Page 57 of City of Wind and Lies

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?"

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