Page 102 of Bellini Bound

Hitting me with that devilishly handsome smirk, Enzo said, “The last of the snow melted.”

“Okay . . . And that’s important because?” I stared at him expectantly.

“You’ll see.” He led me from the room. “I have something for you first.”

Under my breath, I muttered, “If it’s not your dick, I’m not interested.”

Enzo snorted out a laugh, peeking back at me with mirth in his hazel eyes. “Horny little thing, aren’t you, wife?”

I fixed him with a murderous glare, the throbbing between my thighs too insistent to ignore. “Said the cock tease.”

Pausing in the hallway outside of our bedroom suite, he leaned in to kiss the tip of my nose. “Don’t worry, beautiful, I still have plans to fuck you like the world is ending. Just not here.”

Folding both arms over my chest, I huffed in annoyance, sexual frustration simmering beneath my skin. “What’s the matter, baby? Afraid you’re too old to get it up for a second round?”

That flipped the switch, and before I could blink, there was a hand around my throat, and my back was slammed against the wall. Then Enzo got right up in my face, his nostrils flaring as he bit out, “Act like a brat and ruin this for me, and I’ll edge the shit out of you all fucking night, never letting you come.”

My eyes widened. Well, okay then.

Guess I needed to shut my trap and stop digging the hole before it was too deep to get out of. Because not being allowed to come tonight wasnotan option. I needed an orgasm—ideally, more than one—to release the stress of my day like I needed air.

“Ready to behave?” Enzo arched an eyebrow.

“Yes,” I rasped.

“Yes, what?” he prompted, the tips of his fingers digging into my carotid artery with enough pressure to cause black spots to dance across my vision.

Ooh, he was pushing it. But with the already issued threat of orgasm denial, I couldn’t afford to tell him where he could shove the honorific he wanted used anytime I willingly accepted his dominance over me.

“I’m waiting, Allie . . .”

“Yes,sir,“ I all but snarled, satisfaction coursing through my veins when flecks of spit from my words landed on his face.

Enzo didn’t look quite as pleased, releasing his hold on my throat so suddenly that my weak knees buckled and I slid down the wall, landing on my ass. He didn’t offer me a hand up; instead, he pushed open our bedroom door.

“Get in here and get dressed. I don’t want to miss the sunset.”

It felt like I was playing dress-up, and I couldn’t stop tugging at the skintight black material hugging my curves. The outfit Enzo had provided was more his style than mine, but at the doubtful look I’d shot him while surveying the pile of clothing, he gave me a stern one in return, a reminder of the consequences should I continue to push back.

When I stepped into the living area of our suite, Enzo shoved off the couch, hunger blazing in his eyes as they scanned my leather-clad form. “Holy shit, babe, you look hot.”

My nose wrinkled. “Is all of this”—I gestured to my appearance—“for some kind of role play?”

“Not exactly.” He took my hand. “Come with me.”

I stomped along beside him—these boots were freaking heavy—and my brows drew down when we reached the garage. When we stepped inside, and he selected not one but two helmets from the rack, offering the second one to me, I held up both hands, shaking my head. “Oh, hell no. I’m not getting on one of those death traps.”

“I’ve logged thousands of hours driving a motorcycle, and I’m still alive to tell the tale.” He flashed me with that cocky smile that, right now, I was itching to wipe off his face.

“AndI’velogged thousands of hours working in the ER, where I’ve been witness to and helped treat the severe injuries sustained from motorcycle accidents,“ I shot back before using my fingers to tick off a list of them. “Broken bones, brain injuries, crushed skulls, and let’s not forget paralysis. It’s all fun and games, risking your life for an adrenaline rush, until you’re confined to a wheelchair.”

“Allie.” Enzo approached me slowly. “Do you trust me?”

That question was uttered with so much vulnerability that I stumbled back a step. And when I searched his eyes, I saw the defeat written in them, like he’d already accepted that my answer would be no.

Moving in close enough to cup his scruffy jaw, I whispered, “Of course I trust you.” Blowing out a heavy breath, I continued, “But this is . . .” How did I explain that no amount of trust could guarantee our safety when there were so many factors outside of our control?

“Then you need to trust that I willneverlet anything happen to you. Not while there’s still breath in my lungs, baby.“ There was so much conviction in his statement that it was impossible not to believe him.