Chapter 19 Seven #2
But that was only the part the world saw.
Seven was the only one who knew that his sexy, bearded, tatted up boyfriend loved catty teen movies, that he sang opera and pop songs in the shower, that he had massive childhood trauma, that he was a giant dork who liked dad jokes, silly puns, and leaving Seven little gifts every day.
Enzo was insanely generous to the people he loved, and he was really fucking good at taking care of those people.
He was really good at taking care of Seven.
Seven bit the inside of his cheek, his chest tight. He was so in love with this man he even annoyed himself. Enzo made him feel crazy. Possessive. Jealous. Feral. He’d lived most of his life without Enzo, but the idea of living the rest of it the same way made him want to throw up.
Enzo stood there, blissfully unaware of Seven’s musings, testing his sanity, wearing nothing but a pair of loose-fitting white linen pants that hung low on his chiseled hips. Seven distracted himself by stealing a cherry tomato from the bowl beside the cutting board.
Enzo swatted his hand. “I’m trying to cook here.”
Seven grinned, wiggling his brows like a cartoon villain. “And I’m trying to see how much trouble I can get into before dinner.”
Enzo snickered, going back to his chopping. “Behave, brat.”
He didn’t want to behave. He wanted to cause trouble, wanted to push Enzo’s buttons until he pushed back and punished him.
But that wasn’t going to happen. Not tonight.
If he pushed too hard, Enzo would do something truly psychotic, like have him recite the preamble to the Constitution or something.
Something panged deep in Seven’s chest. He didn’t want the wounds to heal.
He liked looking at them and feeling the pain when he touched them.
They were a souvenir, a constant reminder that he belonged to Enzo.
Every time he’d sat down at work that day, he’d grimaced, only to look up and find Enzo smirking at him from his desk.
They made it hard to concentrate, even as Seven tried to focus on his mom’s case.
He had hoped to hear something from the twins, but Lucky had only just been able to smuggle the thumb drive out of the evidence locker that morning.
They said they were gonna take their time, comb through every line of code if they had to.
He trusted them. He believed them. If there was a way to prove his mother’s innocence, Enzo would find it.
But Seven preferred Jericho’s way. Find the ones the law ignored, then dispose of them quickly and quietly so they never hurt anyone again.
That was what he’d do to whoever had set up his mother.
Okay, probably not. He doubted that Jericho would be willing to kill someone over embezzlement, but he could dream.
Would Enzo want him to stop helping Jericho once they were married?
Seven bit his lip at the thought. Married.
As in forever. Enzo would be his…forever.
His brain couldn’t even process it. How had they gotten there?
Would they stay there in the loft? Would they really open their own practice?
Would they have kids? The thought of himself as a father was such a mind-fuck.
Like, he was a kid, how could he have a kid?
Felix had kids. Babies. And he was a great dad.
But Felix had Jericho as a role model. Seven’s lip curled. He just had Stanley.
“Why are you snarling at me, baby?”
He snapped his head up. “Sorry, was just…daydreaming, I guess.”
It was clear Enzo didn’t believe him, but he went back to chopping, the soft sound of the blade rhythmic against the board. Seven probably would’ve gone back to brooding about his shitty dad if Enzo’s body hadn’t proved to be such an exquisite distraction.
So, instead, he looked.
Enzo was so fucking beautiful it almost hurt to stare too long.
He was literal artwork. He didn’t belong in a museum, he was the museum.
Every tattoo was perfectly placed, each one drawing the eye to the shape of his muscles, the taper of his waist, the swell of his biceps.
The ink didn’t just decorate him, it venerated him.
Seven’s gaze dropped to Enzo’s forearms, his throat tightening.
The veins were sharp beneath his skin, even through the ink.
His hands looked huge, capable, dangerous.
The way his fingers curled just so as he chopped vegetables made Seven’s breath catch; it was so intentional, so practiced, so familiar.
He swallowed, his pulse skipping. Enzo was just standing there making dinner, and Seven wanted to pounce.
It was everything about him—the strength in his hands, his effortless grace with the knife, the way concentration creased the space between his brows.
That look on his gorgeous face—that single-minded focus—it was the same one he wore when he was wrecking Seven with his mouth, with his hands, with his voice. Seven’s ears started to burn.
“You’re staring,” Enzo said, making Seven jump.
Enzo laughed softly but didn’t glance up from his task.
“And whose fault is that?” Seven countered poutily. “You’re the one walking around shirtless. I’m only a man.”
Enzo grinned, grabbing another cherry tomato and holding it to Seven’s lips.
He took it, making a show of crushing it between his teeth, earning another grin from the other man.
He swiped his thumb across Seven’s chin, capturing the juice running down his chin, then bringing it to his own lips with a dark look that had something stirring low in his belly.
“You’re not playing fair,” Seven whispered, feeling undone.
Enzo didn’t even try to hide his smirk. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Right,” Seven muttered, kicking his foot out to dig his toe into Enzo’s thigh.
After a minute, Enzo asked, “Have you thought about it?”
Seven flushed, guilt and arousal warring within him. “I-It?”
“Yes, it,” Enzo repeated, amusement dripping from every word. “Our discussion?”
“We’ve had a lot of discussions today,” Seven said.
“The talk that involves what we did in bed last night,” Enzo clarified, like he was discussing some mundane chore.
“You wanna do the kink talk…while you make pasta?”
“Exactly,” Enzo said, tossing the fresh garlic into the pan. The smell bloomed in the air, making Seven’s stomach growl. “Keeps us both distracted enough to keep it honest. If we have this conversation in bed, I’ll start thinking with my dick and you’ll start trying to be clever.”
“I don’t have to try,” Seven mumbled. “I’m very clever. One of the highest GPAs in the school.”
Enzo leaned into his space and plopped a kiss on his lips. “I don’t doubt it. But you’re not gonna distract me tonight. We’re doing this or we’re not playing together again.”
Seven sighed, swinging his feet to try to create a distraction for himself. “Fine. Shoot.”
“Okay, let’s start with what you know you like,” Enzo suggested.
Seven bit down on his bottom lip, suddenly feeling shy. It was silly considering everything they’d already done and how vocal he’d been about it when Enzo was refusing to give it to him. But now, the words stuck in his throat.
When he remained silent, Enzo glanced over, arching a brow. “What’s wrong?”
Seven shrugged. “I don’t know. It's just…awkward.”
Enzo gave him a soft smile. “Is it awkward, or are you just afraid to ask for what you need from me?”
“Well, damn,” Seven mumbled.
“No pressure,” Enzo added quickly. “This isn’t about setting traps or passing some test. This is about us making sure we’re both on the same page so it stays fun and safe and doesn’t get… confusing. You’ve been pushing me—”
“Because I like it,” Seven cut in. “I like it when you take control. When I don’t have to decide anything. You tell me what to do, and I do it. It’s...nice.”
“That’s the submissive talking,” Enzo said gently. “That’s good. I like hearing that. Keep going.”
Seven licked his lower lip. “Uh, yeah. Okay. Um…I like being restrained. I like clear instructions. When I’m restrained, you have to do everything.”
Was that selfish?
Enzo didn’t miss a beat, just kept moving about the kitchen. “Noted. What else?”
“Blindfolding. I-I liked it. I think I might like to try other sensory things. Headphones, maybe? More spanking?”
Once more, Enzo nodded. “Sure. What about other sensory play?”
“Like what?” Seven asked, skin warm. “I don’t know exactly what that is?”
“Feathers. Ice. Heat. Wax. Vampire gloves. The Wartenberg wheel. Vibrators. Tuning forks. Silicone floggers.” He held up the item in his hand. “Wooden spatula. Anything that engages your senses.”
Seven wasn’t going to survive this conversation. “I-I think I’d like to try all of it so I know if I like it. Would—Would that be okay?”
Enzo gave him an encouraging nod. “Sure. I’m into it. What about things you know you definitely don’t want?”
Seven wrinkled his nose. “Being gagged. That idea freaks me out. Especially if I’m also tied up. If I can’t speak at all, I get panicky.”
Enzo nodded. “I get that. I don’t like you not having the ability to safe word in some way. Hard limit?”
Seven nodded, his heart hammering like he’d run a mile.
“Easy. Anything else?” Enzo asked.
Seven took a deep, shuddering breath and let it out. “I-I don’t think I’d like humiliation. Not like real degrading stuff. I don’t mind you calling me slutty or…or a whore, but not when you’re angry with me. And I don’t want to be called, like, worthless or stupid. That kind of thing.”
“I would never do that to you,” Enzo said, reaching for a bottle of olive oil. “That’s a hard limit for me, too. I don’t enjoy inflicting shame. Not my thing.” He dropped a kiss on Seven’s lips as he passed. “I do like calling you a slut, though.”
“I like it, too,” Seven said. He loved it, in fact. He liked being Enzo’s slut. Enzo’s whore. But just his. “Do you have hard limits?”