Page 82 of City of Wind and Lies

"Not in the slightest," she says, taking a step back and grabbing her phone from the coffee table. "But you'll answer to Drea if Dallas up and disappears."

Not giving me an inch to argue, she turns to Doctor Marino and motions for him to follow. Dallas is already standing as the door snicks shut behind them. Aside from the two inches I've got on him in height, we're evenly matched in build. I've always liked Dallas, he owns his shit and doesn't give half-assed excuses when confronted. Even now, he's standing here stoic as ever awaiting my wrath.

"Explain," I order, folding my arms across my chest.

He nods, his voice not wavering in the slightest as he walks me through everything from the moment Belluci's men rear-ended him, to the special delivery he was handed. And how Wren refused to go to the hospital, and he thought arguing with her would only bring her more stress in the moment.

I grind my molars at the thought of one of my men’s eyeballs being served up like a goddamn engagement ring. I make a mental note to return the favor the next time one of Belluci’s stronzos tread too close to my areas. Maybe I’ll reuse the fucking box. I’ll let Rocco deal with this, though- I need to focus on Wren right now, and luckily, the last of Dallas’ words do well to temper any lingering embers I had. Sticking my hand out between us, Dallas raises a brow at the gesture before slapping his palm into mine, giving it a firm shake.

“I appreciate you looking out for her,” I say, releasing his hand. “Now go tell Rocco what you told me, find out who it was and take care of him and his family.”

Dallas’ agrees, grabbing his suit jacket from the back of the chair.

"Ya know, it'd also be a lot easier to keep my girl to myself this weekend if that friend of hers was preoccupied, no?" I suggest slyly.

Dallas' lips curl into a smirk. "You've got it, Boss."

Dallas heads for the door right as Wren opens it, stepping back inside the apartment.

"Good to see you're still breathing," she quips in passing.

With a shake of his head, he slips into the hall and I take a seat on the couch.

"Come here, Passerotta," I beckon, lifting my chin and patting my thigh.

Wren gives me a coy smile as she steps between my legs. After today, my patience is nonexistent, and at this point I just want to hold my damn girl. She squeals as I tug her down onto my lap, burying my nose in her hair. The sweet scent of jasmine and warm vanilla from her shampoo floods my nostrils; centering me, grounding me, reminding me I'm home.

"Allen?" she asks softly, her fingers toying with my collar. "Is he…?"

"In pieces, on his way to a pig farm in Dyer, Indiana."

"Oh, okay," she replies, her breath hitching slightly as she shifts around.

And for a split second, I'm worried that what I've done, no matter how right it was for me to give the fucker the end he deserved, is too much for her. But then she slams her lips onto mine, taking me by surprise.

Deepening the kiss, I grip her hips, sliding her over my thickening cock. She wiggles around, grinding herself against me in a way so desperate, it'd be cruel not to give her what she wants.

I let out a groan as my hand slides between her thighs and beneath her sleep shorts only to be met with the warm, slick heat of her bare pussy.

My fingers trace circles over her clit and she throws her head back with a gasp as I pinch it.

Her hands reach for my belt, eagerly working to unclasp it and slide my zipper down. Lithe fingers wrap around my shaft as she begins to stroke me.

"Cazzo," I hiss as she lifts up, directing me between her slick folds. "What are you doing to me?"

"Thanking you," she murmurs against my lips as my tip nudges inside.

"One," she moans, as she starts sinking down.

Raising a fist, my teeth clench around my knuckles as she starts counting. It's torture of the sweetest kind to let her have this control, but when my eyes drop to where our bodies connect, I'm mesmerized as each inch of my girth disappears inside her clenching cunt as she counts the rungs of my Jacob's Ladder.

Wren's hands grip my shoulders as she starts to ride me like a goddamn show pony. After a few minutes, I can't take it any longer. Banding my arms around her, I hold her to my chest and punch my hips up, hammering into her like my life depends on it. And maybe it does, because I've never felt more alive than when I'm buried inside her.

25

"Holy shit," I breathe as we turn onto a long driveway and a massive stone house comes into view on Sunday evening.

Scratch that, it's a goddamn castle.

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