29. Dove
Wrenley’s retching does not make a euphonious accompaniment to the screams clawing their way out of Billy Tweely’s throat.
“Geez, you’d think I was killing you or something,” I tease the man who looks about five seconds away from passing out or joining my songbird in emptying his stomach. “We’re not even at the good part yet.”
With one final swipe, my dagger severs the last stubborn sinew of Billy’s penis, and the man passes out mid-shriek before I can even reach for the soldering iron to cauterize the wound.
“I think it’s time to get this sharpened,” I mutter, assessing my favorite weapon before spinning to see my boyfriend still bent over, the back of his hand pressed to his mouth.
“Aww, baby. I thought you were jealous when I was touching it earlier.” I dangle the mangled flesh back and forth like a wriggling fish on a hook. Wren looks at me over his shoulder—then promptly throws up again.
“Yup. Nope. Not jealous anymore,” he gasps between heaves.
I cauterize the wound before Billy bleeds out, then skip across the room to check on my man. “What did I tell you about doggie bags? Now it’s gonna take longer to clean up.”
“Turtle Dove, that’s the least of my worries at the moment.” Wren’s weak tone tugs at my heartstrings. Removing my mask, I run a soothing hand up and down his back.
“Baby, I ask this with love—but I watched you bash a head in without flinching. What gives?”
“My dick is experiencing sympathy pains,” he rasps before hunching over again.
At this point, he’s just dry-heaving. I try to keep my laugh contained, but it bubbles up anyway, escaping as an unladylike snort. “You sound like a cat throwing up a hairball.”
“Will you just hurry up already?” He waves me off, straightening as he runs a hand through his hair. “We have someplace to be, and at this rate, we’re gonna be late.”
Billy stirs, groaning as he teeters on the edge of consciousness. I twirl back toward my present, slipping my mask on with a flourish to remind my songbird exactly whose special day it is. “Hey! You only turn thirty once, and last time I checked, today is my birthday. I’ll cut off dicks if I want to.”
“Dick, Dove. Singular.”
“Keep rushing me, Songbird, and it’ll be plural.”
The Tipsy Taco is busier than usual, and as soon as Wren and I round the bar, I see why.
Pink sparkly garland ropes off the section around the pool tables, where a giant rose-gold “thirty” balloon floats above a tower of pink-and-white-topped cupcakes. A banner reading Happy Birthday, Dove hangs above a buffet table draped in pink, laden with tiny taco shells and all the fixings.
Most of our coworkers mingle, while Vixey darts between tables, balancing a tray of pink drinks. Everyone gives Bunny and Hunter a wide berth—the two of them clearly in the middle of an argument that has my best friend’s face blotchy with frustration.
“Baby.” My chest swells, and I grip Wren’s arm as he watches our friends with an annoyed expression. “Is this supposed to be a surprise party for me?”
His irritation melts into affection as his gaze slides to mine. “It was. But it looks like those two can’t stop bickering long enough to answer their damn phones!” The last part is said loudly and aggressively as we approach them.
Bunny jumps, her eyes widening as Hunter pivots toward us. “Shit! Happy birthday, Love Dove!” she shouts, throwing her arms in the air and waving her hands to get everyone’s attention.
A chorus of voices joins in as all eyes turn to me. “Happy birthday, Dove!”
“Aww, you guys shouldn’t have. Thank you!” I lean into Bunny while Wren pulls Hunter a few feet away, and everyone resumes whatever they were doing before we arrived.
Given the time it took us to clean up, go home, shower, and get ready, I’d say we’re over an hour late.
“Everything okay?” I ask Bunny. “You look like you need a trip to the alley to scream.”
“It’s fine!” Bunny breathes out, too quickly. “Hunter is just being... Hunter.”
“Hot as hell? Big dick energy? Keeps begging to fuck your brains out in the bathroom again?” I waggle my brows.
“I heard that first part, Turtle Dove,” Wren calls over his shoulder.
“Me too, doll. I’m flattered,” Hunter adds with a smirk.
Bunny levels me with a flat look as I wink at her. “I don’t hear a denial from either of you this time.”
“You’re lucky I love you,” she mutters as Vixey bounces over.
And by bounce, I mean she literally trips at the last minute and has to hop a few times to regain her balance.
“Happy birthday, Dove!” she cries, throwing her arms around me. “Here! This is for you!”
Bunny stiffens as Vixey shoves a Baby Doll Killer plushie into my hands. “Isn’t it cute?”
My best friend and I exchange a glance before looking back at the tall girl whose honey eyes glow with excitement. “I thought maybe you could put it on your desk! You know, because you write about her!”
A relieved sigh whooshes from my throat. “Thank you, Vixey. That’s so thoughtful!”
“You’re welcome! Anyway, I gotta get back to work, but happy birthday again!” She flounces off with a whimsical air about her after throwing Bunny a smirk that practically screams ha, your friend likes me, and there’s nothing you can do about it.
“I hate her,” Bunny grumbles.
“Why? She’s sweet, and she has killer style.” I make a mental note to ask Vixey where she got her hot pink cargo pants before looking at my present .
“No one is that nice,” Bunny snips. “There’s just something off about her. I’m telling you.”
“Excuse me, ma’am. I’m that nice. Now stop being mean to the poor girl and look how cute this is!” I hold up the plushie—a mini version of me, complete with a garter and dagger strapped to its thigh.
There’s a card attached to the hand with the Etsy info for the seller. I pull it up in the app and find an entire shop dedicated to Baby Doll Killer merch.“Ooh. Maybe I should order a ton and leave them at the scenes like calling cards.”
“Oh, good,” Bunny deadpans. “Then they can slap a serial killer-endorsed banner on the website. Hashtag licensed merch. And Hunter can link that directly back to you.”
“I can link what back to her?” Hunter asks as he and Wren join us.
My boyfriend slips his arms around my shoulders, pulling me back against him just as Bunny snaps, “Mind your own business!”
Hunter slaps his open palm against the edge of the pool table beside us before stepping into her space, pointing a finger at her. “Listen, little rabbit, I’ve had about enough of your mouth today?—”
Bunny snaps her teeth at his outstretched digit and snarls, “Funny, you were singing a different tune last night! ”
Wren and I exchange wide-eyed looks before discreetly backing away from the two of them.
“Is it just me, or is she extra pissy lately?” Wren whispers, grabbing two drinks from Vixey’s tray as she passes and handing one to me. The liquid shimmers with edible glitter, swirling through the pink alcohol, crisp and fruity on the nose.
“You’d think she’d be happier considering they’re sleeping together.”
“Did she finally admit it?”
I shake my head, eyeing our best friends. “No. But look at them. He’s seconds away from sitting her on that pool table and showing it some very dirty moves.”
Wren chuckles and sits at a nearby table, pulling me between his legs. “Speaking of dirty moves, while I did help set up this party, I can’t wait to get you home so I can give you my present.”
“Oooh.” I wind my arms around his neck, relishing the way his eyes darken, his thighs flexing as I press into him without fully climbing into his lap. “Is it your gorgeous cock wrapped in a pretty pink bow?”
He laughs, kissing me softly. “No, but I can make that happen.”
Wren leans in for a deeper kiss, but a sharp squeal makes us both jump.
“Are you two together?” Cecilia shrieks, nearly shattering my eardrums .
Wren and I exchange baffled glances. “We’ve been together for a while now, Cecilia,” I tell her.
“How long is a while? You’d never know with the way you two carry on at the office,” Sharon chimes in, standing beside her friend, who gapes at us like we just murdered her dog.
Wren leans in, voice low against my ear. “I just had you for lunch on my desk Thursday. What do they think we do when we lock the door?”
Giggling, I tell the women, “I guess we’re just really good at keeping secrets.” I glance back at my man with a knowing smile. “Aren’t we, Songbird?”
Wren’s fingers tighten in my hair, the prominent veins of his cock sliding against my tongue as he hits the back of my throat. Saliva pools from the corners of my mouth, “ erotic and aesthetically pleasing ,” as Wren once told me.
“Fuck, Turtle Dove. It’s your birthday. I should be the one on my knees.” His head tips back, another curse falling from his lips as I suck harder, swirling my tongue around him while he pulls out.
I speak against his tip like it’s a microphone. “How many times do I have to tell you, Songbird? It’s my birthday. I get to do what I want. ”
Wren moans as I trail my tongue along his shaft until my chin presses against his balls. I suck each one into my mouth, massaging them with my lips before kissing my way back up, savoring every whispered curse.
I love watching him unravel, surrendering to the pleasure I give. Love the way he loses himself to the deep, euphoric bliss that permeates the body when you trust your partner. Our give and take is instinctual—an ebb and flow like rhythmic ocean waves.
This is what pure contentment is.
Wren jackknifes up, momentarily choking me as he lodges deep in my throat, gripping my shoulders to haul me onto him. “Get up here and hold onto the headboard, birthday girl.”
I obey, throwing my head back as he lowers me onto his cock. His first thrust is painstakingly slow, but then he picks up his pace, kissing down my throat as he grips my hips, pulling me onto him while propelling his own upward.
“I haven’t even started your birthday spankings,” he murmurs into my neck before his palm strikes my ass.
Pleasure spikes through my spine. Wren digs his fingers into my flesh, grinding me down on him. My nipples tighten, toes curling as my orgasm coils in my belly .
Another sharp slap. “Are you going to count for me, Turtle Dove?”
“Three,” I squeal as his palm lands again.
“You’re so fucking good for me.” He nips at my nipple, my back arching deeper.
“Four,” I cry, fisting his hair and holding him to my chest.
He pulls me forward as he reclines, guiding me to ride him. His hand tangles in my hair, his other striking my ass, building me higher.
“Fuck me, Dove. Ride me until you make a mess all over my cock.”
I use the headboard for leverage, bouncing against him, counting every sharp smack until my voice breaks. Sparks detonate under my skin, pleasure coiling tighter, sharper.
“Baby, I’m going to come.”
“That’s right, Turtle Dove.” Wren takes over, pistoning into me, striking that sweet spot over and over until stars explode behind my eyes. “Fuck, you’re gripping me so tight. I’m coming, too.”
Moans and cries tangle as we chase our release, bodies moving in tandem to stretch the moment longer.
“Fuck, Songbird.” My fingers ache as I pry them from the headboard, slumping against his chest. “Best birthday gift ever. ”
Wren chuckles, tracing lazy patterns down my spine. “That wasn’t your gift.”
Fang whines outside the door, scratching to be let in, cutting me off before I can ask what else he has planned. Wren slides from bed, tossing on boxer briefs before letting our dog inside.
“Sorry, little rat. I was busy desecrating your mother, and your innocent eyes didn’t need to see that.” He lifts Fang, nuzzling their noses together before setting him on the bed.
“I prefer the term worship!” I curl onto my side and pull up the sheet, fisting a hand in my hair to prop my head up as I watch him disappear down the hall.
Fang groans and puts a paw over his face and I can hear Wren laughing from down the hall.
“See? This is why we lock you out of the bedroom now,” I explain to my pup as I ruffle his head fur.
A few moments later, Wren appears with an elongated pink box. “ This is your gift, Turtle Dove.” He hands it to me and perches on the edge of the bed as I scramble to a sitting position to open the box. “Happy birthday.”
“Baby, you didn’t have to get me anything!” My tone denotes my excitement as I tear the lid off and rip into the white tissue paper.
As I take in what lies inside, my breath catches. A decorative dagger gleams up at me. It’s the full length of my hand, with a glittering onyx blade and a pink shimmering hilt decorated with black and pink charms in the shape of bows and skulls. Hand-painted doves rest at the base of the tang.
“Do you like it?” Wren asks as a tear rolls down my cheek.
“I love it,” I whisper, not trusting my voice to not crack if I speak any louder.
“There’s an inscription on the back,” he says quietly, almost as if he’s unsure what my reaction will be.
I turn it over to see silvery words etched into the steel.
For life.
“Just like turtle doves,” Wren whispers. “I love you.”
“I love you, too. Thank you, Songbird. This is beautiful and I will cherish it always.” I launch myself into his arms, sending Fang flying across the mattress.
Wren laughs, holding me while ensuring Fang doesn’t fall. “This is what our forever looks like, Turtle Dove.”
I push his hair off his forehead as I grin through my happy tears. “Does this mean you’re going to keep going on kills with me?”
He smiles before kissing me softly. My body comes alive again as he softly groans against my lips. “I’ll go, but only to be your muscle. You can keep being the vengeful vigilante.”
The soft thud of Fang getting off the bed is lost as Wren shifts me back against the pillows, pulling the sheet from my naked body. He takes the dagger and places it back in the box, setting it on the nightstand before joining me in bed.
“Hmmm, the Doll and her dagger.”
“I like the sound of that, Turtle Dove.”
I pull him to me, sealing our lips together as I wrap my legs around his waist.
Though he’s much taller than me, I feel like we fit together like a puzzle piece. I accept Wren for who he is and am in awe of all he’s overcome, and he treasures all of me—even the darkest parts. We were both missing a part of our soul the other makes whole.
And right now—I’ve never felt more complete.