Chapter 23

23

My stomach flutters as sparks and tingles course through my veins. Every neuron in my brain is firing as awareness seeps into my body.

I can feel the heavy weight of something lying across my hips as my eyes work their way open.

The pressure builds and my back arches off the bed as a jolt of pleasure ripples through me, eliciting a moan that awakens all my senses.

Bowie's teeth rake across my clit before releasing it and lifting his head. His chin glistens with my juices and his lips curl into a salacious smirk. "That's music to my ears, Passerotta."

"What are you doing?" I ask, my voice still husky with sleep.

He licks his lips and murmurs, "Having breakfast in bed."

With a laugh, I relax into the mattress as he dips down, darting his tongue in and out of me at a pace that makes my toes curl.

God, it feels so good.

I thread my fingers into his hair, curling them around his dark locks, and pull his mouth to where I want it most.

He chuckles against my core, the vibrations only adding to the sensations as he latches on to my clit.

My breath catches in my throat as he shoves two thick digits inside my still-sensitive pussy. He curls them at their deepest point, hitting that spot that has me praising a god I don't believe in.

I might have been a little sad last night when Dallas brought me home to an empty apartment, but Bowie's bedside manner has more than made up for it. We still need to talk things out- I need to understand his position and what it means for us moving forward- but right now, actions speak far louder than words.

The coil in my belly winds tighter, my thighs clamping around his head as he adds another digit and I careen over the edge of my climax.

He doesn't stop his ministrations until my body stills, the adrenaline from the early morning orgasm giving me more energy than coffee ever has.

Sitting back on his heels, he fists his hard length as his eyes rake over my panting form with rapt desire.

"Fuck, you're so gorgeous, Wren."

A blush creeps across my cheeks as I sag against the mattress in his oversized shirt, hair askew from a night of wild sex- yet I've never felt more beautiful than I do right now, pinned beneath his hungry gaze.

In one fluid motion, he hitches forward, arms bracketing my head as he rocks between my thighs, coating his cock in my juices.

Even though it feels so fucking glorious to have his piercings rolling over my swollen clit, I need him inside me again.

I lock my legs around his waist, digging my heels into his firm ass and angling my hips up to try to get what I want.

"So eager, aren't you Passerotta?" he taunts.

Biting my bottom lip, I nod up at him.

"So fucking wet," he murmurs, slipping inside in a single thrust.

I cry out at the sudden feeling of fullness, back arching and toes curling.

"So fucking mine," he growls as he starts to piston his hips, fucking me into oblivion.

As I step out of the closet, tucking my forest green blouse into the black pencil skirt, I can't help but smile at the sight of Bowie's back as he shrugs on a steel gray dress shirt. His back is marred with red marks- evidence of round two in the shower.

I could say I don't have any reservations about Bowie's lifestyle, but I'd only be lying to myself. Honestly, it's not the violence that bothers me, or even his illegal extracurriculars… well, aside from the drugs; I don't like those. But I think what really gets me is the unknown. I don't fully understand his world, and whoever said ignorance is bliss was a goddamn liar. Ignorance is anxiety-inducing.

Taking his gun from the side table, Bowie slips it into the waistband of his slacks with the same ease I use to slip into my wedges. It's all second nature to him, so completely normal. He was raised like this, and even if I don't fully get it, I can't fault him for his upbringing.

I close the distance between us, looping my arms around his waist and laying my cheek on his chest. It vibrates with a chuckle as he places a chaste kiss atop my head. We stay like that for a moment, one of his strong arms banding me to him, the other stroking my hair as I breathe in his intoxicating scent. Thankfully, the woodsy smell of his body wash and the spice from his cologne has yet to be a smell that is anything but calming to me.

"I'm scared," I breathe out.

His body stiffens, hands coming to rest on my shoulders as he presses me back enough that I can look up at him.

"Of what? What happened, Wren?" he asks, concern etched into his features.

"Of losing you."

The thin line his lips are creased in eases, the corners lifting in the slightest as his eyes lighten. "What makes you think I'm going anywhere?"

"I don't know," I shrug. "Don't people like you get gunned down in the streets over the simplest of things?"

"This isn't a movie, Passerotta." His smile widens for a moment before it falters. "But I won't placate you and tell you there aren't risks."

"What about me?" My voice comes out meeker than I intend for it to.

Bowie grips my chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting it up. His hazel eyes darken as they search mine and his voice rumbles, "I always protect what's mine."

Maybe I'm na?ve or just plain ignorant, but the conviction in his words and the sincerity in his touch is enough for me in this moment.

His lips press against mine in a tender kiss as his fingers intertwine with my own, tugging me to walk with him toward the kitchen.

"Sounds like you two made up," Rocco muses, folding the newspaper in half and laying it on the counter when we enter.

Heat licks up my spine as I wonder just how much he heard. I was anything but quiet in the shower.

Steeling his gaze, Bowie flicks on the electric kettle and turns to Rocco. "Ever heard of knocking, cousin?"

"You said come for breakfast," he replies smoothly, his eyes darting to me as his fingers toy with the gold chain around his neck. "I didn't know you had company."

I place my hand on Bowie's bicep and offer Rocco an apologetic grin. "That's my bad. I didn't tell him I was coming over or staying the night."

Bowie's head snaps toward me. "Never apologize for coming home to me."

My stomach swoops. This man somehow always knows how to hit me in the damn feels.

Turning back toward his cousin, he speaks again in a more relaxed tone. "Time got away from me this morning."

Rocco arches a brow, a playful smirk painting his face as he raises his mug of coffee to his lips.

"I need to go into the office with Wren," Bowie mumbles as he swipes his phone open, studying it for a moment. "What about lunch or this afternoon?"

"Lunch is fine," Rocco nods. "I'll do my rounds, then swing by."

Pushing to his feet, he rounds the counter, clamping a hand on Bowie's shoulder before pausing next to me as I make my cup of tea. "Glad to have you here, Wren."

Warmth blooms in my chest as I smile back at him. "Thanks, Rocco."

The drive to the office is only ten minutes, depending on the traffic, but all week, I've been using that little block of time to talk with Bowie in an attempt to better understand his lifestyle. I love hearing the pride in his voice as he talks about his upbringing and the empire he's built. Now that I've had some time to really wrap my mind around his position, it's easier to see where he's coming from. As Drea said, it's not just black and white. I've come to care for this man. I've met his monsters, and if living in the gray is what it takes to be with Bowie, I'll take all fifty shades of it.

When we walked in on Monday, Cami was all bright smiles when she greeted us. And as the week went on, we quickly fell back into our usual lunches or coffee breaks together. I don't think Cami noticed, but her brother Dallas was always lurking nearby. That was one of the few 'conditions' Bowie had for me; a bodyguard. Apparently, it's pretty standard issue for women involved with men in positions of power in La Famiglia, and Dallas had volunteered for the position after bringing me home. Even though he's only with me when Bowie can't be, I kinda like spending more time with him. It allows me to grill him about his intentions with my bestie.

We had a meeting with HR on Wednesday, and if Morgan had any qualms about the CEO dating and impregnating his direct report, she didn't let her face show it. We signed all of the consent forms, but we haven't made it public knowledge to the others at the company. Bowie didn't feel right about telling the 'strangers he pays' before telling his parents. So on Sunday, we'll go to a family dinner at their house out in Northbrook and tell them. He's assured me time and time again that they are going to be beside themselves with joy, but the thought of meeting his family still makes my stomach churn.

Luckily, I still have a couple of days to prepare myself for that.

"Knock, knock," Cami sing-songs as she raps her knuckles against my door frame.

Looking up from my laptop, I find her holding out a paper cup from the coffee cart in the downstairs lobby. "Thought you might like an afternoon pick me up."

"You are a damn angel, Cami," I coo, opening and closing my hands in a 'gimme' motion.

She smiles, stepping closer and handing me the Chai Latte. I take a greedy sip, relaxing back into my chair with a small sigh. "It's been a week."

Taking the seat across from me, she leans in and lowers her voice. "Is it because of the baby?"

I snort a laugh. "Pretty sure it's just getting back into the swing of things and catching up from those two weeks of classes is taking its toll."

She nods, sipping on her own latte as she starts to tell me about her plans with Perry this weekend. It isn't five minutes after Cami slips back to her desk that Bowie saunters into my office, closing the door behind him.

Before I can get a single word out, he's twisted my chair around, hands caging me in as he slams his lips onto mine. His kiss is filled with hunger and need- as if he didn't just fuck me in the bathroom of the restaurant at lunch.

I'm breathless when he breaks the kiss, resting his forehead on mine. "How's my girl?"

I will literally never get tired of hearing him call me that.

"Tired and hungry. Can we order in tonight?"

His lips brush my forehead as he straightens. "Anything for you, Passerotta." He pulls his wallet from his pants pocket, offering me a black credit card. "Dallas is going to drive you home. Order whatever you'd like and you can pick it up on the way."

My brows furrow together as I take the card. "Why aren't you coming with me?"

"There's something I need to go take care of at the hangar."

"Something, or someone?"

"Wren, I..." he starts.

"Bowie," I admonish, pushing to my feet and placing my hands on my hips. "I need you to be honest with me."

Carding a hand through his hair, he murmurs, "The more you know, the more danger I put you in."

I bring my palm to rest on the satin fabric pulled tightly across the hard planes of his chest. "But I chose this, Bowie. I'm choosing you and everything that comes with that."

His hazel eyes study me, but my expression leaves no room for doubt, and after a beat, he heaves a sigh. "We've got Allen."

I swallow thickly, the memory of the attack blending with knowledge of Bowie's businesses and I can't help but ask. "Are you going to kill him?"

"Eventually," he grumbles.

A man willing to take someone's life for me? And they say chivalry is dead.

I should be put off by that thought. There should be some level of human decency inside of me that's triggered and tries to talk him out of it; convince him there's another way. But instead, excitement ignites in my belly, making my pussy clench at the lengths Bowie is willing to go to for me.

"Okay," I breathe, circling my arms around his neck and rocking up on my tiptoes to steal a kiss.

"Just like that. You're okay with it?" he asks dubiously.

"I am, because I trust you."

He grips my hips, pulling me flush against his hard bulge as he nips at my bottom lip and murmurs, "Fuck, I love you."

My muscles go rigid, and I swear for a split second, my heart stops beating before surging back to life and threatening to explode from my chest.

Did he really just say that?

Bowie's jaw goes slack, like his own words caught him as off guard as they caught me. His tongue darts out to wet his lips and he clears his throat. "Wren-"

"I love you, too," I whisper.

There's a look of pure adoration gleaming in his hazel eyes as he stares down at me. I can feel hot tears pricking at the backs of my eyes, because this is all I've ever wanted. To not only be told I was loved, but be made to feel like I'm the center of someone's universe. Isn't that what everyone wants? What everyone deserves?

We stay like that, unmoving, fully absorbed in each other's orbit until the feeling of vibrations between our thighs snaps us out of our love drunk stupor.

Releasing my hands from his form, I rock back on my heels as he fishes his phone from his pocket. Dallas' name lights up the screen. While Bowie swipes to answer, I start shutting down my laptop and packing away my things.

"Dallas is downstairs."

I nod, shifting my bag on my shoulder. "So, I guess I'll see you later?"

He brushes his knuckles down the curve of my cheek, stopping beneath my chin and tilting it upward. "I'd love to promise you this will be quick, but that's not what he deserves. I will promise to show you just how much I love you tonight, though."

Those words send a ripple of need through me, soaking my panties in an instant.

Bowie escorts me to the parking garage, helping me into the Range Rover. His hand lingers on my stomach as he buckles my seatbelt. It's a subtle action, and one I secretly love. While Bowie's gruff nature and dangerous swagger make me feral, his soft touches turn me to putty in his hands.

Shutting the door, he pauses to talk to Dallas before heading over to the Black BMW we drove in this morning. Then Dallas slides into the driver's seat beside me, cranking the engine to life.

"So," I say as I shift forward, turning the early 2000's throwback station down. "Any plans with Drea this weekend?"

The corner of Dallas' mouth ticks up in a small smirk. "Wouldn't you like to know."

"Whatever," I scoff, rolling my eyes. "She'll give me all the details later anyways."

"Guess I should make it a story worth telling then, hmm?"

His eyes shift from me to the rearview mirror as he mutters a curse and whips the car down a side street.

"Dallas…?" I draw out in question.

"We're being followed," he answers, his tone hardening as his grip tightens on the steering wheel.

"What?!" I twist around to look behind us.

"Sit back," he barks. "Keep your head down, and whatever happens, stay in the goddamn car."

I murmur my agreement, panic washing over me as I do as I'm told for once.

We pick up speed, taking a left here, a sharp right there, as we weave through the heavy Friday afternoon traffic.

After what seems like a lifetime, Dallas' shoulders relax. "I think I lost them."

"Goo-"

The Range Rover surges forward, the sound of crunching metal and bursting glass ringing in my ears as we come to a sudden stop.

"FUCK!" Dallas shouts, fresh blood trickling down from a split in his eyebrow as he turns to face me. "Are you okay?"

"Uh, ye-yeah," I stutter, hand trembling as I run it through my hair.

He pulls his gun from his waistband, flicking off the safety as he shoves open his door. Glancing out my window through the side mirror, I see a man with dark hair climbing out of a black car with a smashed front end.

"You've got ten seconds to state your case before I paint the streets with your brains," Dallas spits, raising his gun.

"Easy," the unfamiliar voice calls out. "I'm just here to deliver a message."

I can't see what the man does next, but I hear him offer something for Dallas to take.

"Tell your boss to train his men to watch from afar."

Dallas' face is twisted in hate as he keeps his gun held high while the man gets back into the passenger side of the black sedan. It isn't until the car backs away and disappears from view that Dallas puts his gun away and bends over to pick up whatever the man tossed at him.

"I'm taking you to the hospital," Dallas says, getting back into the Range Rover.

"No, I'm fine, really," I insist.

"Bowie will string me up and bleed me dry if I don't make sure you're okay," he grumbles, flexing his grip on the steering wheel.

"I'll deal with Bowie when he gets home," I reply, my tone carrying a confidence I hope is convincing.

"Fine," he concedes. "But you're resting when we get there and I'm calling Doctor Marino."

"Fair enough." I wipe my sweaty palms across the material of my slacks and tilt my head. "What's in the box?"

Dallas pulls the lid off the small black box in his lap and bile rises in my throat. I don't know what I expected to be inside it, but a severed eyeball with a metal spoon embedded in it definitely was not on my bingo card.