Six
SIX
Molly
I was right.
Enzo was barely a step behind me before I turned to look at him.
“What do you think this is, Enzo?” I said.
“I think this is what you and I have both wanted since the first time we laid eyes on each other. I think this is inevitable,” he responded.
I couldn’t deny what he said.
“It is, but it’s nothing more.”
“You letting me down easy, doll?” he said.
“Just making sure we understand each other,” I said.
That was more for my benefit than his.
Enzo threw me off completely, making me feel things I’d never felt before.
I needed to keep my head on my shoulders.
If I didn’t, I might lose myself to him.
That was something I wouldn’t risk.
“We understand each other, doll,” he said.
He moved closer, pressing his lips against my neck.
Then he moved his lips up the curve of my next.
Slowly.
Possessively.
I jumped.
He pulled back and braced my head with his eyes.
His dark eyes were locked on my face as he studied me.
“You like it when I touch you,” he said.
“You breathe differently. Your pupils dilate.”
I chuckled, the sound low, husky, proving his words true.
“Jesus, are you studying me or something?”
“Obsessing, actually,” he said.
That made me falter.
I put my hand on his chest, intending to push him back.
I pulled him closer, and he leaned in.
I narrowed my eyes, trying to keep at least some distance, no matter how fake it might be.
He kissed me anyway.
It wasn’t gentle.
His mouth came down on mine with an edge of frustration—like he was tired of pretending.
Tired of waiting.
I didn’t stop him.
I kissed him back.
Hard.
Hungry.
His hands slipped under my thighs, lifting me onto like I weighed nothing.
My knees bracketed his hips.
I felt the softness of my bed under me, trapping me under Enzo’s hard body.
It seemed impossible, but it made me want him even more.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispered against my lips.
I didn’t.
Because I didn’t want him to.
So I told the truth.
“Enzo, please don’t stop,” I said.
He dragged his mouth down my neck, biting at the place where my pulse pounded.
I felt every scrape of his teeth like fire on my skin.
My fingers gripped his shoulders.
His name escaped me like a whisper, like a dare.
“Say it again,” he growled.
“Enzo.”
That broke something in him.
Our clothes disappeared.
Our mouths collided.
Our bodies pressed and tangled together like they knew each other.
He kissed me like I was his.
Like he was tired of pretending I wasn’t.
His hands were rough as he touched me, claiming every inch of skin he touched.
His hands fisted my hips so tight I was sure I would bruise.
He loosened his hold to grip my hair and used the others to smooth down my body to settle between my thighs.
I was soaking for him, and sighed out and laid his forehead against mine.
He found my lips with his, and we locked eyes.
I held his gaze as he thrust into me, the strength of his movement forcing the air out of my lungs.
I arched beneath him, nails digging into his back.
He groaned against my mouth like he’d been starving and just got fed.
The way he took me was brutal.
Aching.
Desperate.
And I wanted all of it.
He pinned my wrists above my head with one hand, the other holding my hip steady as he drove into me, deeper with each stroke.
I broke apart under him, shattered around him.
He didn’t stop.
He chased his own climax like a man on fire, panting my name like a curse.
When he came, it was with a sound that wasn’t quite human.
He collapsed beside me, pulling me with him, our limbs a mess of tangled heat and wrecked nerves.
I didn’t speak.
Neither did he.
Eventually, I stood, gathering my robe from the hook, and went to the bathroom.
I stared at myself in the mirror.
My gaze lingering on the marks on my throat.
The fingerprints on my hips.
Something in my eyes I didn’t want to name.
I washed my face slowly.
Brushed my teeth.
Dried my hands like I had all the time in the world, but my heart was still racing.
I wasn’t sure what scared me more: how much I’d wanted him—or how much I didn’t regret giving in.
When I came back, he was still in bed, one arm flung across his eyes.
I crawled under the blanket beside him.
Close enough to feel his heat, far enough not to touch.
“That was a mistake,” I whispered.
He didn’t answer right away.
Then, he said, “Yeah.”
The word landed between us like glass cracking under weight.
I turned to face the wall.
Knowing neither of us believed it.
The next morning was…
interesting.
I woke up before Enzo, and after a quick shower, threw on a hoodie and leggings, making coffee like it was any other day.
Like my body didn’t still ache in all the places he’d touched me.
Claimed me.
He padded into the kitchen later, still shirtless, like nothing had changed.
He poured himself a cup of coffee without asking.
Sat across from me with his usual, unreadable calm.
“You work today?” he asked.
I nodded. “Morning shift. Inventory and new animal intake.”
“I’ll drive you,” he said.
“I can take the train.”
He stared at me.
Took a sip.
“I’ll drive you,” he said again.
I didn’t argue.
Didn’t trust my voice.
When I stood, I felt the ghost of his hands on my skin.
The memory of his weight pressing me into the mattress.
The sound of his voice when he said my name like it meant something.
I packed my things in silence.
We didn’t touch.
Didn’t speak.
But when we walked out of my new door together, his hand hovered at the small of my back.
Not quite touching.
But close enough that I felt that touch linger for hours.
Couldn’t stop myself from smiling every time I did.