Page 23 of Sworn to the Enemy

His hands tighten on my hips, pulling me against him. His cock presses my thigh insistently. I shift, teasing him, egging him on. His groan is low, frustrated. My grin widens, loving his need.

My fingers find the sugar skull tattoo on his forearm, tracing its bold black lines, the blooming, yet delicate roses. It hints at the man he is underneath. Not the outer Enzo, the one he puts up for the world.

I slide my fingers across it. The gray shading dances under my touch, haunting, beautiful. I kiss it, lips lingering, tongue flicking out, tasting ink and him. He shudders. His hands slide to my ass, squeezing tightly. I make to pull back, but he grabs my hips.

“Fina,” he groans.

My restraint crumbles. I want him now.

His eyes blaze, dark, feral. He lifts me, hands rough as he pins me to the wall. I lift my legs to wrap around him, gown torn, pussy exposed, dripping wet for him.

Fuck me,” I demand, my voice raw.

He holds me in place with one hand while he grips his cock with his other hand. He teases it against my entrance, rubbing the tip along my folds in slow, deliberate motions. I moan out loud, my hips bucking, craving the length of him. The heat of his cockhead against my pussy has me on edge.

He doesn’t thrust yet. He's drawing out the torture, punishing me for torturing him. If he keeps at this, I don't know how long I can hold out for. I want his cock ramming into him. I want him to take me like an animal.

His cock slides, slick, brushing my clit, then back to my entrance. He pauses against the entrance of my pulsing pussy. I’m panting, nails digging into his shoulders. I draw blood, but I don't care. “Please,” I gasp, my voice desperate.

He smirks, holding my gaze. He nudges his cock just inside, stretching my entrance, not fully entering. I cry out, pleasure and frustration mixing. My pussy clenches around his cock, begging for his thrust. He groans, low, his control fraying. I rock my hips, trying to take him deeper.

Finally, his control shatters and he thrusts in one deep, brutal stroke.

I scream, the stretch so intense I feel it all the way to my toes.

It's like a thousand tiny pins pricking my skin deliciously.

I close my eyes as pleasure and pain blurs.

He fills me wholly, his thick cock pulsing, stretching me wide.

He’s wild, fucking me with a ferocity that jars my body, the wall hard against my back, velvet brushing my skin.

Each slam rocks my body, breasts bouncing, nipples scraping the air, sweat slicking me.

I’m loud, moaning, my hips rocking, meeting his every rhythm, taking every inch.

His hands grip my hips, bruising, and I tilt my head back as my pleasure coils tight.

His thrusts are relentless as pounds into me hard and fast. His cock hits deep, scraping against my pussy walls, stretching and filling.

I grab his face and kiss him hard. My tongue is demanding.

I bite his lip and it draws a groan from him.

He continues to pound into me, each thrust harder and faster than the last. The sound of our bodies—skin slapping, my slickness coating him—is obscene and filthy. It fills the ballroom.

My pussy pulses, gripping him. His cock drags against my walls, hitting every sensitive spot, and I’m trembling, moans turning to cries. His hands slide to my ass, squeezing, angling me for deeper thrusts, and I’m lost, drowning in sensation.

I’m close, pleasure cresting, and I clench harder, pushing him over.

His thrusts turn erratic, wild. His groans are raw, desperate.

I kiss him again, sloppy, wet, tongues clashing.

The wet slap of his balls against me drives me higher.

My thighs are trembling, slick with my arousal.

My nails rake his back, leaving red trails.

“Enzo,” I scream as he pounds into me with a force that jars my soul, urging on my release.

I come, a shattering muddle of moans and screams. My pussy convulses around his cock that's still pounding just as fast. It's like torrents of waves crashing, squeezing him tight.

He follows in my release. A guttural groan tears out of his mouth as his release, hot, floods me, spilling deep inside me. His thrusts slow, but he's still hitting deep, milking every pulse.

My body quakes, pleasure rippling as his thrusts ease, his cock softening inside. I’m panting, my body sweat-soaked, pressed against the curtain. The ballroom’s ruins feel distant and unreal—Enzo’s near-death feels like eons ago. His breath brushes my cheek, hot and unsteady.

He kisses my lips softly in a fleeting warmth that sparks heat in my chest. He pulls out, leaving me aching and empty. His hands linger on my hips, steadying me. My legs wobble as I drop them to the floor, weak from the intensity.

My room,” he murmurs. “I won't take you again like a whore. I'll take you properly in my bed.” His voice is low and I shudder at the promise in his hooded gaze. I nod, unable to speak, my throat tight. He bends, gathering my torn gown, draping it over my shoulders. The silk is cool, tattered, barely covering me, but his touch is gentle and protective as he scoops me up in his strong arms, carrying me like I’m fragile.

My torn gown drags across the marble as we move through the halls.

“Sweeping me off my feet?” I say, breaking the loaded silence, a teasing lilt to my voice.

His chuckle is deep and warm. “Only for you, principessa.” His smirk is wicked, sparking heat low in my belly.

I roll my eyes, but my lips twitch, a smile slipping through.

His playfulness disarms me, and I hate how much I like it.

The halls stretch long and the sound of his boots echo profoundly, bouncing off the walls. My gown trails, silk whispering on the floor. I’m hyper aware of his body, his strength, the way his arms flex as he's holding me close.

We reach his room, and I take it all in. It's my first time being in here. I'd kept well off from lurking even when he's not around, for fear that seeing his room will overpower my willpower. But here I am now.

I glance around. It's all dark wood, heavy curtains, a wide bed with black sheets. It’s raw, masculine.

It's all him. He kicks the door shut and sets me down gently.

I slip off my heels, glancing around, my curiosity getting the better of me.

“What, no dungeon vibes?” I say, my voice teasing.

I find that it's easy to fall into easy camaraderie with him and that poses a danger I'm not willing to explore.

He laughs and shrugs. The movement draws my eyes to his ripped muscles. “More fun than your Rossi vaults, I bet,” he retorts, eyes glinting. I grin, letting the gown fall, standing completely naked now, my skin flushed under his gaze from our earlier sex session.

His eyes roam hungrily, and my skin tingles, feeling alive.

Just when I think he'll act on the raw hunger in his eyes, he steps closer, his hand finding mine, and his touch is surprisingly warm, gentle. “Come,” he says in a soft voice as he leads me to the bathroom. It’s sleek and modern, with a glass-walled shower.

He turns on the water, steam curling. It's hot and inviting. We step under, the spray soaking my skin, washing away the night’s chaos.

I’m trembling, not from cold, but from the intensity lingering between us.

He grabs a soap, lathering his hands. His warm palms glide over my shoulders, tracing my collarbone, my breasts.

Heat blooms in my core, my pussy tingling, wet again.

I’m stunned at how fast I’m burning already, when just minutes ago, I'd milked his release mingling with mine. My body hums to his touch. It is deliberate, seductive, a quiet art. My husband’s skill unravels me so easily—it’s a breathtaking power I can’t resist.

His hands move lower, cupping my stomach, my hips. I moan softly, leaning into him. My nipples harden, aching under the spray. He kneels, lips brushing my thigh. His kisses climb higher and my breath catches. He looks up at me. “Dio, you're so responsive to me, cara.”

He doesn't wait for my response, he dips his head, his tongue snaking out to find my pussy.

I jerk and moan. He licks gently in long strokes, circling my clit with soft sucks.

I moan loudly, hands tangling in his wet hair, pulling roughly.

He groans, the sound vibrating against my skin.

His tongue delves deeper, parting me, thrusting inside in slow, rhythmic moves, fucking me with precise, wet strokes.

I moan, loudly, my hips rocking against his tongue, craving more.

He tongue-fucks me relentlessly, his tongue diving deep, curling inside, tasting every inch.

My thighs shake, pleasure building so intensely.

I pull his hair harder, urging him on. His hands grip my thighs, holding me steady.

He pulls back, lips kissing my clit before plunging his tongue back inside.

I cry out, my body trembling, but he doesn’t let me come.

He's keeping me on the edge while I'm desperate and burning.

His tongue slows, torturing me, and he adds a finger, sliding it inside, stretching me.

I moan, hips bucking, but he’s deliberate, not rushing.

His finger curls, probing, while his tongue laps my clit.

His tongue on my clit is gentle, maddening.

Pleasure coils, tight, but he pulls back.

He rises, water gleaming on his skin. I’m panting, aching, unsatisfied, and it’s infuriating, yet exhilarating.

He smirks, knowing exactly what he’s done, leaving me hungry.