Page 24 of Sworn to the Enemy

I grab the soap, hands trembling with want.

I lather up, exploring him, savoring the feel of him against my palms. His shoulders are broad, his chest sculpted.

My fingers trace his abs, the deep V of his hips, his thighs.

He’s raw, masculine, breathtaking, a living masterpiece.

I’m mesmerized, and before I can stop myself, I murmur in Italian, “sei un’opera viva.

” Warm laughter spills out from him, his eyes crinkling.

“Living art? You’re trouble, wife.” His teasing voice fuels my boldness.

I lean in, kissing his chest, lips lingering, tasting water and salt.

I kiss his throat, his jaw, each press slowly, drawing a soft groan.

I sink to my knees, water streaming over me.

His cock is hard, thick, pulsing. I grip it.

I hear his intake of breath as my mouth hovers over the tip of his cock.

I've always wanted to do this, to feel the whole length of him in my mouth.

Stroking slowly, I meet his eyes—eyes dark with want.

I lick the tip, savoring his musky warmth.

He groans, hands fisting my hair. I take him in skillfully, lips stretching, tongue swirling deliberately.

I move slowly, my lips sliding down, my throat relaxing as I take him deep.

My hand strokes the base, twisting gently.

His hips jerk, a curse slipping out. I hum, making him shudder.

I’m precise, teasing with slow, wet licks, then sucking tight, my tongue circling the sensitive head. His breathing turns ragged, his grip tightening. I love this, I love his unraveling, love the power surging through me at knowing right here in this moment, I have a power over him.

I pick up the pace relentlessly as my lips tighten around his cock, sucking hard.

My hand pumps the rhythm my mouth sets. His hands tighten in my hair, pulling at the strands.

His groan of pleasure fills me in ways nothing has in a long time.

I change tactics—I deep-throat, pushing through the gag, my face raised to lock my eyes on his.

I see the moment he reaches. His jaw clenches and his eyes darken.

A raw moan tears from him as he comes, hot and thick, spilling in my mouth, all over my lips.

I swallow Enzo’s release, the taste salty, warm and lingering.

My fingers glide over my lips, wiping the remnants, and I lick them clean, savoring him.

His grip on my hair loosens, his chest heaving, breaths wild.

I’m on my knees, water streaming over me, my body humming with power.

I’ve unraveled him, and it’s intoxicating.

His cock, still hard, glistens under the shower’s spray, and I’m burning, craving more.

He yanks me up with firm urgent hands. My legs wobble, but his strength steadies me.

I’m trembling, my pussy throbbing. He spins me, pressing me against the glass wall.

My breasts flatten, nipples tight, scraping the cool surface.

I gasp, the chill biting my skin, clashing with the steaming water.

His body crowds mine, hard and unyielding. His breath is hot on my neck.

“What the fuck are you doing to me?” His voice has a hint of wonder to it. He doesn't stop to ponder on the question. His hands grip my hips, his fingers digging into my skin, leaving marks that I know I'll carry for days. It's like I'm being marked by him.

I brace my palms on the glass, my body arched into his, ready. His heat presses against me. He doesn’t tease, doesn’t pause. His cock nudges my entrance. I moan softly, pushing back against the head of his cock.

Finally, he rams into me in one long, hard stroke.

My voice is hoarse as I scream. The feel of his cock stretching me tight is overwhelming.

Pleasure crashes through me. His cock fills me, owning me in every way there is.

He fucks me hard and fast, the glass shaking under the ferocity, my hands slipping.

My breasts bounce, aching nipples scraping, jolts sparking.

Water streams down, mixing with sweat, and I’m loud, crying out, meeting his rhythm, taking everything.

His thrusts are fast and punishing, each slam driving deeper, hitting every sensitive spot.

I’m trembling, pleasure coiling, tight and unbearable.

His hand slides around, fingers finding my clit.

He rubs fast, circles tight, and I cry out, my body jerking.

Pleasure spikes, sharp and overwhelming.

I’m unraveling, my moans echoing, bouncing off the tiles.

His cock slams harder, faster, and his fingers don’t stop, pushing me higher.

I shatter around him as a piercing scream dislodges out of my throat, my walls convulsing, squeezing him tight.

But he’s not done. His thrusts don’t slow as he continues to pound into me, drawing out my orgasm, making me tremble.

His fingers stay on my clit, lighter now, teasing, keeping me on edge.

I’m gasping, overwhelmed, my body hypersensitive.

The glass is cool, grounding me, but his cock is fire inside my pussy.

He groans as his grip tightening on my hips.

“Shit, Fina,” he rasps.

His thrusts turn erratic, and I know he’s close.

I push back harder, clenching my pussy, wanting to feel him break.

His moans grow louder. The sound of our bodies—skin slapping, water splashing, my slickness easing his way—fills the air.

It's intoxicating. His cock pulses, and I tilt my hips, taking him deeper, eliciting pleasure even through my exhaustion.

His fingers dig into my hips, bruising, and he thrusts once, twice, hard, deep. He comes, a guttural groan, his release hot, flooding me, spilling inside, filling me.

His thrusts slow and we slump against the glass, panting as water streams over us, washing away the sweat and the sex.

My legs are useless, trembling from Enzo’s relentless fucking against the glass.

They barely hold me. His cock softens, still inside, and his arms wrap around me, steadying me.

His breath is hot on my neck, ragged, and I feel his heart beat fast against my back.

The glass is slick, my hands slipping, but he holds me, grounding me.

I’m consumed, alive, every nerve singing.

The air smells of sex, water, us, and I’m lost in it, in the entirety of him.

Enzo pulls out, leaving me sore and deliciously tender.

Water streams over us, hot, cleansing. He shuts off the shower, steam curling around us.

My legs tremble, useless, spent from his relentless fucking.

He scoops me up, arms strong, carrying me effortlessly.

I’m boneless, my head resting against his chest, his heartbeat steady, grounding me.

The bathroom’s warmth fades as we move to the bedroom.

The air is cooler, raising the hair on my skin.

His room feels intimate, the wide bed with black sheets inviting.

He sets me down gently. The cool fabric soothes my flushed skin.

I’m naked, raw, but his gaze is soft and lingering, making me feel cherished.

My breath catches, a flicker of vulnerability I don’t expect.

He stands, water dripping from the hair plastered to his head.

“Hungry?” he asks in a teasing voice, eyes dancing with mischief.

I sprawl on the bed, my posture languishing. “Starving. For food… and you.” My voice is husky, playful, matching his tone.

He laughs, the sound wrapping around me like silk. “Greedy, Fina. I love it.” His grin disarms me. It's boyish, dangerous.

“Wait here,” he says, pulling on loose pants, the fabric clinging to his hips.

He leaves, and I’m alone, the quiet heavy with anticipation.

I grab a silk robe from his chair, slipping it on, the fabric gliding over my skin, cool, sensual.

It’s his, oversized, smelling faintly of him, and I savor it, my fingers tracing the hem.

I’m sore, body aching from two rounds, yet my pussy throbs, craving him still.

It’s madness, this unyielding hunger. He’s dangerous, my enemy.

I shouldn't be frolicking with him. This new territory is treacherous and uncharted. I should stop, pull back, but I can’t, my desire drowning the voice of reason.

He returns—the object of my inner turmoil—carrying a tray that includes crostini with olive tapenade, prosciutto, a bottle of Barolo and two glasses. The scent of olives and wine fills the air. He sets it on the bed, but his eyes catch the robe, and they narrow to slits.

“Take it off,” he murmurs, his voice commanding, yet soft. “I want you bare, principessa.”

I raise an inquiring brow, but comply, letting the robe slip to the floor.

I sit cross-legged, unashamed, my skin flushed under his gaze.

We eat, eyes locked, the air crackling with tension that's tight enough to break.

I bite a crostini, licking tapenade from my fingers slowly.

I watch his gaze darken in reaction. I lower my gaze, and I catch the moment his cock stirs and harden, tenting his pants.

Damn. So soon?

I don't want to give in to it, to him yet. I need to pull back for a while to consider what exactly the fuck I'm doing. I try to distract him. “You look… homely,” I say, breaking the heat. It's a playful jab, because he’s anything but. He's all danger and allure.

He laughs, his eyes glinting. “Homely? Wait till I’m inside you, principessa. You’ll sing a different song.” His words unravel me, heat flooding my core, shattering whatever sensibility I'd managed to gather.