Page 35

“Boss.” Matteo’s amused voice cuts through the haze that's descended on me as Enzo continues to plunder my mouth. “We’ll handle the mess. You two… take care of business.” He chuckles wickedly before I hear murmurs and shuffling of feets as they all leave. I couldn't care less if they remained.
The sounds of their footsteps fade and I barely hear it. I'm that immersed in my husband. I'm not a woman who relishes losing control. I like to keep a leash on my composure. But with Enzo, I'm like a wild cat, I'm shameless. He has me acting like a wanton. It should bother me, but it doesn't.
Enzo doesn't relinquish my mouth. His hold tightens and our lips remain locked until I feel the need for air. I pull back, panting, lips tingling as I meet his gaze. His eyes are dark andburning with acute desire. They mirror mine perfectly. I lick my lips, my tongue running over the rim of my lower lip, swollen with Enzo's kisses.
“Here,” I whisper in a hoarse voice, daring him to take me in this ruined ballroom.
His gaze sharpens. Twin pools blazing like a predator’s glint. He steps closer, crowding me against a velvet-curtained wall, the fabric cool against my back. His fingers trail my collarbone, slowly, deliberately. His touch sends sparks down my spine. I shiver at the overwhelming intensity of his nearness, his hands on my skin. My nipples harden, the buds straining against the silk of my dress, and he notices. He stares pointedly at them, his lips curving in a dangerous, sexy smile.
“Bellissima,” he murmurs in a low voice, the Italian rolling off his tongue like silk, curling around me.
His hand slides lower, grazing the swell of my breast. His thumb brushes my nipple through the gown in a teasing caress, nearly driving me crazy. It's not enough. I bite my lip, stifling a moan, but he sees through my frustration. His eyes take on a darkening hue. He’s seducing me, and it's masterful, slow and deliberate. It’s working. My body is trembling, craving more.
“You’re shaking,” he says, his voice gravelly, his eyes locked on mine. “Want me that bad?” His thumb circles my nipple in slow, torturous motion, and I gasp, my head tipping back, the curtain soft against my hair. Fuck. I'm burning, seared alive with this aching need to have him claim me every which way.
“I want you, Enzo,” I say, my voice tremulous as I lift my hands to grab his shirt, pulling him closer. “Now.”
His smile is lopsided as he leans in, his lips brushing my ear, his breath hot. “I’ll make you scream,” he promises, and my core clenches, heat pooling between my thighs.
He doesn’t rush. His hands slide down my sides slowly, tracing my curves, the silk whispering under his touch. I’m trembling, not from cold, but from the fire he’s stoking. His fingers spark electricity in their trail. He kneels, lips kissing my thigh through the gown teasingly. I arch into him. He inches up, and I moan, my hands fisting his hair, urging him closer. His fingers find the gown’s slit, parting it, baring my skin. His lips follow, kissing higher, hotter, until I’m panting, my pussy dripping.
He stands, eyes never leaving mine, and rips the gown’s slit wider. The silk tears, exposing me. My panties are black, lace, and his eyes went darker as he assesses me.
“Damn, woman. You're so fucking sexy,” he growls. I wiggle my hips in response.
Knowing that I can elicit such a response from this stoic, powerful man gives me such a high I fear nothing can touch.
I hold my breath as he hooks a finger in my panties and tugs slowly, letting them slide down my legs. I step out of them boldly, my eyes staying on Enzo's face, catching every emotion. I want him to see me. I want him to take me. His hand cups my pussy. His touch is deliberate, his palm warm, and I gasp,hips thrusted, seeking more. His thumb brushes my clit, light, teasing, and I moan loudly.
“Dio. You’re so wet,” he growls, his voice thick.
“Mmm,” I murmur as two fingers slide inside my pussy, stretching me, curling just right.
I cry out, my hands grabbing his shoulders. My nails dig into his skin as he begins to pump his fingers slowly, his fingertips raking against my pussy walls. I moan and he grips my hip tight with his free hand, pulling me closer to him. His fingers pumping me goes from slowest fast and urgent, the wet sound filthy, driving me wild.
“Enzo, please,” I moan throatily.
I’m close to my orgasm. I can feel it just out of reach. I shut my eyes tight, reveling in the onslaught of pleasure. He pulls back just as I feel myself tethering on the edge of release. I whimper my frustration. I open my eyes to see his smug smile. I frown at him.
“Not yet,” he says as he starts to unbuckle his belt, the metal clinking, freeing his cock.
I look down to behold his cock. It juts out proudly, long, veiny and hard, the tip glistening with pre cum. My eyes glaze over. I lick my suddenly dry lips. I hear the sound of his laughter, and I look up to see him looking at me with something akin to tenderness.
Wondrously, I lift a finger to trace the scar over his brow. It's rough to the touch. I want to ask what gave him the scar, but I know better than to. My touch is slow as I trace it down to the tear in his sleeve from where the bullet had grazed him. The blood has dried up, crusted black. I mentally shiver at the knowledge that for a second there, I could've lost him.
I lean in, lowering my lips to the wound to press a kiss to it. My mouth on his skin is soft, reverent, the taste of copper and him mingling on my tongue. His body jolts and I feel it travel through him. I jerk back, my mouth brushing the raw edge. He hisses.
Am I hurting you?” I whisper, voice low, concern slipping through my heat.
“No,” he murmurs, his voice thick. “Dio Mio, Fina, you’re killing me.”
His hand fists my hair, gentle but firm, pulling me closer. I hold his gaze, seeing the raw hunger in their dark pools. My pulse races, heat pooling low. My lips hover near the wound, breath warm against his skin, and I kiss it again, softer, lingering, feeling his heartbeat quicken under my touch.
His groan is low, and I smile wickedly, my hands moving to his shirt. The fabric’s damp, clinging to his chest, and I meet his dark and burning eyes. “Let me,” I say.
His grip tightens in my hair, a silent yes, and I start unbuttoning, slow, each pop revealing more of his chiseled muscle. My fingers tremble from desire, from the power of unraveling him.
I peel his shirt open, baring his chest, and my hands roam, tracing his body, feeling the heat of his skin. My fingers trace his pecs, feeling his heartbeat, fast, alive. His breath hitches, eyes dark as he watches me unravel him. My nails graze his nipples, sparking a low groan. The sound ignites heat in my belly. I smile, buoyed by the knowledge that I’m pushing him to the edge.