Chapter 40
Piper
T he past two weeks blur together like watercolors left in the rain—endless nights of highlighting textbooks until the words swim, mornings waking to Enzo’s fingers tracing my spine, afternoons of him quizzing me relentlessly between stolen kisses.
Every time I tried to focus, he was there, simultaneously my greatest help and my most devastating distraction. Now I stand at the front of the lecture hall, gripping the podium like it’s the only thing keeping me upright, acutely aware of how the recycled air presses against my skin.
A dozen pairs of eyes pin me in place as I stand in front of Georgetown’s most selective political students. Some gazes are curious, others glazed with boredom, a few already mentally packed for Christmas break.
But not me. I’m almost done presenting and defending the paper I handed in just before Thanksgiving. Almost. The light behind me hums, casting my shadow long across the floor while my final slide glows against the monitor—a neat bulleted conclusion.
The words fall from my mouth like I’ve rehearsed them a thousand times, which I have. In front of my bathroom mirror. While cooking dinner. Under Enzo’s watchful gaze as he lounged on my couch, interrupting every few minutes to correct a point or challenge an assumption.
Heat crawls up the back of my neck from the memory of how those practice sessions usually ended—with papers scattered across the floor and both of us naked. I clear my throat and force my mind back to the present.
The wood of the podium is smooth under my fingertips. I trace small circles against it, grounding myself in the present moment as I methodically disman tle the counterarguments to my thesis. My voice grows steadier with each point, even as I feel a trickle of sweat slide down my spine.
Professor Levi leans forward in his seat, elbows on the desk, fingers steepled beneath his chin.
His gray eyes narrow slightly, and I see it coming before he even opens his mouth.
“Miss Harrington, you argue that economic incentives are the most effective. What about cases where economic leverage fails to change behavior?”
My mind blanks for a half-second. Then it fills with Enzo.
Three nights ago; my apartment, books spread across the kitchen table as Enzo forced me to my knees and undid his pants.
“Focus, Toy,” he murmured, lips against my ear as I squirmed. “If your professor asks this, what will you say?”
He wasn’t happy with the answer I gave, and instead of giving me time to change my argument, he shoved his cock down my throat. While I gagged on him, he helped me get a better grasp on the concept and how to verbalize it in a way that couldn’t be challenged.
“You’ll remember that answer now, won’t you?” he asked as he let me up for air.
He was right. The memory is seared into me.
“Historical evidence suggests that economic failure is often a matter of insufficient incentive rather than the wrong approach altogether,” I begin, my voice clearer than I expected. “If we look at the Baltic states in the early two-thousands…”
The answer flows from me, perfect and polished, even as my inner thighs tingle with the ghost of Enzo’s touch. I don’t stumble or hesitate. I channel every ounce of focus into getting through these last ten minutes without combusting.
I finish with a crisp, “Thank you for your time,” and a silence falls over the room like a dropped curtain.
Professor Levi’s face remains impassive. Twenty-three years in politics before academia has left him with a perfect poker face. But then—there it is. The smallest nod, a twitch at the corner of his mouth that just might be approval.
“Thank you, Miss Harrington,” he says, making a small note on his legal pad.
Relief floods through me, leaving my fingers trembling against the podium. I did it. I actually did it. Months of research, two weeks of intense preparation, and one very distracting benefactor later, I’ve survived my presentation.
We’re dismissed with nothing more than a collective exhale as everyone starts packing up their things. Since our grades won’t be announced until the end of January, I try to push it out of my mind as I shoulder my bag and join the stream of bodies filing out of the lecture hall.
My legs feel like they’re moving through syrup as I push through the heavy door of the building. The sharp December air hits me like a slap, stealing my breath for a moment before my lungs remember how to work again.
Georgetown looks like a postcard in winter—bare tree branches lined with a dusting of frost, old brick buildings standing solid against the pale sky. I inhale deeply, letting the cold burn my throat on the way down. It feels clarifying somehow.
Christmas break stretches before me like an unmarked canvas. Weeks of freedom before the next semester begins. I shift my weight from one foot to the other, suddenly unsure what to do with this new lightness.
A part of me wants to call Lena and meet for drinks to celebrate. But another part wants to crawl into bed and sleep for a week straight. Preferably with Enzo spooning me. Just as I think the last part, I see him.
He’s leaning against his sleek black SUV, parked illegally at the curb like he owns the entire fucking city. Hands tucked into the pockets of his tailored coat, shoulders relaxed despite the cold. A slow smile spreads across his face as our eyes lock across the distance.
Every nerve ending in my body lights up like a struck match. The exhaustion that weighed on me moments ago evaporates, replaced by a humming awareness that makes my skin feel too tight.
I’m already moving toward him, my pace quickening with each step until I’m running the last few feet, launching myself into his waiting arms. He catches me effortlessly, possessively, like I belong nowhere else.
My heart free-falls into him, tethered only by the brutal certainty that no one else would ever catch me.
Then his mouth claims mine, hot and unapologetic, tongue pushing past my lips. The contrast is electric—his heat against my wind-chilled lips. We kiss like we haven’t seen each other in days instead of mere hours. His tongue sliding against mine with a possessiveness that makes me dizzy.
“I take it you did well,” he murmurs against my mouth, not really a question.
“I think so,” I breathe back, aware of how his body shields me from the wind, creating a pocket of warmth between us. “He nodded. Professor Levi never nods unless you’ve impressed him.”
Enzo’s thumb brushes over my bottom lip, his eyes following the movement. “Good girl.”
Two simple words, but they send a shiver down my spine that has nothing to do with the cold. I press closer, seeking more of his heat, more of the solid certainty of his body against mine.
“I knew you would,” he says, and there’s something in his voice—pride, but also the quiet confidence of someone who never doubted the outcome. It makes me feel both seen and small, like I’m a puzzle he solved long ago.
He kisses me again, harder this time, teeth catching my lower lip in a gentle bite that makes me gasp. My toes curl in my boots, and I can’t stop the small moan that escapes when his hand slides down to grip my hip, f ingers digging in just enough to remind me who I belong to.
When he finally pulls back, the air between us is foggy with our mingled breath. His eyes are darker now, pupils dilated, and there’s a tension in his jaw that tells me exactly where his thoughts have gone.
Without a word, he reaches behind me and opens the passenger door of the SUV. The command in the gesture is unmistakable. “Get in, Toy,” he murmurs, low enough that only I can hear.
I hesitate for just a moment—not out of reluctance, but because the transition always takes my breath away. One minute I’m Piper Harrington, Georgetown political student with a promising future; the next I’m his, stepping willingly into the world he creates for us.
He shuts the door with a solid thunk, and I watch through the window as he walks around to the driver’s side. The outside world recedes as he slides in beside me, his presence filling the car with something heavy and electric.
Pulling away from the curb, he steers with one hand while the other rests on my thigh. “Tell me about the presentation,” he says, his eyes on the road as we merge into the flow of Georgetown traffic.
“I think I nailed it,” I say, unable to keep the pride from my voice. “Though I did blush at one of Professor Levi’s questions, thanks to you.”
“Oh?” One dark eyebrow lifts, his lips curving into that knowing smile that makes my stomach flip. “And why is that?”
“Because all I could think about was you asking me the same question while I was on my knees.” Heat creeps up my neck at the memory. “With your dick in my mouth.”
His chuckle is low and dark, vibrating through the small space between us. “That was the point, Toy. Every time you answer a question in that classroom, I want you to remember who really taught you.” The words coil in my belly, hot and undeniable.
His fingers tighten on my thigh, inching higher, and I have to press my legs together to quell the immediate ache that blooms between them.
“Where are we going?” I ask, trying to redirect the conversation before I combust. “I thought we’d go back to my place to celebrate.”
“ Our place,” he corrects. “You thought we were going back to our place to celebrate.”
He’s not wrong; there’s no my place anymore; it’s ours, and I secretly love that. I smile softly at him, reaching out and running a finger across his cheek. I smile.
“Yeah, I guess that’s what I meant.”
Enzo’s eyes remain fixed on the road, but there’s something in his profile—a slight tightening at the corner of his mouth—that makes my heart skip. “We are going to celebrate,” he says simply. “Just not at home.”
“Then where?”
He glances at me then, those ice-blue eyes holding mine for a beat longer than is safe while driving. “You said you wanted to know me, Toy. There’s no better way than meeting my family.”
The air leaves my lungs in a rush. “Your family?”
“My mother. My cousins.” He says it casually, as if he’s suggesting a trip to the grocery store rather than introducing me to the people who shaped him. “We’re flying to Cleveland.”
“Cleveland?” My voice comes out higher than I intended. “Now? Today?”
“Yes, today.” His smile is slow, predatory, satisfied at my reaction. “Is that a problem?”
“No. I mean…” I shake my head, trying to organize the sudden flood of questions. “I just didn’t expect… you never talk about them.”
“Because they’re mine,” he says simply. “But now you’re mine too. So it’s time.”
Something warm unfurls in my chest at his words, a giddy excitement that makes it hard to sit still. “What are they like? Your mom, is she…”
“Like me?” He laughs, a genuine sound I rarely hear. “No. She’s worse. But I think you’ll like her.”
“And your cousins? How many do you have?”
“Only three that matter. Matteo, Rafe, and Remus.” He navigates through a yellow light, his driving as precise and controlled as everything else he does.
“Matteo and Rafe,” I squeak. “Please tell me they’re not the ones from—”
“The interview,” he finishes, shooting me a wolfish grin. “Oh, that’s them, Toy.”
Well… fuck. A flush creeps up my neck.
“They weren’t actually looking when I fingered you,” he adds. “Both of them were facing away.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. “Okay then,” I agree, trying to ignore the nerves dancing underneath my skin. As I look out the window, I suddenly realize the familiar streets of Georgetown have disappeared and we’re heading toward the highway. “Wait, are we going right now? I haven’t packed anything.”
“I packed for you.”
I blink at him. “You what?”
His thumb resumes its small circles against my thigh. “Everything you’ll need is already on my jet.”
“Your jet.” I repeat the words numbly. “As in… do you have a private jet?”
“Did you think we were flying commercial?” There’s amusement in his voice now, rich and dark.
I stare at his profile—the straight line of his nose, the sharp cut of his jaw, the way his dark hair curls slightly at his collar.
Of course Enzo has a private jet. Of course he packed for me without asking.
Of course he orchestrated everything without giving me a chance to say no—because with him, I never really want to.
“How long are we staying?” I ask, my voice smaller than I intended.
He glances at me. “Through Christmas. Maybe longer.”
A cold weight settles in my stomach. “Christmas?” I twist my hands in my lap. “I usually spend Christmas with my parents. My mom texted last week, and I already told her I’d be there.”
His answering growl vibrates through the seat, and I feel it hum against my spine. “They don’t deserve you.”
The silence that follows his outburst seems to stretch into infinity. The only sound is the soft purr of the engine and the rhythmic click of the turn signal as Enzo merges onto the highway.
“No,” I agree, finally able to stitch words together. “But they’re my parents.”
His eyes are still on the road, but his jawline has hardened. “Then I’ll come with you to your parents’.”
I stare at him, speechless. Enzo, in my childhood home. Enzo, sitting at my family’s dinner table. Enzo, meeting my horrid parents… whelp.
“Unless you don’t want me there?” His question sounds casual, but I know better. There’s an edge beneath the words, a trap waiting to be sprung.
“I want you there,” I say quickly, and to my surprise, I mean it. “I just… didn’t think you’d want to come.”
His hand moves from my thigh to the back of my neck, fingers threading through my hair, grip firm but not painful. “Where you go, I go, Toy. That’s how this works.” His thumb brushes against my skin.
My heart stutters, a traitorous little lurch I can’t control, and I find myself leaning into his touch, craving the certainty of belonging to him.
I still haven’t told him that I’m his, not unless he’s using orgasms to force the words from me. I meant what I told him two weeks ago; until he shows me who he really is, I can’t belong to him.
But every day, he gets one step closer to me uttering the words he’s longing to hear.