Chapter 8
Enzo
Showering afterward is a one-sided affair, with me doing the scrubbing for both myself and for Flora. She’s too weak to walk unsupported, so I carry her into the room and lay her on the bed.
Unsurprisingly, she falls asleep immediately afterward.
Although I’m also exhausted and my eyes are heavy, I need to execute a few tasks. First on the list is a call to Alessandro Galliani, my right hand. He’s the made man in charge of my soldiers.
“I’m sending you a video recording right now,” I tell him, “It’s Jacob Slattery and the rest of Carter’s squad.
They killed Carter in his house and put his body in their car.
Get the boys, and hit the streets. I want you to piece together their movement from the house.
I think they moved his body to that warehouse where he was found.
Check every building with a CCTV in the neighborhood.
One of them must have something within the two-hour timeframe after they left Carter’s house. ”
“Yes, boss,” he says at the end. No questions asked.
After I put my phone down, I turn to the computer and send off the video to him.
When I’m done, I turn off the light and go to the bed to join Flora.
She’s lying on her side, facing the wall.
In the semi darkness of the room, the curvy outline of her body is decipherable.
The gentle arc of her hips and the swell of her ass invite me to cuddle her.
I resist the temptation and lie facing the other way.
Ordinarily, it should be a hard task to keep my hands off her, but the memories of Franklin Benetti are back on my mind. They weigh too heavily to allow my other senses the freedom to respond to anything else.
The man had taken me off the street as a teenager and raised me among his children. The warmth of his home was a much better change from the coldness of the alleyways and hard pavements of the tunnels where I used to sleep.
Now he’s gone.
Angst builds up within me, and with its rise, the drowsiness that had wrapped itself around me quickly wears off. I lie in bed all night, turning and tossing. At some point, Flora rolls over and somehow finds her way into my arms.
I hold her tenderly and marvel at how comfortable I feel next to this stranger whose name and blog are the only things I know about her. Female investigative journalists are not the kind of women men like me end up in bed with.
I’m still thinking about the strangeness of our association when exhaustion drags me into the wispy arms of sleep. Sadly, sleep doesn’t last longer than an hour or two. I wake up when I feel Flora withdrawing from my arms.
She stops when I stir. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”
“It’s okay,” I assure her. It’s morning already. The bedside clock on the nightstand reads 6 a.m. “Did you sleep well?” I ask.
“Better than I have in a long time.”
“Good because there’s a lot to do today,” I tell her.
She nods in agreement and rolls off the bed. “I’ll go shower.”
“Alright,” I say and turn on the bedside lamp.
Flora’s naked body comes into view, and I’m transfixed. In the calming glow of the light, it’s stunning.
“About last night…” she says. “It doesn’t have to mean anything, right?”
The curve of her hips holds me captive. My eyes move inwards to the paradise between her legs.
“Right?” she says again.
I drag my gaze up from her groin, up her toned belly, and then over her breasts. I can still recall their softness in my mouth.
“Right?” Now the question is laced with mirth.
“Yes, yes, yes,” I tell her. “Of course. And this morning as well.”
She raises an eyebrow. “This morning?”
I hold out my hand. “Come here for a second.”
She obliges me and climbs back into the bed.
“Have I told you how beautiful you are yet?” I ask.
She bites her lips. “Not yet.”
I take a moment to find the right words. “Well, you are… the most beautiful piece of art I’ve ever seen.”
“Is that what you tell women to get in their pants?”
I grin. “No. I only tell them that after I’ve gotten in their pants.”
She starts to laugh, throwing back her head as she does so. I like the way her eyes light up just before she gives in to her mirth. It’s something I want to see again and again and again. An irrational need to always be the reason for it gnaws at me.
I wait till she stops laughing and cup her chin.
Our eyes meet and lock. Like last night, it’s as if we have an invisible hold on each other, one that doesn’t need words to establish. Her eyes, big and blue, draw me in, while mine seem to pin her to the spot.
“Where did you get that scar?” she asks and gestures at my forehead.
“In some street fight,” I reply. “I was a kid then. It was four against one.” The memory is faint now, eroded by the years.
“You shouldn’t fight so much,” she tells me. “You should embrace a life of peace.”
“I no longer fight. And I live a life of peace. My only vice is my weakness for journalists whose names begin with an F.”
She giggles. “I’m not sure that is a vice.”
I kiss her, gently.
She leans into me, laying her body over mine as our lips lock.
It’s easier to appreciate the warmth of her naked body here on the bed, away from the wetness of the bathroom. I caress it, starting from her back and down to her soft derriere. I jiggle and squeeze it hard, and she gasps.
She pulls away from my lips and places a hand on my chest to keep me down.
Surprised, I lie down to watch as she moves down my body until she gets to my groin. She looks up at me and holds my gaze as she wraps her hand around my dick. It’s already filling up, albeit not fully engorged. All it takes is a gentle touch from her hands to get it completely erect.
She licks the glans slowly, flicking her tongue over it in lazy round circles. I bite down a moan, unwilling to let her know how much she’s affecting me. I’m used to being on the other side, in charge of the administration of pleasure, not the passive recipient of it.
As if on cue, she tests my resolve with more provocative teasing, adding her free hand to the mix. The hand finds my balls and massages gently. Spine tingling sensations flood my body, and I express my approval in a low groan.
Fuck!
Flora clearly isn’t any ordinary woman. She understands the essence of generosity in bed and practices it.
Now she begins to suck on my cock, starting from the tip and working her mouth along my shaft, taking more of me in with each bob of her head. Her mouth is warm and wet, just like her pussy, and it drives me crazy.
It’s only now that her eyes let go of me. They have been mesmeric, a pair of deep blue orbs that always seem to take my reins when they find me. Now they’re focused on the task as she tries to deep throat me.
“Fuck, Flora.”
It’s a unique sensation, being taken deep into a woman’s throat.
The feeling of complete enclosure, the pressure from her tongue, and the vulnerability of that part of her throat combine to make for an insane feeling.
Watching her try and fail to take all of me into her mouth is even crazier knowing how far down her throat my dick has reached.
At length, she gives up and pulls away.
“Fuck, baby, that was…”
“Shush,” she puts a finger across her lips to shut me up, me whose name has terrified the other families in Harlem for half a decade now.
I watch as she hovers her body over mine to position her pussy above my dick. Her eyes find mine again and take me captive before she lowers herself to gobble up my member. She’s sopping wet, even without any touch from me.
Is that how much she desires me?
Her tightness drives me crazy. It feels like every inch of her vaginal walls are wrapped around me, hugging me closely, so closely she’s actually squeezing down.
“God damn it, yeah.” The words slip out of my mouth of their own volition, betraying my capitulation to her.
Her lips curve in a knowing smile as she begins to ride me, slowly.
Her breasts sway as she works her pussy up and down my shaft, undulating her hips gracefully. The sight is hypnotic. More than a few locks of her lustrous blonde hair fall over her face and spill over her shoulders as she continues to work my dick.
I reach up to cup her breasts and knead them.
She bites her lower lip in what I take as encouragement and bends over me to bring them closer.
I rub one nipple and twist the other gently.
She moans but continues to throw that ass up and down, sending waves of pleasure coursing through my dick.
As my last resort, I start to suckle on her nipples. I focus on the left while kneading the right with my hand.
“Yes, Enzo,” she coos in a shaky voice. “I like that.”
This is definitely the best way to start any day, wrapped up in the illogical hands of pleasure and completely free of any worrying thought.
Flora’s tits are a pliant pair of addiction that I can’t stop sucking on, and it drives her insane. She begins to ride me faster, moaning loudly.
I feel an orgasm building up in my balls.
I want to stop, I try to stop it, but my efforts are futile.
The wetness of Flora’s pussy and the tightness of her walls render my attempt dead on arrival.
The sight of her, with her eyes closed, her blonde locks hanging around her pretty face and her open mouth, undoes my focus.
“I’m coming, Flora,” I warn her.
I don’t think she hears. She continues to ride me, driving her pussy up and down my dick like her life depends on it. Suddenly, her walls begin to squeeze my dick hard, and she grinds to a shaky halt, trembling.
The contractions trigger my climax much earlier than it should have come.
I feel my seed unloading into her, certain that she is completely unaware of it, knowing that I should have lifted her off and yet not caring about anything apart from the tidal wave of pleasure swelling from my balls, surging through my dick, and spreading through my body.