Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Chloe
The next few days were the happiest of my life.
I knew that sounded cheesy, but I couldn't think of a better way to put it.
Enzo bent down every morning before leaving to kiss my forehead. Sometimes I wasn't even awake yet, just felt that warm brush against my skin before it pulled away.
He came home at random hours—early some nights, one or two in the morning others. But no matter how late, he'd stand by the bed first, watching me for a bit before hitting the shower.
How did I know? Because I always pretended to sleep.
I loved peeking through half-closed eyes at Enzo when he thought I was out. He'd linger there forever, no lights on, just staring in the dark. I couldn't make out his expression clearly, but I felt his gaze. It was gentle enough to make my heart race.
Enzo changed a lot after learning about the baby.
He stayed hard as steel, but tiny details showed the shift. Like how he got naggy. One time I grabbed just a coffee for breakfast, and that night he told Anna no more caffeine for me. I protested for a full twenty minutes. He listened stone-faced, then flat-out refused.
"No."
"You know what this is? Control freak." I raised my fist.
"I know. I am." He nodded casually.
I got so mad I chucked a pillow at him, but he was too tall—hit his shoulder instead. He didn't even dodge, just caught it and tossed it back on the couch.
"Pregnant women can't have coffee," he said.
"A little's fine. I checked."
"No."
"Have you even looked up the medical advice?" I glared.
Enzo didn't bother answering. He dipped his head, his rough hand cupping the back of my neck, sealing my protests with a deep kiss.
His tongue pried my lips open, and I tasted black coffee on him. The bastard had just had some himself, and now he was cheating to strip my rights away.
I tried pushing him off in anger, but my legs went weak fast. My hands, meant to shove, ended up clinging to his shoulders.
Enzo pulled back satisfied, a smug glint in those deep black eyes. I gasped for air, my brain scrambled from the kiss.
I took a deep breath, reminding myself not to argue with a control freak who played dirty with his body.
I never won fights with him. Not because he was right, but because he didn't give a damn about facts. He cared only about what he wanted.
And right now, he wanted me off caffeine.
Fine. I sighed hard, face flushed, and gave in.
But his bossy crap escalated.
One night I sprawled on the living room rug, flipping through a baby catalog till almost midnight. Enzo came down from upstairs, steps so quiet I didn't hear. Not till he loomed over me—didn't say a word, just bent and yanked the booklet from my hands.
"Hey! I'm not done!"
"Tomorrow."
"I'm not tired."
"Doesn't matter if you're tired. The baby needs rest." He tossed it on the couch, then held out his hand. "Up."
I ignored it out of spite. Enzo dropped to one knee on the rug right in front of me. His massive frame closed in, startling me—I scooted back instinctively. But he grabbed my ankle, dragging me toward him effortlessly. My back hit the rug hard.
"What the hell? Let go." I kicked wildly.
Enzo ignored the struggle. He forced my legs apart, pressing my knees wide, leaving me totally exposed under his intense stare.
"Since you don't want to sleep, let's do something else to burn off that extra energy." His voice was low and husky, full of blatant suggestion.
I froze, my breath catching as his dark eyes locked onto mine, promising everything and nothing good for my resistance.
He didn't rush, savoring the way my body tensed under his grip.
His hands slid up my thighs, rough palms scraping against the soft fabric of my pants, sending shivers racing through me.
I bit my lip, trying to hold onto some shred of defiance, but Enzo was a force—unyielding, calculated, and way too damn good at this.
He hooked his fingers into the waistband of my pants and panties, tugging them down in one smooth, deliberate motion.
Cool air hit my bare skin, making me gasp.
I was already wet, damn him, my body betraying me before he even touched me properly.
Enzo smirked, that arrogant tilt to his lips as he settled between my legs, his broad shoulders forcing them even wider.
He didn't say a word—no teasing, no commands—just dove in like he owned every inch of me.
His mouth was hot and insistent, lips brushing my inner thighs first, teasing the sensitive skin there with light kisses that had me squirming.
I grabbed at the rug, fingers digging in as his breath ghosted over my core.
Then his tongue flicked out, flat and broad, licking a slow, deliberate stripe right up my slit.
I arched off the floor, a moan escaping before I could stop it.
"Enzo..." It came out breathy, half protest, half plea.
He didn't let up. His hands pinned my hips down, keeping me from bucking away as he worked me over.
That tongue—God, it was relentless. He circled my clit with expert precision, alternating between soft laps and firmer sucks that made stars burst behind my eyelids.
I thrashed, my hands flying to his hair, tugging hard, but he just growled against me, the vibration shooting straight through my nerves.
He knew exactly how to build it, how to edge me closer without letting me tip over too soon.
His stubble scraped my thighs, adding a rough edge to the pleasure, making it impossible to think straight.
Sweat beaded on my skin, my breaths coming in ragged pants as he devoured me like a man starved.
He pushed deeper, tongue thrusting inside me, curling just right to hit that spot that made my toes curl.
I cried out, legs trembling around his head, but he held me open, merciless.
One hand slipped up, fingers joining his mouth—two thick digits sliding in easily, pumping in time with his licks.
The stretch burned so good, filling me while his tongue flicked relentlessly over my clit.
Pressure built, coiling tight in my belly, and I was helpless, grinding against his face, chasing the high he was forcing on me.
"Enzo, please..." I whimpered, not even sure what I was begging for.
Release? Mercy? He hummed in response, the sound buzzing through me, and doubled down.
His free hand gripped my thigh, squeezing hard enough to leave marks, as he sucked my clit between his lips, tongue lashing it without pause.
It was too much—waves of heat crashed over me, my body clenching around his fingers as the orgasm ripped through.
I screamed, back bowing off the rug, every muscle locking up in ecstasy.
He didn't stop, drawing it out, licking me through the aftershocks until I was a shaking mess, tears pricking my eyes from the intensity.
But he wasn't done. Enzo eased his fingers out, only to replace them with his mouth again, softer now but no less determined.
He lapped at me gently, cleaning up the mess he'd made, each stroke sending little jolts through my oversensitive flesh.
I twitched, trying to pull away, but his hold kept me in place.
"Too much," I gasped, voice weak. He ignored me, slowing his pace to long, lazy drags of his tongue that rebuilt the fire from embers.
My exhaustion warred with the renewed spark, body heavy but still responding to him.
He shifted, one hand trailing up to massage my breast through my shirt, pinching the nipple just hard enough to make me arch again.
His tongue delved back in, exploring every fold, sucking lightly on my lips before returning to my clit with feather-light circles.
It was torturous, this drawn-out pleasure, making my limbs feel like lead while the heat pooled low again.
I moaned softly, eyelids fluttering, the fight draining out of me as fatigue crept in.
Enzo sensed it, his movements turning almost soothing—still insistent, but designed to wear me down rather than overwhelm.
Another climax built slowly, less explosive but deeper, rolling through me like a tide.
I came with a shuddering sigh, body going limp as waves of bliss washed away the last of my energy.
He kept going for a bit, gentle laps that coaxed out every afterglow tremor, until my breaths evened out and my eyes grew heavy.
Finally, he pulled back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, those dark eyes gleaming with satisfaction.
I was spent, utterly drained, my mind fuzzy and body boneless on the rug.
He scooped me up effortlessly, carrying me upstairs without a word. I barely registered being tucked into bed, sleep claiming me before my head hit the pillow. The bastard had won again, using my own pleasure to force the rest he demanded.
The next morning, I woke to an empty spot beside me. Enzo had probably left at dawn to handle his shady family business.
I sat up, rubbing my still-weak legs, cursing that cheating control-freak bastard under my breath for last night's madness.
But in this massive, echoing villa, once he was gone, the long days dragged. I needed something to do, or the suffocating cage feeling would drive me nuts.
So I turned the empty upstairs room into my project. I pored over the baby catalogs Anna had gotten, agonizing over wallpaper colors—pale yellow or mint green—and spent a whole afternoon comparing solid wood cribs to foldable ones.
Anna helped, suggesting neutral tones so it'd work for a boy or girl.
"You think boy or girl?" I asked her.
She tilted her head. "Girl, I bet. Pretty like you."
"Then she's screwed," I muttered.
Pretty had never done me any favors.
Anna didn't catch it. She flipped to a page on nursery safety tips, pointing out what we needed upfront. I scanned it, grabbed a pen, and marked up the catalog, circling everything I wanted.