Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
WREN
He smirks back, slanting his eyes like a predator.
It makes my knees knock. If I didn’t know better, I’d say Sire is going to attack me.
But I do know better; I trust him. I’m not afraid when he probes, “Are you woman enough to handle my answer?”
“Yes.”
He licks his lips. “You sure, little angel, because I’m the devil in bed?”
My pulse may be revving faster than a doe being chased, but my feet won’t move.
I want Sire, and I want to know. I want to join the godly devil in his bed and burn with him forever.
And did I mention that Sire’s been sitting there in grey, cotton pajama pants, with no shirt on, this whole time?
When he stormed into the room, all gun, ink, and muscles, Jesus took the wheel and my mouth because I couldn’t function.
I don’t know how I managed to serve up scrambled eggs when I could barely breathe at the sight of him.
Dark crosses and angels cover his thick neck, arms, and hands. Lions with bloody fangs pierce his swole pecs. They prowl over his broad, sculpted shoulders, too, but his shredded abs are bare. No ink. No hair. Just muscle after ripped muscle leading down to…
Dear God, I wanted to drop to my knees.
My mouth watered.
What’s that line on a man called? The one he has that looks like a thick, angled belt of abs pointing straight to his…
Yep, I saw it hanging.
He is a stallion. That’s why I asked about his first time because I don’t know how any woman or man can fit him inside, but I want to try.
I trust him to try.
I trust we’re destined to try.
“I’m not afraid of you or your dark needs.” I stare into his eyes. “Try me.”
“You want me to try you, Wren?” His glare narrows. “Is that what you think about when you touch yourself, Angel? I’ve heard you, too, moaning my name. Such a horny little virgin, trying to tempt me. Is that what you want? My dick, opening every tight, wet part of you for the first time?”
The flush to my cheeks is hot, the slick flood between my thighs uncontrollable. “Yes,” I boldly answer. “Open every part of me, Sire.”
Like a dark shadow up a wall, he rises. He wants me to see every manly, menacing inch on him, as if he’s warning me to stay away, to stop tempting him.
Grabbing the countertop, he leans toward me, tension vibrating off his flexing muscles.
“I will never try a woman I rescue or any man I save because it’s not right.
And I want them right. I want them bent over and open for me.
I want them wet or hard and in heat. I want to see it, taste it, smell it, touch it, and take it.
I want them begging me to breed them because that’s what I do, little angel. ”
Shockwaves pulse to my clit, my core clenching, my instincts responding.
He growls, “I am a sire. I’m an animal made to breed people who beg for every inch of my hard dick, every drop of my sweet cum.
I fill them, breeding them so hard and so many times, what’s so natural and right feels so fucking wrong and dark and dirty, and I love it.
I don’t want to stop. I don’t stop, and they don’t stop begging for more. ”
“You… You have a bunch of kids?”
Why do I want the answer? Why do I fear the answer?
“No,” he seethes. “I’m always protected because I don’t deserve kids. I’m a fucking beast who’s just like my evil father. I want to take and claim and breed, and I want the whole world to see me do it because I CAN. I can fuck that hard and ruin anyone who loves me.”
“But…” Suddenly, my heart hurts. “But you said you’ve never been in love.”
“I haven’t. I mean, my family. I mean, anyone who trusts me. I betray them. I ruin their lives.” He’s deadly serious. The light in his eyes, gone. “You don’t want me, Wren. After everything you’ve been through, you deserve far better than me.”
“But I—”
I’m stopped by a text pinging his phone. Across the open loft, we can hear it in his bedroom.
“Shit,” he mutters, quickly turning away to answer it.
With shaking hands, I finish putting away the dishes.
It’s not fear that has me trembling. It’s desire. It’s fate. I want everything Sire described. The visions he’s put in my mind of his dark needs; I want to feel them.
I’m meant to fill them.
“Lunch.” He startles me. I whip around. “My mother wants to have lunch with us.”
“Your mother?”
“Yes. Ms. Faye.” His bare chest heaves like he ran a marathon, and it’s over. “She wants you to wear the dress she bought for you. She said it’s in your luggage, which, by the way, you will unpack to stay in our home while I go to church and come back for you at noon.”
Six hours later, I’ve showered and gotten ready, after I scoured the kitchen, mopped the floors, and dusted furniture. Our home is spotless.
I got the sweetest feeling folding Sire’s T-shirts. The headiest sensation lifting his clean black boxer briefs to my nose: amber and musk. I left them neatly stacked on his bed, resisting the impulse to snoop around.
I may tempt him, but I’d never betray him.
And if I’m supposed to be embarrassed about wanting him this much and being honest about it, I’m not. I’m too flooded with other potent feelings.
I believe in him. I know we’re supposed to be together. I don’t care what he’s done or who he’s betrayed, so I unpack my clothes. It’s not much, but the gesture means a lot.
“Our home,” he said, and I keep hearing it.
I almost had one. I almost had a safe home with a loving mother, a cute dog, and simple happiness. I almost had what many take for granted, but I lost it all in a single, cruel stroke of bad luck and bad people.
“Wren?”
I like my name in his low, gruff voice. I like stepping out of my bedroom to greet him. I like the dark grey suit, tie, and vest he’s wearing. I like how Sire looks so handsome right now, how he’s staring at me in that high and smiling way again.
I blink back tears.
Happy tears.
“I’m ready, just…” I turn, hiding them as he walks my way. “Can you zip me up, please?”
I lift my hair so it won’t get caught in the zipper. Ms. Faye gave me a cream tweed Chanel sleeveless minidress with a scalloped neck and hemline. I’ve never worn such luxury against my skin. I’ve never felt so pretty and like a fool, too, because I can’t reach the zipper in the back.
“You look…” His voice chokes. His heat blankets my back. “You look beautiful, Wren.”
Slowly, too slowly, he pulls the zipper up, his fingertips brushing the nape of my neck. His touch, racing innocent goosebumps down my skin, breathless desire igniting even deeper below.
“Thank you,” I sigh. “But I don’t have any heels. I only have these flats Ms. Faye gave me. I hope they’re okay.”
“My mom never had daughters.” He steps back as I turn around. “Let her spoil you. Trust me. She loves it.”
The flats Nadine gave me are Chanel, too. They’re white ballet slippers with a black, silk toe. I’m both awkward and honored wearing clothes I could never have dreamed of affording. And next to Sire, I feel like a tiny princess, too.
His intense stare drinks me in. His fists clench, then unclench, before they gesture for me to walk with him.
Escorting me to his black Mercedes sedan parked outside, he opens the passenger door for me. It’s like I’m being whisked away to meet the Queen, but Sire seems oddly quiet about it.
“Music?” I chirp.
“You’ll have to play new music on my phone.” He pulls it out of his suit pocket. “This is a nineteen ninety-five classic. It only plays cassette tapes.”
“Cassettes? Do you—”
Interrupting, he mocks, “You’re too young to know what those are, aren’t you?”
“No. You didn’t have to see the pyramids being built to know what they are. Jeez. I was gonna ask if you have any tapes we can listen to.”
He points to the glove compartment. I open it and search through the cases, reading aloud, “Radiohead. Alanis Morissette. Pearl Jam. TLC. Wow. Did these come with the car?”
“No,” he huffs. “It was a good year for music.”
“I agree.”
“You weren’t even born.” More sarcasm.
The breeding beast, turned sweet escort, has become Mr. Grumpy again, and I don’t know why. All I’ve done is his laundry.
“Yeah, and they invented bread before I was born, too, but I know how to bake it. Some things are ageless.” I pull out a shiny, new case with a handwritten insert. “What’s this?” I don’t recognize the titles.
He glances at it, wincing. “Don’t play it.”
“What is it?”
“Something WE are NOT playing,” he barks.
“Speaking in plural for me?” I pop the cassette in. “That’s mighty male of you.”
While he glares at the interstate before us, there’s a crackling sound, a cough, the strum of a guitar, and then it’s him. I’d recognize his voice anywhere after hearing him sing to the kids. But this song is darker, in his deepest register, like the pain he’s singing about.
I watch his face. Every heartbreaking wince and agonizing flinch. I know not to ask him about the haunting lyrics. Not now. Not like this.
“You have a beautiful voice.” I just share the truth. “Really beautiful.”
He swallows. “Thank you.”
“Sorry.” I press the pause button. “I shouldn’t have played it when you asked me not to.”
“Sorry. I shouldn’t be a dick and speak to you in that tone. It’s just…” He glances at me. “You look breathtaking, Wren, and I don’t know how to feel about it.”
“Thank you. You look really handsome, and I know exactly how I feel about it.”
He shakes his head, a smile playing with his lips.
I eject the tape, trying to lighten the mood. “Got any Dolly?”
“Actually,” he grins, “check the eighties love song mix.”
I fish through the cases. “You know, I’m dying to make old man jokes right now.” I find the case and Dolly’s song number on the insert.
“Tell you what...” He checks the rearview mirror. “For a handsome, older man who gets grumpy, and a breathtaking, younger woman who keeps asserting her power, maybe we should stop talking about age.”
“Deal.” I press the cassette in and click the forward button until it starts playing the best love song ever, in my very biased opinion.
It’s a duet with Dolly, featuring Kenny Rogers. I belt his opening lyrics, and Sire laughs, pressing pause.
“What do you think he just said?”
“Duh…” I scoff. “He says, ‘Baby, when I met you there was peace on earth’.” Laughter shakes Sire’s chest. It’s contagious. He makes me laugh back, “What? That’s what he’s saying.”
“Uh, no, it isn’t but sing it with me anyway. Be Dolly, and I’ll be Kenny because you’re fucking cute fucking up the song.”
“I’m not fucking up the song.”
He winks. “Whatever you say, Angel.”
But it is cute, if not the happiest moment of my life, belting the duet with him.
Sire’s voice is sexy, the lyrics feel prophetic, and each time he snickers, I know I fucked them up again, but he doesn’t correct me. He sings with me and smiles even bigger, which I didn’t think was possible.
By the time our duet is over, he’s pulling into an almost empty parking lot beside a three-story brick building with its big windows painted black. I glance around and see a wide river in the distance, along with other huge buildings with no signs on them.
“Where are we?”
“The old Naval yard.” He kills the ignition, turning to me. “Listen, you need to know a few things before we go inside.”
Can he be more ominous? “Oh-kay.”
“Ms. Faye is my mother, and this is her club: a private sex club.” Hey, Pulse, calm down. “She uses the money she makes here to save people like you.”
“And you and your brother help her.”
“Bro-thers.”
“How many do you have?”
And do they all look as hot as him and Jace? God help me if they do.
“I have six brothers. There’s seven of us who work for her because we believe in what she does.”
“Why?”
“That’s not my story to tell.”
“So, what can you tell me?”
“That the club isn’t open right now, otherwise, no way in hell would I let you in.”
“Because I’m under twenty-one?”
“No.” He shakes his head like it makes him mad. “Because you’re about to see things you never have.”
“Hmm.” I study him. “I’m not shook by taboo things, so why are you worried about me seeing them?” I lower my brows, teasing, “Is it because you breed here?”
His nostrils flare. “Never. One, it’s my mom’s club, so hell-no, I don’t let her see me fuck. Two, I can’t risk being seen here. My flock is progressive. Some are even members here, but not me. Because three, I don’t get the same freedom. I’m held to a different standard.”
“Because they’ll judge your sexuality?”
He nods.
“So, where do you fuck?”
“Where do you get off asking me?”
I bat my lashes. The pun is too easy. “Because I get off knowing.”
Half-amused, he rolls his eyes. “I belong to a fetish club in Atlanta, and sometimes, I use an app. But it’s been a minute, and I’ve been busy.” He pauses. “Busy finding you. So, come on.” He opens his door. “If you have a death wish, be late for a meeting with my mom.”
Before I can open my door, he’s doing it for me. He’s offering me his big, inked hand, and I take it, my heart fluttering under my butterfly tattoo. He’s a brutal gentleman, gently shadowing me with his protection, as he escorts me into…
A sex club.
Inside, the house lights are on. I’m sure it’s usually dark in here, setting an erotic mood, but right now, it’s swarming with worker bees, cleaning every surface.
Glancing around, I can’t take it all in.
Concrete floors and ornate rugs. A large stage.
Velvet sofas. Acrylic stools. Plush chairs.
Tufted ottomans. Leather benches. Chains and padded crosses hang on the wall.
Ropes and shackles sway beside them. Glass jars full of condoms, wipes, and packets of lube are everywhere.
Sandalwood scents the air. Sex toys are for sale next to the gleaming bar.
Oh, my God.
It’s fucking heaven.
Literally.
For a minute, I can’t breathe. I just stare like a kid in a candy store, my clit tingling so sweet.
From behind the long bar, where staff in black T-shirts and pants diligently clean, Ms. Nadine Faye walks our way in a Chanel pink skirt suit with her arms held open for me.
“There she is.” Her blue eyes sparkle like her son’s. “My dear, you look like a modern-day Audrey Hepburn.”
A blush hits my cheeks as she pecks them. “Thank you,” I beam.
She gives me the warmest hug, too, before Sire gives her one, along with a quick peck on her cheek. “Hey, Mom.”
But he sounds mad, and she picks up on it. “What’s wrong?”
He gestures to me. “She shouldn’t be in here. It’s inappropriate. I don’t know why we’re meeting here.”
The wise smile that lifts her lips makes me worship her. Nannie did the same thing when someone questioned her power.
Arching one of her groomed brows, Ms. Faye calmly answers, “If I didn’t think Wren could handle being in my club, she wouldn’t be here.”
She turns to me. “Wren, dear, look around. Explore. Ask my staff all your questions. They’re professional and informed. And please excuse us while I talk the ears off of my stubborn mule of a son.”