashing against the seatbelt. "I hate it when you do that!"

His face is impassive as he unclasps his belt, pulls his swollen cock out from the confines of his boxer briefs, and starts to stroke himself, using my juices on his fingers as lube. Red hot need prickles beneath my skin as I twist around in vexation from being left in sexual purgatory again.

"You wanted the punishment, Bella," he chuckles.

I squeeze my eyes shut, pushing away the tears of frustration I feel building behind my eyes so as not to ruin my makeup. Fuck it! Patience has got me nowhere, time to try a different tactic. Jutting out my bottom lip, I bat my lashes at Bowie, playing to his weakness.

Me.

"Bowie," I whimper. The desperation in my voice comes easily, because that's exactly what I am right now. Desperate. In fact, I don't know if I've ever felt as damn desperate as I do in this moment.

His motions stop, a tiny crack forming in his fa?ade as he meets my gaze.

"Will you behave when I tell you to?"

"No," I fire back.

"Good," he chuckles, reaching across and freeing my wrists.

I flex my hands, suddenly realizing they'd started to go numb. Bowie holds out his own hands, palms up, tipping his chin. "Let me see."

"I'm fine," I breathe, rotating them in the air between us. "Sexually frustrated. But my wrists are fine."

"Come here," he rasps, widening his legs. His hands circle my waist as he helps me over the gearshift and onto his lap. "I'll take care of you."

"Oh god," I cry out as he slams me down on his throbbing cock.

My thighs quake with desperation as his tip hits my G-spot, and I grip the cool leather of the steering wheel. His knees push mine closed and his fingers dig bruisingly hard into my hips as he drives deep inside me with each punch of his pelvis.

I throw my head back on his shoulder as my orgasm starts to barrel down on me. My palm splays across the fogged-up glass of the driver's side window, the other on the roof as I brace myself in place. He's not going to edge me this time. He kneads my breasts roughly, using them to guide my body up and down his cock.

"Fuck!" I shout, squeezing my eyes shut as my release rockets through me with an intensity I've never experienced. My skin tingles, legs quivering, and I pound my fist into the center console as I come harder than I have before in my entire life. Bowie's not far behind, his hot release filling me, his chest rising and falling against my back as we both work to catch our breath.

He presses his lips to my temple. "No matter how hard we play, know I will always let you win."

Fully blitzed out and sated, I blink my eyes open and look out the windshield to the building we are parked in front of.

A church.

I'm not religious by any means, but I'm sure that I've just punched my ticket to hell, and with Bowie in the driver's seat, I'm not sure there's any place I wouldn't follow him.