She zipped her lips with her fingers.
Francesca appeared at the kitchen door. I turned around, lacing her arm in mine. We poured into the starless Chicago night.
“Villain?”
“Yes, Nemesis?”
“Do you think Smithy might be able to teach me how to drive?”
She wanted her wings back.
She had every right to them. I knew since I wanted her protected from everyone around her. Including me.
“Fuck Smithy, Nem. I’ll teach you.”
THE REMAINING WEEK BEFORE OUR wedding, Wolfe came to my bedroom every single night.
We did not have sex, but he did lick me down there until I came. Every time I reached a climax, he’d suck my lips—the ones between my legs—and laugh like the devil. Sometimes he would rub himself against my stomach through our clothes, then retire to my bathroom. When he came back to the bedroom to kiss me good night before he left, his cheeks were always tinted pink.
One of the times, he asked if he could come on me. I said yes, mainly because I wasn’t entirely sure if it meant what I think it meant. He rubbed against me, and when he was ready, he took himself out and climaxed between my breasts, all over my nightgown.
A part of me wanted to sleep with him to show him that I forgave him because as much as I hated to admit it—and despite myself—I did forgive him. But another part of me was terrified of having sex again. I was still sore from the incident, and every time he rubbed against me, I remembered the awful night he drove into me in one go. But then I’d push the memory aside and force myself to think happy thoughts.
As much as our relationship had improved after our engagement party night, we still weren’t a real couple. We slept in separate wings of the house, something he’d warn would happen for the rest of our days. He limited his attention toward me to only the nighttime. We would have dinner together, then retire back to our designated rooms. Then, a short hour after I showered and slipped into a sexy nightgown, he would knock on my door, and I’d be ready for him, with my thighs open and the thing between them aching for his touch and tongue and mouth.
I felt dirty for what we did. I’d been taught that sex was a way to get pregnant and please your husband, not something you should desire to do so frequently. Yet having Wolfe lick me there was all I wanted to do, all day, every day. Even now, when I went to college and made a conscious effort to meet new people and get a grip on my class schedule, the only thing I could think about was his nose and mouth buried deep inside me as he mumbled filthy, degrading things about my body that made more and more wetness leak from me.
I didn’t make an effort to make friends, or to open up, or to form a life of my own. I wanted to do my homework, attend all my lectures, and have the Big, Bad Wolfe eat me out.
The day before our wedding, Wolfe was in his home office and I was gardening outside when I heard the doorbell ring. Since I knew Ms. Sterling was upstairs, reading one of her less-than-innocent books (I was no longer in a position to judge her, though), I took off my gardening gloves, rose to my feet, and made my way into the house. Through the peephole, I saw it was my father and his bodyguards. My pulse quickened. Was he trying to make amends?
I flung the front door open and was pushed to the side. My back slammed against the door as he stomped in.
“Where is he?” he clipped. His two bodyguards trailed behind him. I furrowed my brows. He didn’t even say hello to me. After everything he’d done at our engagement party—inviting the dodgiest people the state had to offer to try and hurt Wolfe’s reputation, not to mention throwing Kristen and Angelo into the mix—he didn’t even afford me an offhand pleasantry. What a jerk.
I closed the door behind them, straightening my back. I felt oddly secure in my domain. I had no illusions about Wolfe’s feelings for me, but I did know that he would not have anyone disrespecting me in my own house.
“Is he expecting you?” I drawled, playing dumb. Truly, I was sick of him. Sick of him cheating on my mother and selling his daughter to the highest bidder. My father was selfish, and he allowed it to hurt his family.
My father sneered, “Get him here. Now.”
“Do you or do you not have an appointment with Senator Keaton?” I braved my fear, raising my voice slightly.
I am the wind. Strong and evasive and everywhere. He can’t touch me.