Page 30 of Ruined By Blood (Feretti Syndicate #2)

I kiss Sienna again, unable to get enough of the taste of her. My fingers trace the curve of her jaw, drifting down her neck to the hollow of her throat. Her pulse jumps under my touch.

"You're beautiful," I whisper against her lips.

Sienna's fingers tighten in my hair as she pulls me closer. The hesitation from earlier is gone, replaced by something hungry and fierce. She arches up against me, her body telling me what her words haven't yet.

"I want more," she breathes, her voice trembling but certain.

My control splinters at her words. I've wanted her since I first saw her in that red dress at the casino, but now the need burns hotter, deeper.

I kiss her again, deeper this time, as my hands find the hem of her shirt. I lift it slowly, giving her time to change her mind, but she raises her arms to help me. When I toss it aside, she's watching me, chest rising and falling with quick breaths.

My fingers trace each scar on her skin. Moving all over her.

"Perfect," I murmur against her skin. "So fucking perfect."

A small sound escapes her, somewhere between a gasp and a whimper. I work my way down.

Everything about her is beautiful because it's her.

Her hands clutch at my shoulders, her nails digging in when I reach a particularly sensitive spot. I smile against her skin, memorizing each reaction, learning her body like a map I've waited my whole life to explore.

"Enzo," she whispers, my name a plea on her lips.

I look up to find her watching me, her eyes dark with want. I've never wanted to give anyone pleasure the way I want to give it to her. I want to erase every terrible memory, replace them with this. With us.

I continue my path on her thighs, feeling her tremble beneath my lips. With each kiss, I'm telling her without words that she deserves pleasure, deserves gentleness, deserves to be worshiped.

I press a kiss to the inside of her thigh and hear her breath catch. Her fingers tangle in my hair, not pushing or pulling, just holding on like I'm her lifeline in this storm of sensation.

"I want to taste you, baby, " I murmur against her skin, my breath hot on her most intimate place. "Will you let me?"

I lower my mouth to her center, giving her one slow, deliberate lick. She tastes like heaven and hell combined. Sweet and addictive.

The sound she makes make my dick throb. A gasp that turns into a moan that turns into my name.

"Enzo!"

Her cry echoes around us as her back arches off the bed. I grip her thighs to keep her steady as I continue, tracing patterns with my tongue, finding the spots that make her shout louder.

"Oh god, Enzo—" Her voice breaks as I circle her clit, her hips bucking against my mouth.

My cock strains painfully, harder than I've ever been. The sounds she makes drive me fucking insane.

I've never been this gentle with a woman before. Not like this. I've always respected my partners, but I took what I wanted, how I wanted it. Hard and fast and without hesitation. Sex was a physical release, not this Soul-baring experience.

With Sienna, every touch feels sacred. Every moan she gives me is a gift I haven't earned.

Her thighs begin to tremble as I press one finger inside her, then two, curling them to find the spot that makes her cry out even louder. The wet heat of her clenches around my fingers, and I groan against her skin.

"OH GOD!" She screams, fingers twisted in my hair, pulling with an urgency that sends fire racing through my veins.

Her body tenses beneath me, and I know she's close. I increase the pressure of my tongue, the rhythm of my fingers, chasing her release like it's my own salvation.

E nzo's chest rises and falls beneath my cheek, his heartbeat a steady drum against my ear.

We've been tangled together like this for what feels like forever, my body curved against his, his arm a protective band around my shoulders.

The air smells like him—cedar and something distinctly masculine—mingled with the lingering scent of our lovemaking.

"You need to sleep," Enzo says, his voice a deep rumble I feel more than hear. His fingers trace lazy circles on my bare shoulder. "It's been a long day."

I make a noncommittal sound, unwilling to surrender to sleep just yet. If I close my eyes, this might vanish like morning mist. How strange that in the span of days, my greatest fear has become waking up to find this was never real.

"I'm fine," I whisper, though exhaustion pulls at every muscle.

"Stubborn," he says, but there's warmth in the word. His lips press against my forehead, and something tight in my chest loosens.

I stare at his tattoos in the dim light, my finger tracing the sword piercing through the black rose on his chest. Hours ago, I was telling him about my mother. Now we're here, skin against skin, my body still humming from his touch. The transition from nightmare to this feels impossible.

"This can't be real," I say before I can stop myself.

His hand stills. "What can't?"

"This. You." I flatten my palm against his chest, feeling his heart beneath my hand. "I keep thinking I'll wake up and be back in my father's house, waiting for the next client."

Enzo's arm tightens around me, possessive and protective all at once. "This is real, baby. I'm real." His voice drops lower. "And you're never going back there."

I want to believe him with a desperation that scares me. Hope has always been dangerous—a trap that made disappointment cut deeper. But here, wrapped in his warmth, it's hard to hold onto my cynicism.

"Sleep," he says again, his fingers resuming their gentle rhythm on my skin. "I'll be here when you wake up."

My eyelids grow heavier with each sweep of his hand. The steady thud of his heart becomes a lullaby, dragging me toward unconsciousness despite my resistance.

"Promise?" I mumble, already half-gone.

"Promise," he answers, and I feel his lips against my hair.

As sleep begins to claim me, I wonder if this is what safety feels like.

My last conscious thought is that even if this is a dream, I don't want to wake up.