Chapter 15
Iblink my eyes open, the morning light filtering in through the curtains. I turn my head, expecting to see Enzo sleeping beside me, but his side of the bed is empty. A pang of disappointment hits me, followed immediately by irritation at myself for feeling it. I shouldn’t want him here.
I roll over, intending to bury my face in the pillow, when something catches my eye.
It’s an old, small leather-bound book with a note sticking out, lying on the nightstand.
I sit up, the sheets pooling around my waist. I reach over and grab the book, the worn leather feeling comforting in my hand. I pull out the note and open it.
Livia, I hope this one-of-a-kind poetry book brings you joy and inspiration, as you have done for me. - Enzo
I pause and look around. Stoic, can’t-really-read-him Enzo giving me a poetry book of all things? I feel a fluttering in my chest as I continue reading.
PS. 'If thou must love me, let it be for nought, Except for love's sake only.'
Of course, he quotes Elizabeth fucking Browning.
Dammit.
I blink back tears, overwhelmed by the sincerity of his words. I can’t analyze this action to fit my narrative. This is no mere gesture of control or manipulation. I hadn’t expected from the man I thought could be a heartless mobster.
I set the card aside and open the book. My hands turn clammy as I flip through the pages, taking in the beautiful words and images. This book must be priceless, a treasure beyond measure. And Enzo just gave it to me?
As I read a few lines from the first poem, I can’t help but have a huge grin on my face.
I close the book gently, holding it to my chest as I lean back against the headboard. It’s one of the most thoughtful gifts anyone’s ever given me, and I’m on the verge of tearing up again.
Okay, Livia—think freely. How do you feel?
Well, I admire his sharp intelligence, his unexpected moments of kindness. The way his eyes soften when he looks at me sometimes, thinking I don’t notice. The heat of his body next to mine in bed at night, a temptation I’ve been struggling to resist even if my pillow wall has just fallen.
And then there’s the fact that I can’t deny there’s a subtle flutter in my stomach when I think of him. The way my skin tingles when he’s near or how my body reacts to seeing him. I mean, if I had allowed myself, I would have jumped onto him the night he had me wet and heated.
I groan, burying my face in my hands. What’s happening to me? How can I be developing feelings for the man who’s holding me captive? Isn’t this fucking Stockholm syndrome or something?
Deep down, I know there’s a lot more to it. Enzo isn’t just my captor. He’s becoming something else. Something I’m not ready to name.
I look back at the book in my lap, at Enzo’s note. "If thou must love me, let it be for nought, Except for love’s sake only." Does he really want that? For me to love him freely, not out of obligation or fear?
I rub my face and let out another groan. The terrifying truth that I haven’t been able to admit is, I might have already started down that road, I’ve just been too stubborn to notice.
Suddenly, the bathroom door opens and Enzo steps out, dressed in a tailored black suit. Damn him for looking so good, so effortlessly powerful and attractive. I can’t help but let my eyes roam over his broad shoulders, the way his jacket clings to his muscular frame.
I stand up, the soft sheets falling away from my body. I instantly become acutely aware of how thin my camisole is and how my shorts barely come down to cover my thighs. I feel exposed and hold the book tightly against my chest.
"Enzo," I say, my voice soft. "Thank you for the book. It really means a lot to me."
He approaches me slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. There’s an intensity in his gaze that makes my skin prickle with anticipation. He stops just inches away from me, close enough that I can smell his scent.
He reaches out and I feel his fingers brush against my shoulder, and I realize one of my camisole straps has fallen. He hooks his fingers around it, the touch sending tingles throughout my body. Slowly, he slides his finger up my arm. His touch is like fire, leaving a trail of heat in its wake.
I can’t breathe. I can’t think. All I can do is stand there, frozen, as he gently places the strap back on my shoulder. But he doesn’t stop there. His hand moves to my neck, his thumb gently rubbing the sensitive skin just below my ear.
"I’m glad you like it, cara mia," he says in a low tone.
"I do," I breathe, my eyes fluttering closed for a moment as I lean into his touch. "Enzo," I whisper now, not sure if I’m pleading with him to stop or begging him to continue, "It’s very beautiful."
I don’t know what to think in this moment. Hell, I can’t even think, but there’s one undeniable truth in this—I don’t want his touch to end. The feelings are overwhelming, taking hold of me in a way I never could have imagined.
My heart races, and I’m acutely aware of every inch of my skin he’s caressing.
I feel my nipples harden beneath the thin fabric of my camisole, and I know Enzo can see them.
His eyes darken with desire, and I watch as his gaze travels down my body, lingering on my chest. The heat in his eyes makes me feel exposed, vulnerable, and incredibly aroused.
While I’m unable to think, it seems my body, however, has made up its mind.
For the first time since I’ve been here, I realize that if he were to claim me right here, right now, I don’t think I have the resolve to stop him anymore. The walls I’ve so carefully constructed are crumbling, leaving me vulnerable and aching for his touch.
Enzo’s hand moves from my neck to cup my face, his thumb tracing my bottom lip. I part my lips instinctively, my breath coming in short, quick gasps. He leans in, his face mere inches from mine. I can feel the warmth of his breath on my skin, and I know his lips will soon find mine.
My heart is pounding in my chest, the anticipation almost too much to bear. I tilt my chin up, silently inviting him to close the distance between us. My whole body is on fire, every nerve ending alive and screaming for his touch.
Just as I feel the barest brush of his lips against mine, a sharp knock at the door shatters the moment.
We both freeze, our breaths mingling in the space between us. Enzo’s hand tightens on my face for a moment before he steps back. There’s a flash of frustration in his gaze, but it’s quickly replaced by something else.
He turns toward the door. "What is it?" he barks, his voice unable to hide his frustration.
The door opens slightly, and I hear Marcella’s voice, tight with tension. "I’m so sorry to interrupt, sir, but there’s an urgent matter that requires your immediate attention."
Enzo’s jaw clenches, and I watch as he visibly struggles to compose himself. He turns back to me, his eyes still dark with unfulfilled desire. "I’m sorry, Livia. We’ll have to continue this, uh, conversation later."
I nod since I know I won’t be able to speak. My body is still humming with arousal, and I’m struggling to process the whirlwind of emotions coursing through me.
As Enzo leaves, he pauses at the door. He looks back at me, his gaze full of something primal. "Don’t think this is over. We will finish what we started."
With that, he’s gone, leaving me alone with my racing thoughts and the lingering heat of desire.
I collapse onto the bed, my legs suddenly weak. What just happened? What was I about to let happen? I press my thighs together, acutely aware of the throbbing ache between them. My body thrums with unfulfilled desire so deep it’s almost painful.
I close my eyes, trying to steady my breathing, but all I can see is Enzo—his intense gaze, his strong hands, the way his lips were just about to claim mine. A soft whimper escapes me as I remember how close we were.
I’ve allowed myself to come this far, might as well finish it.
My hand moves of its own accord, sliding down my stomach. I should stop this, I know I should, but I can’t. The need is too great, the fire too intense.
I slip my hand beneath the waistband of my shorts, gasping as my fingers make contact with my sensitive lips. I’m so wet, so ready. For him. For Enzo.
"Fuck," I breathe, circling my clit with trembling fingers.
With my other hand, I lift up my camisole, exposing my breasts. My nipples are hard and aching, begging to be touched. I pinch them, and cup them, moaning softly at the sensation. My skin tingles as I imagine Enzo’s strong hands roaming all over me.
In my mind, he’s here with me, his dark eyes watching me intently as I pleasure myself.
I slide two fingers inside, my back arching off the bed at the fullness. "Enzo," I moan, unable to hold back.
My hips buck as I begin to stroke myself, my fingers moving faster, deeper. I can feel the tension building, coiling tighter and tighter in my core.
"Enzo, please," I whimper, lost in the fantasy. In my mind, it’s his fingers inside me, his mouth on my breast.
My thumb finds my swollen clit, and I cry out at the burst of sensation. Sparks of pleasure shoot through me.
"Oh, God, fuck yes."
I picture his mouth on mine, his tongue claiming every inch of me. I envision him pounding into me, filling me, stretching me until I’m delirious with ecstasy.
The tension builds, white-hot and relentless. I’m so close, so close to that blissful release. I curl my fingers, pressing against that sweet spot inside, and let out a strangled moan.
"Enzo!" I cry out as I come, my body shuddering with the intensity of my orgasm that makes me see stars.
As the waves of pleasure subside, reality crashes back in. I lay there, panting, my hand still between my legs. Confusion wages war within me. What have I done? What am I becoming?
I have no fucking idea, but beneath it all, there’s a truth I can no longer deny. I want Enzo Bonventi, and my world’s about to change.