A DAY SPENT WITH Ziven should be exciting. I should be thrilled that he’s taking time out for me, to do something for me and to help me. The happiness I should be feeling is overshadowed by the conversation I overheard just moments ago.
Words like war and the Cartel are terrifying.
How do I just pretend that I didn’t hear them? How can we go on with our normal day-to-day lives without being scared? How can he expect me to leave the condo now?
“We’ll do this, then lunch, and then tonight a special surprise,” Ziven murmurs as he puts his car in park.
I look up in surprise to see that we’re downtown, and there is a huge building in front of us.
“Where are we?”
“Denver Art Museum,” he shrugs as he opens his door and steps out of the car.
I watch him walk around, and I try to hide my smile, but fail as he opens the door for me.
“You like art?” I ask as I take his hand and stand up.
“Why does that surprise you?”
“I don’t know. I never pegged a big badman like yourself as an art lover,” I say wrapping my fingers around his hand as we walk toward the entrance.
“I enjoy a lot of the arts. You never cared to learn anything about me before,” he announces.
I feel a twinge of guilt knowing he’s absolutely correct.
Before I left, before I was held captive and abused, I didn’t give one fuck what was underneath Ziven. I didn’t care what his likes or dislikes were; I didn’t care about his past—about his life in general.
Had I even attempted to learn even a little bit about him, I would have discovered that there is so much more to him than his position in the Bratva. He’s kind, loving, considerate, protective, safe, and apparently, an art lover as well.
“I’ve never been to a museum before,” I shyly admit.
“Never?” he asks as he opens the door for me to enter.
“Never.”
The inside of the building seems so much bigger than the outside. It’s gigantic. I look around at all of the banners that tell of the current exhibits on display, and I’m in complete awe. Ziven presses his lips to my cheek before he walks away to the ticket booth.
My eyes take in everything around me, and they water with unshed tears. I feel overwhelmed, by not only this man and who he is underneath his hard exterior, but also because I can’t fathom the fact that I never saw it before now.
“Ready?” he asks as he wraps his hand around my waist.
I strip out of my coat and fold it over my arm before we start to walk.
“What exhibit are we going to see?” I ask as my eyes skirt over the banners one last time.
“Glory of Venice. It’s venetian renaissance art, and it’s only here for another couple of days,” he explains as he guides us toward the correct area.
We spend well over three hours walking through the exhibit. The paintings are absolutely beautiful, and I love how there is a little plaque next to each one that explains the history of it, especially since I know so little about this stuff.
“Did you enjoy that?” Ziven asks once we’re walking outside into the cold again. I slip on my jacket with a nod.
“I learned so much. I didn’t know anything about the renaissance before this,” I say as we walk.
“What about in High school?” he asks, turning us so that we’re walking inside of a restaurant.
“I never finished,” I mutter, looking down at my shoes.
“Quinn?”
I look up and try to keep my eyes from filling with tears. He doesn’t know. How could he? Unless he did research on my childhood, he wouldn’t know. I let out an exhale and press my lips together before I speak.
“I never went to high school,” I admit.
Ziven’s eyes widen and he wraps his hand around mine tugging me out of the restaurant and around the side of the building without saying a word. He pushes me up against the wall and wraps his hands around my cheeks, his focus completely on me.
“How is this possible? There are laws against that here,” he murmurs gently. I can still see the anger swirling in his eyes.
“My father, he wouldn’t let me go. He said high school would get me into trouble, that I wouldn’t be any use to him if I went. He didn’t keep me locked up. I would sneak out during the day, or at night, to party, and get into trouble. He couldn’t watch me twenty-four hours a day, not when he was addicted to gambling the way that he was,” I shrug.
“No wonder you ran from me. No wonder you were the way you were,” he mumbles as he drops his forehead against mine.
“I don’t know how to be normal. I’m trying so hard, Ziven, but I don’t know how to be what you need me to be. I want to be perfect for you,” I whisper the truth as I close my eyes.
His body closes in on me, his chest pressing against mine, his hips against my stomach, and his breath at my ear as his hands move from my cheeks to the back of my hair.
“You’re everything I need, Quinn. These past few weeks, since you’ve come back to me, they’ve been fucking perfect,” he rasps.
“I want to be perfect for you,” I admit.
“You already are,” he grunts before he moves his face and presses his lips to mine.
I press my chest against his as I open my mouth. In the cool Colorado air, he kisses me; he shows me everything in this kiss. He consumes me the only way that he can, and as always—he owns me.
“Hungry?” he asks when my stomach lets out a growl.
“Maybe?” I shrug.
He chuckles, taking a step back, and together we walk into the restaurant. We spend two hours drinking, eating, and talking. I don’t know if this, what we have, is considered normal, but I like it for me, for us. I want to think that it is completely normal.
“We’re going out tonight. We’ll listen to some music, drink a few beers, and then come home,” Ziven announces as he drives us back to the apartment.
“Music?” I ask.
“Rock music, katyonak. It’ll be relaxing and fun. You’ll like it,” he assures me.
“Okay,” I grin.
This has been the best day of my life.
I didn’t think it was possible, but I’m falling even deeper in love with my husband. Maybe it’s because we’re discovering more about each other, maybe it’s because we’re just being together, doing things as a couple. I don’t know, but I’m not about to question it, either. It’s fun and relaxing, and it makes me feel good inside.
I sit back in my chair, closed in my office while Quinn gets ready for this evening. I’m taking her to the Brew Cycle to see this great rock band that I enjoy called Mountains and Men.
I think she’ll like the laid-back vibe of the place, and maybe I can get her to loosen up a little, dance with me, and just enjoy herself.
I pull up the search engine on my computer and google Quinn’s name. It’s nothing I’ve ever done before, but for some reason, I feel the desire to try and find out more. I could call Oliver to really dig up information on her, but I don’t want to do that.
I scroll through a few pages and don’t see anything, but then I find a post that someone put on social media. A boy. There’s a picture of Quinn. She looks so young, and the date confirms that she was just fifteen. He’s probably closer to eighteen, and his hand is gripping her breast tightly. She doesn’t look happy, though. Her face is like stone, and her eyelids are lowered, dead looking, but she’s got a bottle of booze in her hand.
I start scrolling through the guy’s pictures and see that there are many different girls, all with the same kind of dead expression in their eyes. He’s drugged them, all of them, and Quinn was one of his victims.
“Are you ready?” Quinn’s sweet voice asks as she opens the office door.
She’s standing there looking like a fucking vision, wearing a long sleeve, skintight, burgundy dress that skims her knees, thick black tights, and black high heeled booties on her feet. Her hair is curled, fluffy and soft looking, and her makeup is perfect for evening, down to her dark berry colored plump lips.
“I am,” I say, clearing my throat.
“You’re wearing jeans,” she says as her eyes widen.
I look down and grin, I am wearing jeans.
“Yeah,” I nod.
“I’ve never seen you in jeans,” she whispers as I take her hand.
“I don’t wear them to work, and since I’m always working…”
“Fair enough,” she grins up at me.
It takes us about an hour to reach the Brew Cycle, but I know that the drive will be worth it.
I can’t believe how packed it already is. There are people everywhere, inside and out. I shed my coat and throw it in the backseat before I get out and help Quinn out of the car. I slide her jacket off and toss it in the car, earning me a wide-eyed look of surprise.
“You’ll get too hot in there. It’ll make you sick. Look how crowded it is,” I explain.
“This band must be some kind of big deal; either that, or the beer is just that good,” she says with a grin as I wrap my arm around her shoulders and bring her into my side.
“The band is that good—but then again, so is the beer,” I shrug.
We make our way inside of the brewery, and I wrap my hand around Quinn’s so that we don’t lose each other in the crowd. I furrow my brow at the thought that this is probably difficult for her. She hasn’t been around very many people in a while, and I’ve thrown her into a huge crowd.
I look back, and though she’s got my hand in a vice grip, she’s wide-eyed and even smiling as she takes everything in. I let out a breath of relief as I find a lone, empty barstool.
I pull Quinn onto the stool and stand behind her, one hand around her waist, and the other on the bar, caging her in and hopefully making her feel safe and protected.
“Drinks?” a bartender shouts.
I call out for a couple of beers, my favorites from this place, and he lifts his chin in acknowledgement before he turns around. A few minutes later, there are two glasses of beer in front of Quinn. She takes hers with shaky fingers and lifts it to her lips, taking a tentative sip before she smiles.
“You like it?” I ask, whispering in her ear.
“I do,” she grins.
The band walks out on the stage, and it’s as if the entire vibe in the room shifts. It becomes electric. I take in each member and I completely understand why.
As if they weren’t all handsome enough, there’s a cute girl with a big bass guitar standing to the side. Then the light shines on the lead singer, and I gasp. He’s so good looking, with a tattooed sleeve on one arm and horn-rimmed glasses. He has the sexy smirk down pat. Then he speaks, and I swear all of the women in the room swoon.
“Don’t get any ideas,” Ziven grumbles in my ear from behind me.
We’ve moved to the area a little closer to the stage. He’s standing behind me with both hands on my hips, gripping me tightly.
“What?” I ask innocently.
“Yeah, you know,” he grunts.
“This is off our new album. It’s called Anything but This,” says the lead singer. According to the girls screaming next to me, his name is Sage.
I close my eyes and listen to the words he’s singing. It’s about saying goodbye, how it’s not supposed to feel this way. That he would rather hold her, give in, do anything but this. It resonates with me completely.
I can’t get past the opening of the song to really hear the rest of the words, too lost in my own thoughts as he sings. All I can think about is how leaving Ziven wasn’t supposed to feel the way it did, and about how I regretted it the second my foot stepped inside of Oswald’s home.
Ziven’s hips move against my ass, and his hands guide my hips to move with him. I’m not a very good dancer, but as he guides me, I close my eyes and just feel. The music pumps through the bar, Ziven surrounds me, and it’s almost heaven—almost.
I spin around in his hold and wrap my arms around his neck, pressing against his chest, lifting until my lips are pressed against his, then I speak.
“I want you,” I admit.
My body feels like it’s on fire; I need to feel him touch me, and I crave him inside of me all at the same time.
Without skipping a beat, he picks me up and walks us toward the hallway. I imagine he’s taking us to the bathrooms, but he doesn’t. Instead, we end up in a dark area, the music muffled and behind us. Then, in the next second, we’re outside.
It’s freezing, but I don’t care.
I have my Ziven to keep me warm.
His lips touch mine, and without even seeking permission, he thrusts his tongue inside of my mouth, taking and consuming me just the way I love.
My back slams against the brick wall, and I arch so that my breasts press into his chest. His hands move up my side and wrench the top of my dress down, including the cups of my bra, so that my breasts are completely exposed.
“Ziven,” I gasp.
He ignores me and kisses down my neck sucking one of my breasts deep into his mouth. My head falls against the brick, and I moan as one of his hands yanks my dress up my hips. With both hands, he pulls my tights down, and I gasp at the bite of the cold air when it hits my bare skin.
“Turn around,” he grinds out.
I do as he asks and cry out when one of his hands cups my breast. I feel the head of his cock graze my wet pussy, and moan when he pushes inside of me. I stick my ass out a little more, so that he has the angle he wants. He groans as he fills me, his other hand cupping my still bare breast.
“I’m going to fuck you now,” he warns.
I whimper as he pulls out, his grip on my breasts tightening even more before he slams back inside.
I brace my hands on the wall as Ziven fucks me, just as promised, his hips moving hard and fast as his cock impales me. My breath hitches each time he fills me completely to the root, and I feel my body climbing higher and higher toward my release.
The music continues from inside the brewery, the deep bass being the only thing we can hear from out here, but it’s sexy all the same.
“Get yourself there. Come on my cock, katyonak,” he urges. I slip one of my hands between my body and the wall, and I start to stroke myself.
“You feel so good,” I moan as I rub circles against my clit.
“Your pussy is heaven, Quinn,” he grunts.
“I’m going to come,” I warn.
He lets out a long groan as my pussy starts to flutter around him.
“Come,” he grinds out as he releases one of my breasts and slaps his palm against my ass.
It stings in the blistery cold, but I come. My entire body stills as my pussy clamps down around his cock. Ziven doesn’t slow down his thrusts. He continues to move inside of me, brutally hard and fast. I whimper and then I feel him still inside of me before he fills me with his release.
Without a word, he pulls the top of my dress up and slides out of my center. My cheek is resting against the cold building, and I’m still twitching with the aftershocks of my orgasm, unable to move as he pulls my panties and tights back up before yanking my dress back down.
“You’re leaking out of me,” I whisper breathlessly.
“Good,” he grunts. I turn around and wrinkle my nose at his word. “I like filling you up with my cum, Quinn. In fact, we’re going to go home and I’m going to fill you up again, and then I’m going to watch as it leaks out of your tight cunt.”
“That sounds gross,” I say, shaking my head.
We don’t bother going back inside of the brewery. Instead, Ziven wraps his arm around me and guides us back to his car.
“Hmmm, you’re mine. It isn’t gross. I like watching me inside of you, no matter which part of me it is,” he shrugs as he unlocks his car door, opens it and waits for me to slide inside.
“If I still didn’t think that was kind of gross, I might think it’s sweet,” I admit.
He shuts the door with a smile and jogs to his side, starting the engine and turning the heat on full blast before he eases into traffic.
“Get used to it, katyonak. I’m going to fill you up and paint your body with my cum. Soon enough, you’ll think its sweet. You might even crave it.”
I turn and look at him. He’s watching the road, but with a smile on his face. I don’t know that I could ever crave having him come on me, but I can’t deny that I like his talk about filling me up. It seems so wrong, maybe even a little forbidden, but the way he talks about it makes me want it, makes me want to make him happy.
My Ziven.