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.

"So fucking beautiful, so fucking mine," he growls, slapping his hands down on my thighs and spreading me open.

With all the changes pregnancy has brought to my body, Bowie has never failed to make me feel like anything less than a goddess- with or without clothes.

A flurry of chills rushes up my spine as he dives forward, broad tongue lapping along the seam of my wet cunt. "Goddamn delicious." A heartbeat later, he reaches past me, plucking an ice cube from my glass, water dripping down his forearm as he inspects it. "Do you trust me?" he muses.

"With every fiber of my being."

And I mean it. Bowie's embedded himself in the deepest parts of me. Our weakness for each other fuses together to create a bond so strong that the devil himself couldn't sever it.

My skin pebbles as he presses the cube to my collarbone, and I shudder a gasp as he drags it down the valley between my breasts. The cool wetness brushes over my nipples, hardening them in an instant as his hand moves lower.

I suck in a ragged breath, releasing it with a hiss as he trails the cube across my mound and circles it against my clit.

"Bowie," I whimper, palms smacking against the lacquered table top.

His face splits in a devilish grin as he massages the ice against my hot center.

"Fuck!" I cry out as he shoves the cube inside.

Electric sparks course through my veins, legs spasming at the foreign sensation. It's so cold and uncomfortable, but at the same time, its fucking rapturous. He plunges two thick digits in after it and I throw my head back with a wanton moan as it hits my g-spot.

Sweat beads at my forehead, body shaking with moans of pleasure as he pumps his fingers in and out until the ice has melted.

"Fuck me," I pant in desperation when he pulls his hand back.

Wasting no time, he shoves his sweatpants down and thrusts his hard cock inside me. My hands loop around his neck, heels digging into his butt as he hammers me into the table. I feel my orgasm growing, the pressure in my core building with each punishing stroke.

"I-I'm gonna come."

"Do it. Come on my dick, Wren," He grits out.

My stomach bottoms out, climax crashing into me like a violent wave and pulling me under, drowning me in bliss.

I go boneless in his grip as he surges between my thighs, chasing his own release. With one last snap of his hips, I feel his cum filling me up.

Bowie's hands caress my belly as he pulls out, and I relax back on my elbows. After our thundering pulses slow, he helps me to my feet and hands me my shirt. Pulling up his sweats, he holds out his hand. "C'mon, we'll clean up in the morning."

"No way!" I bark a laugh, threading my fingers with his. "We're getting a new table."