Chapter 19 Seven
“You can shower first.”
Seven glanced at Enzo in the elevator’s reflection, but didn’t say anything. He was still pouting about having to shower alone. Enzo had looked so fucking hot at work in his gray suit and black silk tie, Seven had barely been able to keep his hands to himself during the office roundtable.
“I’m talking to you,” Enzo said, sliding his fingers into Seven’s belt loops, then pulling him back against him.
Seven opened his mouth to respond, but was distracted when Enzo’s lips found the side of his neck, teeth sinking into the purple bruise he’d left just under the now unbuttoned collar of his shirt.
“You’re the reason I had to wear this stupid collared shirt in the first place,” Seven mumbled, hand rising to tangle in Enzo’s hair, keeping him in place as he sucked an even deeper bruise into the same spot.
“Are you complaining, brat?” Enzo murmured in his ear.
Seven gave an undignified squeak as Enzo’s hand connected with his already throbbing ass cheek, the sound loud in the otherwise quiet elevator.
Seven’s mouth fell open as he stared at Enzo’s reflection in disbelief. “You can spank me in an elevator, but you can’t fuck me in the shower? I’m starting to think you just don’t want to have sex with me,” he challenged.
His ears heated up at Enzo’s lazy chuckle. “If you think you can break me with your bratty little attitude, you’re mistaken. We’re not playing again until those welts heal…and that won’t happen if you keep pressing on them.”
Seven flushed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He knew exactly what Enzo was talking about.
He’d excused himself several times in order to lock himself in the far left bathroom stall with the mirror so he could lower his pants and look at the marks criss-crossing his skin.
Each time he trailed his fingers over them, he’d gotten flashes of the night before, making him bite back a groan and try to stave off getting hard at work.
“No? That wasn’t you wincing every time you sat down at your desk? Weird. You must have a doppelganger.”
“Maybe they won’t heal because you keep smacking me,” Seven snarked, then stiffened, realizing he’d fallen into Enzo’s trap.
“I’m glad you see it my way. Separate showers, then dinner. Maybe if you’re a good boy, I’ll blow you before bed.”
The elevator dinged, acknowledging their arrival home as Seven tried to calm down. He’d started out irritated, and now, he was horny, too. Enzo seemed to love tormenting him.
They slipped off their shoes at the entryway then hung up their bags. Enzo didn’t carry Seven up the stairs for once, but he did hold his hand until they reached the bedroom.
“You go first,” Seven said, nodding towards the bathroom.
Enzo shook his head. “No, you go first.”
“No, I need a minute to, like, unwind, before I get in the shower,” Seven said. “You go.”
“If you go first, then I can help you put the ointment cream on after.”
Seven rolled his eyes. “If you help me put on ointment cream, we’re gonna get just as derailed as we would if we shower together. So, let’s just shower together? You can be careful. I promise you didn’t break me. We don’t even have to play. You could just fuck me?”
Enzo sighed. “You make a compelling argument.” Seven perked up until he said, “But no. Shower, then dinner. We can discuss what you can and can’t do sexually after that.” Seven opened his mouth, but Enzo cut him off with a sharp look. “And only after that. Now, go shower.”
This went on for another five minutes before Seven cried, “Rock, paper, scissors.”
“What?” Enzo asked, staring at him blankly.
“We can settle this like adults,” Seven said. “Rock, paper, scissors. Loser showers first.”
“Are you serious?” Enzo asked, amused.
Seven smirked, arching a brow. “Why not? Scared I’ll win?”
Enzo’s smile was borderline psychotic. “Do you know how many siblings I have? You won’t win.”
Seven won.
His paper covered Enzo’s rock. Now, it was Enzo who was pouting.
Seven’s smile was ten miles wide as he said, “You shower first, Daddy.”
“You’re so asking for it tonight,” Enzo murmured, voice low and smooth.
Seven yanked Enzo’s tie loose, then removed it, going for the buttons on his shirt. “Begging for it, even. Maybe you should just give it to me?”
“Keep playing with me and you’ll get what you’re asking for, but not the way you want it. Remember those non-physical punishments we discussed? Would you like to spend the night writing me an essay on why BDSM contracts exist and why play partners should use them?”
Seven recoiled like Enzo had slapped him. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Wouldn’t I?” Enzo asked, undoing the rest of his buttons, then stripping out of his shirt, setting it in the dry-clean-only hamper. “Or I could quiz you for your bar exam while I have you kneeling in the corner? That’s a viable option, too.”
Seven huffed. “I won. Go shower.”
Seven tidied up their room while Enzo stood under the spray, loudly belting out everything from Italian opera to Madonna. Seven had to stop several times just to peek around the corner and watch him through the foggy glass, his chest so tight it could burst.
When Enzo returned, his hair was dripping and he’d knotted a towel low on his hips.
Seven whimpered, making grabby hands at him. Enzo crossed the room, wrapping his arms around him…then promptly shook his head like a dog, spraying Seven with frigid drops of water and laughing when he gave an indignant shout.
Enzo dropped a kiss on Seven’s pouting lips. “Shower, now. Then meet me downstairs.”
“Yes, Daddy,” Seven mumbled.
Seven didn’t have to wait long for the water to heat. He stepped into the steamy shower, hissing when the water reached his abused backside. He stiffened, face pinched in pain while he waited for his body to adjust to the shock, the burn finally returning to a dull, throbbing ache.
He took a deep breath, groaning when the sharp, spicy scent of Enzo filled his nose.
Everything smelled like him…even Seven. It was a byproduct of living in Enzo’s space and using Enzo’s expensive luxury products.
His soap, his shampoo and conditioner, his shaving cream, even his spare deodorant.
Enzo wasn’t a 3-in-1-product kind of guy, which meant Seven wasn’t anymore either.
Their lives were so intertwined now. It boggled his mind. They’d been through so much together. He pressed his forearm against the wall and rested his head there, letting the water jet across his back. His muscles still ached from being restrained last night.
That was something else rich people just didn’t appreciate.
Water pressure.
Seven’s shower had less pressure than a garden hose.
For the first six years of his life, they lived in an apartment with a giant hole in the bathroom tiles.
He’d always had a fear that something might crawl out of it while he was showering.
Meanwhile, Enzo’s shower had three heads, twelve settings, a speaker system, and mood lighting. They were not the same.
He sighed, grabbing the body wash and a wash cloth, scrubbing his body as his thoughts began to domino in his head.
Enzo was rich. Disgustingly rich. Seven was not.
He wasn’t even middle class. Enzo didn’t seem to care.
His family didn’t either. But would Enzo want him to sign a prenup?
Probably. They were both attorneys, and it was the smart thing to do.
It was what Seven would advise any client to do.
He couldn’t be mad if Enzo wanted to protect his assets.
Though, not a single Mulvaney had a prenup.
But maybe that was because the only way out of a Mulvaney marriage was a coffin?
Did Enzo believe in divorce? Was he religious?
Was his family religious? That was probably something they should discuss before marriage. Right?
And what about kids?
Seven shook his head, wrenching off the water before his anxiety had him planning out their imaginary divorce before he’d even gotten the ring on his finger.
He toweled off quickly, then threw on his new joggers—a pair of overpriced Gucci track pants—hoping the lack of underwear might act as a talisman of sorts and get Seven laid.
He was all about manifesting what he wanted.
He should have put on one of the many new shirts Enzo had bought him, but instead, he went to the bottom drawer and dug out one of Enzo’s super-soft t-shirts. This one was a faded blue and had a guitar on it. The writing was so worn down, Seven couldn’t even read where it had come from.
Once he was dressed and his hair mostly dried, he padded downstairs to find Enzo in the kitchen, bare-chested, bare-footed, and hair still a little damp, curling over his forehead.
He smiled when he saw Seven and patted the counter beside him.
When Seven was within reach, Enzo reeled him in, kissing him thoroughly before lifting him up onto the marble slab that was the center island.
The kiss had temporarily scrambled Seven’s brain, but now, he let his eyes take in the kitchen.
Like, really take it in. It was the size of any commercial kitchen but much more upscale.
The stove top was built right into the marble, and beneath it were double ovens that were stainless steel with gold accents.
They matched the two ovens built into the far wall.
Seven was gonna marry a man with four ovens and two giant refrigerators. What was his life?
To be fair, Enzo did have an enormous family. When there were eighteen to twenty people at every family gathering, maybe having four ovens was reasonable?
He leaned back on his hands, giving Enzo a lazy once-over, once more pondering what Enzo could possibly see in him. Aesthetically, Enzo was perfect. Enzo was a fairy tale. Rich. Smart. Successful. Sexy as hell…kinky. Lovely family. Anyone would have been lucky to have him.