23. Alessia #2
He pulls me hard until I'm crawling over the center console as he slides the driver's seat all the way back. I straddle his lap and cling to his neck, sobbing, and he holds me so tight I almost can't breathe.
My breath hitches against his collar, but I don’t pull away.
Neither of us says anything right away. His hands rub slow circles on my back, grounding me even as everything else feels like it’s falling apart.
I press my face against his neck and sniffle, too afraid to let go of the only solid thing left in my life.
When I finally shift back to look at him, his eyes are on mine—like he’s checking to see if I’ve settled or if I’m about to break again.
His palm slides from the base of my spine to my hip, then rests there.
The contact isn’t rushed or possessive. It’s steady, careful—just enough to tell me that he's claimed me as his.
“I shouldn’t have come,” I whisper.
“Maybe not… but I'm not sorry you did." Enzo's eyes bore through me, and I lean in and press my forehead to his. His hand moves again, to squeeze my side. His fingers inch the side of my blouse up, and I can feel the change in his breathing.
I reach down and loosen the top button of my blouse, and his eyes follow my movements. He kisses the side of my neck slowly, and I close my eyes.
I’m not thinking anymore, just feeling.
And when his hand moves again, I don’t stop him.
Enzo's touch is feather light as he unbuttons my blouse one button at a time, his fingers skimming my skin with each pass.
My breath catches in my throat, and I arch into his touch, seeking more of his heat.
His lips trail along my jawline, sending shivers down my spine.
I tilt my head back, inviting him in, and he doesn't disappoint.
His lips brush against mine, soft and tentative at first, then more insistent as the passion between us ignites.
Our kisses deepen, tongues tangling in a desperate dance as our hands explore every inch of each other's body.
I tug at his shirt, desperate to feel his bare skin against mine.
He obliges, quickly shedding it before returning his attention to me.
His hands skim up my thighs, bunching the fabric of my skirt before he undoes the fly of his slacks and pulls his swelling dick out.
Enzo's erection is hard against my center, and I can feel the heat radiating off him.
My heart races in anticipation as he guides me down onto his length, one hand cradling my hips to position me.
His other hand slides up my skirt, revealing the moisture of my desire.
He groans low in his throat, and I arch my hips toward him, aching for more contact.
His breath catches in his throat as he slowly pushes inside, filling me completely.
"Enzo," I moan, arching my back as he starts to move, thrusting in and out in a slow, delicious rhythm. His hands slide up my blouse, caressing my breasts, teasing my nipples until they harden under his touch.
He quickens the pace, driving into me with more force as our bodies grind together. The car rocks gently as I squeeze my thighs around his waist, drawing him even closer as we move in sync. The world outside fades away, leaving only the two of us and the primal need coursing through our veins.
As our bodies move together, I feel a familiar heat building low in my core.
Enzo’s thrusts become more urgent, his breathing ragged in my ear.
I can’t stop the whimpers and moans that escape my lips, the intensity of pleasure overwhelming any semblance of restraint.
Enzo buries his face in my neck, muttering words I can’t quite make out as his grip on my hips tightens.
My core begins to pulse, the first fingers of orgasm toying with my body. And when I jerk and twitch, he grunts loudly and bites down on my neck hard.
Finally, with a shudder and a muffled groan, he stills inside me, holding me close as our breathing slows to a less frantic pace. He doesn’t say anything for a long moment, and neither do I. We just sit there, tangled in each other’s arms, trying to regain control of our senses.
I'm still on his lap, breaths unsteady, my body soft against his. He presses a hand against the back of my neck, fingers threaded gently through my hair.
“You’re coming with me,” he says, his voice low.
I pull back just enough to meet his eyes. “Where?”
“First, home,” he says. “You’re going to pack a bag—just what you need. After that, I’m taking you to a safe house.”
My stomach turns. “Why? What happened?”
He rubs a hand down my spine, not to comfort, but to steady me. “The Bianchis know you’ve been subpoenaed. They’ve decided you’re a problem. I can’t protect you if you stay at home.”
I nod slowly, trying to swallow around the dry knot in my throat. The men following me, the ones trying to break into my home—it wasn't just intimidation at all. I'm scared. "What about the rest of it?"
“I’m working on it,” he says. “I have an idea. It’s not perfect, but if I can pull it off, it won’t just keep you safe. It’ll get us out of this entire mess.”
He doesn’t explain, and I don’t ask. But I can see it in his face—whatever this plan is, it’s already in motion. Maybe he’s made calls or moved people. Maybe even taken risks I don’t know about yet.
And if it works, it’ll save me.
If it doesn’t…
I'm too scared to ask what might happen.