Chapter 8

8

Wren's head nods obediently against the top of my desk at my command. Her hooded baby blues peer up at me, and I waste no time in unzipping my slacks, hooking my thumb in the waistband, and pushing them down my hips with my boxer briefs.

Fisting my cock, I drag it through her soaked cunt, coating my length in her juices before lining my head up at her entrance. I thrust inside and we both stifle a moan as her inner walls clamp down around me.

The pieces of the puzzle all collided together when I saw that douchebag standing in my lobby. How I didn't recognize her sooner is beyond me.

I can't tell you the number of times I've jerked off like a fucking teenager to the memory of that night at the Monarch Club. I was fine with it being a one-night stand, easing the stress I felt from my old man's threat of my position. But fuck, now that she's here, under me again, I can't resist.

Her mouth hangs open in a silent cry, eyes screwed closed and hands splayed out against my desk, trying to hold herself in place as my hips snap violently against the soft flesh of her pert ass.

A low moan escapes her throat when I slap my hand down on her creamy skin as I bottom out. I band an arm around her waist, my other hand gripping her throat as I pull her back against my heaving chest. My knees bend as I keep hammering inside her, her body slack in my grip as I nip at her ear. "I said be quiet, Bella. Don't you want to be a good girl for me?"

I loosen my grip on her throat and she chokes out a desperate plea. "Yes, I'll be good. Don't stop."

I don't. I continue rutting into her senselessly, groaning at the sensation of her tight heat wrapped around me.

"I'm gonna come," she pants as the warm wet walls of her pussy start to flutter around my cock.

"Not yet, Passerotta," I grit out. "You come when I say you can."

"Please," she begs.

"Cazzo, I like to hear you beg."

"Please, Bowie," she whines again.

The way my name sounds falling from her lips as I use her body for my pleasure pushes me dangerously close to the edge. My fingers flex around the column of her neck as my other hand finds her clit and gives it a pinch.

"Now, Passerotta. Make a mess on my dick."

My balls tighten as I find my release and her eyes roll back in her head as she lets go with me. I fold us over the desk, holding myself up on my elbows as her body quakes beneath mine. Our heavy pants fill the silence around us and the smell of sex hangs heavy in the air. Once I've caught my breath, I ease out of her slowly, cum coating my dick and her thighs as I sink back into a chair. Her body stays slumped against the front of my desk, giving me a perfect view of her weeping cunt.

As the adrenaline starts to ebb away, reality comes slamming back in.

She's my employee.

And I just fucked her in my office.

In the middle of the day.

Scrubbing a hand down my face, I start to hear my father's voice in my head, scolding me for mixing business with pleasure. Just as I start to go down the mental rabbit hole of potential consequences of my actions, Wren presses herself upright, tugging her skirt down and turning to face me.

Her long lashes flutter around her baby blues, a sated smile gracing her swollen lips. But as I prepare myself for the awkward exchange I know is about to come, she drops to her knees and crawls between my legs.

Madonna Mia.

I flinch as her lithe fingers curl around my softening cock.

"Wren," I start.

She bats her eyelashes up at me with her bottom lip protruding in a seductive pout. "Shouldn't I be a good girl and clean up my mess?"

Fuck me.

I may not be a man of many words- it's easier to keep from incriminating myself that way- but she's rendered me speechless.

I watch in suspended disbelief as her tongue traces the full length of my shaft. She works her mouth over the head of my dick, licking and sucking away the mixture of our releases. I thread my fingers into her blonde locks, cupping the base of her skull as her head bobs over my lap. She hums lightly as she works, and I can't help but shiver as she rolls the barbells with each pass of her tongue.

Her soft palm cups my balls and my head lolls back in response to the sensation. I haven't had enough time to recover yet, and not wanting her to think her efforts aren't appreciated, I fist her hair, tugging her back.

Spit dribbles down her chin as she stares up at me apprehensively. "Good girl Passerotta," I praise, and her face lights up. "You like pleasing me?" I ask, releasing her hair.

She nods, licking her lips and sitting back on her heels.

"Come here." I pat my thigh and hold open my arms.

Her small frame curls in my lap, head resting on my chest as I push the damp tendrils of hair away from her face.

Mindlessly, I caress the slope of her spine. The act of cuddling after sex is foreign to me, but I won't deny how right this feels.

"Isabella wants you to come for dinner," Rocco states, swirling the amber liquid around in his glass.

I swallow the rest of my bourbon, placing my lowball glass on the table and leaning back against the tufted black leather of the booth in the upstairs VIP section of Monarch Club.

"When?" I ask, cocking an eyebrow in his direction.

"Tonight," he replies, fingers fishing his gold chain from beneath his shirt collar; his tell giving away that this is more than just a regular dinner.

"What's the occasion?"

"Merda, Bowie. Can't you just accept the invitation and make my wife happy?"

"That's not my job, cousin." I lift my empty glass at the waitress, tipping my chin to signal for a refill. "If it was, she wouldn't be inviting another man into her home."

"Stronzo," Rocco huffs, punching my bicep.

"I'll be there," I chuckle as Crystal approaches our table. She smiles brightly, pouring me another two fingers of whiskey before heading back to the bar where Rhodes is posted up at the end, keeping a watchful eye.

"So," Rocco starts, swiveling his head to follow my gaze and tipping his head toward Rhodes, "How'd the kid do for you?"

I lean forward, resting my forearms on the table. "You're telling me you haven't debriefed in the time you've been back?"

Rocco's been back just shy of two weeks, and this is the first time we've had a chance to really catch up. His Ma took a fall in her garden a few days after he got back, so aside from getting back in the swing of things, he's been spending more time over there helping her.

He bristles, waving a hand. "No, no, I've done my job," he assures me. "I heard his side, but I want yours."

I relax and begin relaying all my thoughts on Rhodes. I want to start giving the kid more responsibility- like Dallas, he's got a lot of gusto, and while he stumbled a few times, he definitely proved himself capable in Rocco's place.

We bullshit for another hour, and just as the Saturday night crowd starts to get lively on the main floor, we head upstairs to the penthouse level. I follow Rocco to his door, down the hall from mine. The smell of fresh garlic and melted cheese floods my senses as we step into the living room. Just as the door clicks shut behind us, Isabella comes bounding across the living room with bright, wide eyes.

"You got him to come!" she exclaims, and Rocco hums in response, sliding an arm around his new bride's waist and pressing a kiss to her temple.

Usually, seeing this type of affection wouldn't phase me- but I'm suddenly hit with a frisson of jealousy, and for a sliver of a second the thought of coming home to Wren crosses my mind.

It probably doesn't help that I found myself buried in her pussy again this week. I'd originally chalked the day I bent her over my desk up to a one-off, but then she was working late last night, and well… her desk has been christened now, too.

"Please, come sit," Isabella says, motioning to the already set table as she heads toward the kitchen. "I just took the lasagna from the oven, I'll be right back."

I take a seat as Rocco pours us each a glass of red and Isabella carries out a steaming ceramic baking dish, placing it in the middle of the small round dining table.

"It smells delicious, Isabella." I smile, spreading my napkin across my lap.

She fills our plates before settling into her seat and taking Rocco's hand. "Bowie, I respect your position and know what it means for your right-hand man to be away." Her mouth spreads in a smile and her brown eyes go glossy. "And, I just wanted to say thank you for letting Rocco have the time off."

I nod, raising my glass. "Sempre per la famiglia. And you're family now."

They raise and clink their glasses with mine before we dig into the lasagna. The evening passes quickly with Isabella animatedly telling stories of their time in France, and I can't help but start to feel that pang of jealousy echo again in my chest.

It's late when I make my way back to my quiet apartment, and when I step into the shower, the feeling still lurks around me.

I've never felt lonely before tonight.

The hot water pelts against my body, reddening the skin not covered by ink as I try to unpack this unfamiliar feeling. I lose myself in thought until the water turns cold, and my bed seems to feel a little emptier than usual as I crawl underneath the covers.

How is it that a woman I hardly know has managed to embed herself so deeply in my mind?

Monday rears its ugly head with an email waiting in my inbox from Wren, stating she needs to speak to me about the reports first thing. I'm almost positive that Allen is giving her the same run-around that he gave me. I just need proof that he's the one skimming money, and then his ass is fired.

If it wasn't for trying to stay legit within Vento Ventures, and the heat from the drugs, I'd handle him the same way I did Adam- morto.

I'm not perfect, but washing blood from your hands doesn't mean there won't be stains.

With Rocco back at my side, we can start digging further into the missing drugs. The overdoses keep happening, and even with O'Ryan running point, it's only a matter of time before my guys start getting pulled in for questioning.

The tension starts to build early. I didn't have time to hit the gym with Wren needing to meet immediately, and if I don't find something else to relieve it, I'll be a miserable bastard today.

Sliding in behind the wheel of my BMW M3, I buckle my seatbelt and crank the inline engine to life. Then I shift into gear, tires squealing as I press the button on my remote to raise the gate and leave the parking garage.

The second I hit the street, I mash the gas pedal, roaring every last bit of the 500 horsepower to life. The turbo purrs and whistles with each change of gear, and the adrenaline rush it offers is just the distraction I need.

Still feeling the rush of endorphins as I pass through the main lobby, I stop off to grab two large lattes from the kiosk before heading up to my floor.

The only light in the office bleeds out from Wren's half-open door. The dim lighting casts ominous shadows around me as I step off the elevator; Cami usually turns on the lights and starts the coffee when she comes in.

I'd be a liar if I said I didn't hope what Wren needs to meet about doesn't take long so I can get between her thighs before everyone else gets here. I twist my wrist, checking my watch to see that we have about an hour until my employees start filing in for the day.

I lean on the door jamb of her office, peering inside at her and taking a minute to absorb her beauty. Her blonde hair is twisted back into a clip, a few soft waves framing her face. A plain hunter-green shirt clings tightly against her body, the deep V cut framing her cleavage like a priceless work of art. Just the thought of palming one of those perfect tits and rolling a pert nipple between my fingers has my dick thickening beneath my zipper.

"Morning Wren," I greet, stepping into her office and lifting the coffee carrier up in one hand.

Looking up from her computer, her baby blues meet my gaze, and even as her luscious lips tug up into a smile, it doesn't hide the fatigue that shadows her features.

"Hey," she breathes, closing her laptop and eyeing the coffee. "Is one of those for me?"

I nod, stepping closer and handing one across the desk.

Her fingers brush mine as they curl around the cup and she hums in delight. "Thank you, I definitely needed this."

"Oh yeah?" I ask, feeling an odd sense of pride that I could take care of her in the smallest way.

She relaxes back, nodding. "Yeah, I was up late most of the weekend working on this. I found a trail and couldn't stop following it."

"A trail?"

"Mhmm." She brings the cup to her nose, taking an inhale, and immediately puts the cup down. The color drains from her face as she quickly swivels in her chair, grabbing the waste basket and throwing up in it.

I take a step forward, concern building in my chest. "Are you okay?"

She takes a moment to compose herself, grabbing a drink of water and a piece of gum from her purse before slumping back in her chair. "Yeah, I ate leftover takeout for breakfast and I don't think it's sitting right."

I step back, relieved she's not sick enough to need to leave work. Aside from watching that tight ass walk around here, her presence seems to make me feel less on edge lately.

It could also be the sex.

"Well," I say, taking a sip of my latte, "When you're ready, I'll be in my office."

I cross the reception area, fishing the keys to my office from my pocket and letting myself in. Grimacing as I take another sip of the sugary sweet drink, I sink down into my leather chair, swiveling to look out over the water.

I hate lattes. I like the bitter bite of a nice dark roast coffee in the morning. But I wasn't sure how Wren liked her coffee- all I had to go on was the knowledge that she and Cami have dipped down for afternoon lattes more than once.

Cazzo. Who am I?

Buying coffees, holding her after sex, being concerned she's not feeling well… I'm acting like a guy who's eager to please his high school sweetheart. This isn't me. I'm not a fucking tool, but I've never been accused of being chivalrous either.

We need to establish what this is. The casual hookups are fine by me- hell, my dick is getting hard at the mere thought- but the electric warmth that surges in my chest more often than not when I'm around her? I don't know what the fuck this shit is or how to feel about it.

Wren chooses that moment to tap her knuckles lightly against the glass of my open door. Swiveling back around, my eyes take an extended tour of her body as she steps in, closing the door behind her.

Holding up a thumb drive, she says something as she walks towards me, but I don't hear it. No, the skirt she's wearing has a slit up the thigh and that creamy bit of exposed leg has garnered all my focus.

Who knew I liked skirts so much?

She pauses beside me, gesturing with the thumb drive toward my laptop. "May I?" she asks, her delicate scent of jasmine and vanilla wrapping around me, short-circuiting my train of thought.

I lick my lips, staring temptation right in the pussy.

Rolling the chair back, I motion for her to do her thing, and she steps forward to lean over my desk, the round globes of her ass making all my blood rush south.

Today is not the day I stop fucking my employee.

My hands grip her hips, pulling her down onto my lap.

"Bowie!" she gasps as I hold her in place and grind my hard-on against her.

"Shhh, Passerotta," I whisper, my palm gliding up her thigh and sliding through the opening in her skirt.

I push the material of her panties to the side, parting her already slick folds and toying with her clit. "Mmm, wet for me already?"

Her head lolls back, resting on my shoulder as her lashes flutter and she hums softly. I nip at her lobe, increasing my pressure on the sensitive bud before sliding a digit into her tight cunt. Her back arches, legs clamping around my wrist at the intrusion.

She's a sopping mess within minutes of my ministrations, and I add another finger, pumping both of them in and out while she bucks her hips, seeking friction by grinding against my palm.

"Oh, I'm close," she cries, and I can feel her inner walls start to pulsate.

"Do you want to come?"

"Yes!" she cries out, hands gripping the armrests.

"So goddamn desperate, aren't you?"

"Yes!" she pants. "Bowie! Please!"

I still my fingers. "Please what?"

Coning three fingers together, I force them inside and she chokes on her gasp.

"Please let me come!" Her voice is pleading, laced with a feverous desire to find her release.

My other hand palms her breast, toying with her erect nipple pressing through the fabric of her shirt.

"Come on my fingers, Wren."

She rides my hand harder, whimpering as her thighs quake with her release. Then her motions still, her breathless body going slack in my lap as I slide my fingers from her drenched pussy.

"Here," I say, bringing them to her mouth. "Taste how sweetly you shatter."

Her lips part, sucking my fingers inside, and she hums as she cleans her juices from them. I withdraw my hand, spit-stringing down her chin as she relaxes back.

I tap her hip. "Lift up, Bella." As soon as she complies, I undo my belt, freeing my painfully hard cock from the confines of my boxer briefs and giving it a few lazy strokes.

Gripping the elastic waistband of her skirt, I twist it around, putting the slit in the back. "Now sit," I command, fisting my shaft for her.

I stifle a groan as she eases herself down, her pussy so ready for me it offers no resistance as my swollen tip nudges inside. I'm already so close that the anticipation is killing me. Digging my fingers into her hips, she hisses out in pleasure as I force her down, burying myself to the hilt.

My cock throbs inside her wet heat as I position us back in front of my computer. "Now, be a good girl and show me what you found."