54. Price of Truth

CHAPTER 54

Price of Truth

WREN

“Are you sure you want to know the rest?”

Her eyelashes drop, her lips parting. “Yes.”

“Do you think you’re ready for it? Right here, with nothing between us but the dark?” My lips skim her neck.

I need her to unravel under my touch. But the woods, while fun, isn’t where I want to fuck her.

“Yes!”

“No. Not here.”

I wrap my fingers around her wrist, and pull her away from the tree.

“Where ... where are we going?”

“Somewhere I can show you everything.” I meet her gaze.

She blinks, confusion clouding her eyes. But then, she nods. She wants the truth more than anything. No matter what the cost is.

I tug her forward, her feet stumbling slightly over the uneven ground as I lead her out of the woods. The clearing gives way to the open space in front of my house, the building looming ahead of us. She stops for a second, but I pull her forward.

She’s not running from this.

The door opens with a heavy groan, and I pull her inside, shutting us in. The isolation is complete. There’s no more woods, no more night—only the two of us, and the truth she’s about to face.

I lead her up the stairs, each step creaking under our weight, the air thick with everything unsaid. I need her upstairs, surrounded by the photographs I’ve taken of her, naked, needy, with nothing to hide behind. The door opens, and moonlight floods the room, washing her in silver. She stands in front of me, her arms crossing over her chest, still trying to shield herself.

“Arms down.” I growl. She needs to understand that there’s no hiding from me anymore. Not here.

Her arms fall, and her head lifts. And, although her hands are trembling as they drop to her sides, there’s a look of anticipation in her eyes. Her nipples are hard, and there’s a sheen coating her inner thighs, which ignites the hunger burning under my skin. I let my eyes drag over her, taking in every inch.

“Beautiful.” My voice is soft, almost reverent.

“Who am I, Wren? If what you’re saying is true ...”

I take her face in my hands, tilting her chin up. Her pulse is rapid beneath my fingers, her eyes wide.

I circle her slowly, my eyes roaming over her body. She stands there, her breaths coming faster, and I know she’s feeling it—the tension building between us.

“You want answers? Then it’s time you paid for them. On your knees.”

Her breath catches, her eyes locking with mine.

“Did you think I’d give you all the answers you want, and take nothing in return?” My fingers wrap around her throat, and I squeeze. “No, Ballerina. That’s not how this works. You’ve had a taste, and now it’s time for you to give me something. So get on your fucking knees and open your mouth.”

Her tongue comes out, licks her lips, but then she drops to her knees, eyes still on me.

Fuck . The way she submits to my demand makes my blood hum. I thread my fingers through her hair, my grip tightening, and she gasps, her lips parting slightly.

“Unzip my pants.”

Her fingers move to the button, her eyes flicking between my face and the zipper. But it’s different from before. Her fingers don’t shake, and there’s a matching hunger in her eyes.

“You like being on your knees for me, don’t you?” I taunt, my fingers tightening in her hair. “You’re eager to have my dick in your mouth again.” The zipper comes down, the sound deafening in the silence of the room. I free my dick, guiding her head closer. “Open your mouth, show me your tongue.”

Slowly, she opens her mouth, her tongue coming out.

“Lick.”

Her tongue brushes over the tip of my dick, and I groan, that first touch sending heat racing through me.

I need her mouth on me, and the way she’s shifting, pressing her thighs together, she’s right there with me. I push forward, pressing my dick against her lips.

“Take it.” My voice drops.

She obeys, sliding her lips over my dick. Her mouth is warm and wet, surrounding me inch by inch. The pressure of her lips tightens, the touch of her tongue tentative at first, but then more deliberate, sliding along the underside. A spark runs through me, igniting my senses, every nerve on edge.

“Good girl.” My fingers tangle in her hair, holding her steady, and I begin to move.

Her eyes flicker up to meet mine, wide, hungry , and I tighten my grip, forcing her mouth further down my dick. She gags slightly, her throat constricting around me, and I groan, the sound deep, primal. It feels so fucking good.

“Don’t stop.” I growl, guiding her, setting a rhythm that has her clutching at my legs.

Her lips glide over me, the wet heat of her mouth sending shivers through me. Her breathing changes, tears filling her eyes as I push deeper. They spill down her cheeks, and I wipe one away with my thumb, lift it to my lips and lick it away. The contrast of her tears and her obedience makes my heart pound harder.

“Your father thought he could hide you,” I go back to the information I’ve found, my voice low, rough. “Thought he could keep you safe, erase everything you were.” My dick pushes deeper, her lips stretching around me, her throat trying to accommodate the intrusion. A groan rolls out of me, dark and guttural. “But nothing stays hidden, Ballerina.”

Pulling back slightly, I reach down and peel back her lips. “Lick me.” Her tongue swirls around the head, once … twice, lapping away the precum that’s building, before I thrust back in.

“Do you like the way I taste?”

In response, her eyes squeeze shut, and she lowers herself a little more so her head tips back, angling her throat in such a way my dick goes so much deeper. Power thrums through me—the way she’s submitting, the way she’s giving herself to me completely. It’s fucking incredible.

My hips thrust forward, and she takes me to the back of her throat. Her nails dig into my thighs as she struggles to breathe, so I tug her head back, letting her take a quick gulp of air before guiding her down again, setting a relentless rhythm, each movement bringing me closer to the edge.

“Look at me.” My voice comes out as a rough whisper.

She blinks up at me, her eyes glassy, my dick moving back and forth between her lips.

“Take all of it.” I thrust deeper, my hand wrapped in her hair, controlling her, my dick sliding over her tongue, hitting the back of her throat over and over. The pressure is almost too much, the tension building, tightening everything inside me, every nerve on fire.

She gags again, her throat constricting, and I feel the tightness in my gut, the edge of release hovering just out of reach. I groan, my hips jerking, the feeling almost unbearable.

I’m so close. So. Fucking. Close.

Her eyes are wide, beautiful fucking tears falling down her cheeks, her lips soft, wet, wrapped around me, and it’s everything. The power, the dominance, the way she’s giving herself to me—it pushes me to the brink.

“Fuck,” I breathe, my hand tightening, forcing her to swallow more of me. I hold her there for a moment, pulling her head back so my dick slides further down her throat. “Swallow.” Her throat constricts around my dick, and I almost come right there.

Her fingers dig into my thighs, her eyes closing, and I feel it—the edge, the pleasure so intense it almost breaks me. But I’m not ready to come yet.

I pull her back, my dick slipping free. Her eyes are glazed, her lips shiny and red.

I’m right there, the release hovering, aching, but I need more. I need everything.

Grabbing her hand, I pull her to her feet. She’s breathless, her lips parted, and I can see it in her eyes—the way she’s unraveling, the way she’s on the verge of breaking. I drag her with me, out of the room, needing to take her deeper, needing to shatter everything she thinks she knows.

I guide her down the hallway, her breaths coming in shaky bursts as she tries to keep up, her fingers gripping mine. She’s not steady, and I can feel her trembling. She’s on the edge, the adrenaline from what just happened making her legs weak. But she doesn’t try to run, doesn’t say no, doesn’t do anything but follow my lead.

I open the door to the next room, darkness swallowing us. The air here is cooler, the moonlight barely reaching the walls. I lead her inside, closing the door behind us. Her eyes scan the space, frowning as she looks around.

The walls are covered—photographs pinned across every inch, each one a fragment of the truth her father buried. Documents, crime scenes, records, all the pieces that tell her who she really is. I watch her eyes widen, her breath catching as she takes it in.

“Wren.” The way she breathes my name almost makes me come on the spot. There’s no fear there, just wonder at all the images surrounding us.

I push her back against the wall. Her bare skin hits the cold brick, and I press my palm to her throat, her pulse hammering beneath my touch.

“Your father thought he could erase everything. He thought he could turn you into something else. But nothing can change who you are, Ballerina. Not who you really are.”

I drop to my knees, my hands trailing down her body, my fingers digging into her thighs as I pull her legs apart. Her panties are soaked, the fabric clinging to her, and I yank them down roughly, biting her thighs, leaving beautiful bruises that will remind her of this night for days ahead.

She gasps, her hands flying to my shoulders, her body shuddering at the first touch of my tongue. I devour her, my tongue against her clit, flicking, circling, tasting her arousal. I grip her thighs, forcing them open wider, my lips sucking, my teeth nipping, every sound she makes driving me crazy with need.

She moans, her hips bucking forward, and I growl against her, the vibration making her whimper, her fingers tightening in my hair. I lick lower, parting her with my mouth, thrusting inside her, tasting her from the inside, the slickness of her coating my lips, my chin. I look up to see her head thrown back, her lips parted, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Look at me.”

Her eyes flutter open, her gaze dropping to mine, wide and glassy, her thighs trembling under my hands. I thrust my tongue deeper, my nose pressed against her clit, her scent filling my senses, her taste driving me to the edge of control.

She cries out, her hips grinding against my face, her body desperate, and I let her ride me, let her take what she needs. I push two fingers inside her, curling them, feeling her tighten around me, my mouth sucking on her clit. She’s so close, her moans turning into gasps.

But I don’t let her finish. Just as her body tenses, I pull away, and stand up.

“Wh-what? No! Wren!”

I ignore her protests, and roughly spin her. Her hands slap against the wall before her face hits it, and I kick her legs apart.

Tangling my hand into her hair, I pull her head back, my lips brushing her ear.

“This is the price of truth, Ballerina.” I position my dick against her pussy. “Tell me you want this. Tell me you want me.”

“Yes … now … please.”

“I know this is your first time, but I can’t go slow. I can’t promise it won’t hurt.” I bite her shoulder, then lick the sting away. “I can’t promise I won’t enjoy it if you cry.”

I thrust into her, hard, and she cries out, her body jerking, her hands slipping on the wall. I don’t give her a chance to catch her breath, pulling out and then slamming back in, the force of it pushing her forward, her cheek pressing against the cold wall.

She’s so fucking tight around me, squeezing me, and I groan. Every thrust is rough, demanding, my need for her consuming me. My fingers digging into her skin, holding her in place as I pound into her, her body arching, desperate whimpers falling from her lips.

“Your father tried to protect you.” My voice is harsh, my breathing ragged. “But he couldn’t. Not from me. You’re not Ileana Moreno.” I slam into her, each word punctuated by the force of my thrusts. “You’re Isabella Rossi. And you’re fucking mine.”

She whimpers, her voice breaking, her fingers clawing at the wall. I pull her head back, my hand wrapping around her throat, squeezing hard enough to trap her breath, as her body convulses around me.

“Say it,” I whisper, my voice dripping with possession. “Say your name.”

“Ileana,” she gasps.

“No.” My fingers squeeze her throat harder. “Try again.”

“I-Isabella.”

“ No . Mine .”

My thrusts turn erratic, the tension building, the edge so close, every nerve on fire. I pull her back, slamming into her, my body shaking, my release hitting me hard, spilling into her.

I hold her there, my forehead resting against her shoulder, our breaths mingling, our bodies pressed together, her warmth surrounding me. When I can see again, I slowly release her throat, my hand sliding down her chest, over her breasts, and comes to rest against her stomach.

I pull out of her slowly, and catch her before she falls, wrapping my arms around her, pulling her close. She’s breathless, her forehead resting against my chest, her fingers clutching weakly at my shirt.

“Look at me,” I whisper, my fingers tipping her chin up.

Her eyes are wide, tears clinging to her lashes, her lips swollen, and something tightens inside me.

She’s so fucking beautiful like this—completely undone, no longer invisible, and fucking all mine.

“You wanted the truth.” My thumb strokes over her lips. “And now you know. There’s no going back. You’re mine now.”