5. Seven #5
Once he was back inside the house, he just kept walking.
He had no idea where the bathroom was…or anything else for that matter.
He was tempted to walk right out the front door.
But he couldn’t. Even if he did manage to make it back home, his mother would murder him for abandoning her.
Though, she seemed to be having a fine old time selling him to the Contis.
He weaved his way farther into the house until he realized he was well and truly lost. He leaned against the wall, body overheated and thoughts softening at the edges.
He had to get out of there. He jolted from the wall, hurrying back the way he came.
He rounded the corner and walked right into a wall. His hands shot out, landing on muscle.
Not a wall. Enzo.
He stumbled back, gasping when Enzo caught him around the waist and hauled him in, pressing their bodies together.
It took longer than it should have for Seven to realize he wasn’t embracing him in a romantic way, but to keep him from falling on his ass. He huffed, slapping at Enzo’s chest weakly. When Enzo didn’t move, Seven risked a glance up at him and immediately regretted it. It was just like that night.
Seven tried to will himself to push away, but he was rooted to the spot, staring up at Enzo’s chocolate brown eyes, his heart in his throat, a swarm of bees in his belly. He held his breath, letting out a small gasp when Enzo’s gaze dropped to his lips.
“Fuck,” Enzo muttered a moment before Seven found himself swept into an alcove, a wooden door at his back. He closed the distance between them, one thick thigh between Seven’s legs, his head dipping to rasp, “You’re driving me crazy.”
Seven’s heartbeat thumped like a bass drum against his ribs, making him feel like he couldn’t breathe. His world had shrunk down to Enzo, Enzo, Enzo. His eyelids fluttered, his fingers digging into the older man’s powerful biceps as his head swam. Was it the wine or Enzo’s cologne?
Seven wanted to bury his face against his chest, wanted Enzo to crush him in his arms and carry him to bed like he’d done that night. He wanted to feel his weight pinning him to the mattress. He wanted to feel his lips. He’d never felt so dizzy and overwhelmed just from someone’s presence.
“What are you doing?” Seven mumbled, head thudding against the wall just so he could continue to look at him.
That proved to be a mistake. All it did was bring their mouths even closer together. Seven’s chest burned, aching to close the distance between them.
“I came to check on you,” Enzo answered, voice wrapping around him like a weighted blanket.
“What do you care?” Seven asked, closing his eyes against the heat and the hunger in Enzo’s eyes.
Seven’s breath hitched as Enzo’s nose brushed his throat.
“Fuck, I miss the way you smell,” he muttered, almost like he didn’t realize he was speaking out loud.
Seven stood there, shaking, afraid to breathe and shatter whatever fragile ceasefire was currently happening.
Enzo inhaled deeply, a low rumble leaving his chest. “I can’t get enough of you. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
Seven blamed the red wine for loosening his tongue enough for him to whisper, “I miss yours, too.”
“Yeah?” Enzo sounded so hopeful.
What the fuck were they doing? They barely knew each other. They’d spent one night together. Now, they were wrapped around each other, clinging like they’d been apart for years.
When his friends inevitably asked what happened tonight, Seven would blame it on the wine.
But the truth was, pressed against the wall, Enzo’s thigh between his, his arms holding Seven tight…
he didn’t want him to go. He didn’t want him to stop.
Seven missed his lips. His touch. The way his head went quiet when Enzo took control.
Maybe that was why it felt so natural to crash their lips together. Unlike their first kiss, there was nothing hesitant about it. Seven clutched at Enzo’s shirt as he thrust his tongue past Seven’s lips.
Enzo tasted like tart red wine, and Seven moaned as he sucked it off his tongue.
Enzo’s hands abandoned his waist to hold his face, moving him as he liked as he plundered his mouth like Seven belonged to him.
Enzo flexed his thigh right against Seven’s now half-hard cock, then swallowed the high-pitched whimper that escaped.
“Let me take you home,” Enzo whispered into his mouth.
“I can’t. We can’t,” Seven panted before fucking his tongue back into Enzo’s mouth.
Enzo gripped his hips, dragging him down onto his thigh as he pressed forward, pulling another low throaty noise from him.
Enzo huffed out a breath through his nose, abandoning Seven’s lips to drag his mouth along the length of his neck, his beard scratching his skin in a way that had Seven’s eyes rolling in pleasure.
Seven bit his bottom lip to fight back the sounds threatening to escape as Enzo rasped, “God, you’re already hard for—”
The sound of someone loudly clearing their throat fractured the illusion like a hammer through a mirror. Seven shoved Enzo off him, the tips of his ears on fire as he dragged in ragged breaths, trying to smooth out his clothing.
Vince.
He studied the two of them with interest, particularly his brother. Enzo didn’t attempt to hide his hostility over the interruption.
Vince was unfazed. “Ma’s looking for you.”
Enzo gazed at Seven with a look Seven could only describe as frustrated longing.
Vince gave him an exasperated look. “Go. I’ll bring Seven back to the table after”—his gaze dropped to Seven’s crotch briefly—“he’s calmed down.”
Enzo looked at Seven once again. “I don’t—”
“Just go,” Seven begged quietly. “Please.”
Enzo gave him one last look, then shook his head, turning on his heel and heading back the way he came.
When they were alone, the man said, “I’m Vince. We were never formally introduced.”
“Seven,” he managed, the tips of his ears burning bright.
“I know.” After a moment, he asked, “You alright?”
Seven huffed out a heavy sigh, then let his head thud against the wall. “Fuck if I know.”
“He’s not as bad as he seems,” Vince said. “He dominates in the courtroom and—I’ve heard—in the bedroom. But outside of that, he’s faking it.”
“What does that mean?” Seven asked, frowning. “Faking what?”
“All of it.”
Vince reached into his pocket and handed Seven a card. It was black with an expensive matte finish, and on it was a golden apple pierced by an inverted baroque cross and the words Lost Eden, followed by Vincenzo Conti along with a telephone number.
“Here’s my card. That’s my cell phone number. If you ever want to talk, call me.”
Seven shook his head, his frown deepening. “Talk? About what? Enzo?”
Vince shrugged. “Among other things,” he intoned vaguely.
“Like…” Seven pressed, his head still foggy from too much red wine.
Vince arched a brow. “Like why my brother is so set on only playing with ‘trained’ submissives. He said you weren’t really part of the community.
You must have questions, right? Don’t go looking for answers on the internet.
Just call me. Or, if you’re really feeling brave, come see me at the club. Drinks are on me.”
“Why would I do any of that?” Seven asked. “We’re never going to be a thing.”
Seven wasn’t sure which of them he was trying to convince.
Vince shrugged. “One, I know you’re curious. Two—and this is the most important one—it will drive my brother crazy to know you’re at my club without him.”
Butterflies erupted in Seven’s stomach at the thought of making Enzo jealous.
“Just think about it,” Vince suggested, then added, “Come on, let’s get back before they start talking.”
Seven nodded. “Yeah, okay.”