Chapter 21 #2
"Slow," he says, and there's iron control in his voice. "We're going to go slow."
He lines himself up and pushes in just slightly, just the tip, and I gasp at the pressure, at the stretch, at the foreign feeling of someone inside me for the first time.
"Breathe," he murmurs. "Just breathe, Princess."
I breathe and he pushes in a little more and the burn intensifies but underneath it is something else, something that feels right, that feels like this is exactly where he's supposed to be.
"You're doing so good," he says, his voice strained with the effort of going slow. "So fucking good for me."
He pushes in further and I whimper and his hand finds mine, threading our fingers together, holding tight.
"Almost there," he says. "You're taking me so well, baby. So perfect."
One more slow push and he's fully seated and we both go still, breathing hard, adjusting to the feeling of being completely joined.
"How are you doing?" he asks.
"Full," I manage. "So full."
"Good full or bad full?"
"Good." I roll my hips experimentally and we both groan. "Very good."
He starts to move, slow and controlled, pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in with a patience that makes my chest ache.
"More," I whisper.
"You sure?"
"More, Enzo. Please."
He gives me more, his rhythm steady and deliberate, and the burn fades into pure pleasure, into pressure building low and hot, into the feeling of him everywhere, filling me, surrounding me, consuming me.
"You feel so good," he says roughly. "Better than anything I imagined and I've imagined this a thousand times."
I wrap my legs around his waist and the angle shifts and he hits something inside me that makes me cry out, sharp and sudden.
"There?" He does it again. "That's the spot, isn't it, Princess?"
"Yes, oh god, yes—"
He keeps hitting it, over and over, controlled and precise, and I'm climbing again, higher and faster this time, my nails digging into his shoulders.
"I can feel you getting close," he says. "Can feel you tightening around me. You're going to come on my cock, aren't you?"
"Yes." The word comes out broken. "Yes, I'm so close—"
"Come for me," he says. "Let me feel it."
I shatter with a cry that he swallows with his mouth, my whole body locking around him, and I feel him still inside me, feel him fighting his own release.
When I come back down he's looking at me with something fierce and possessive in his eyes.
"I didn't come," he says.
"I know." I'm still trying to catch my breath. "Why not?"
"Because I'm not done with you yet." He pulls out and I whimper at the loss, and then his hands are on my hips, flipping me onto my stomach.
"Enzo—"
"On your knees," he says, and his voice has changed, gone rough and commanding and absolutely wrecked.
I get on my knees, my hands braced on the mattress, and he positions himself behind me and pushes in with one hard thrust that makes me cry out.
"Fuck," he groans. “Driving me crazy—"
He doesn't finish the sentence. He just starts moving and the careful control is gone completely, replaced by something raw and desperate and nearly violent in its intensity.
He grips my hips hard enough to bruise and drives into me over and over and I'm making sounds I've never made before, high and broken and constant.
"You feel so perfect like this," he says through gritted teeth. "Taking everything I give you. Such a good girl for me."
His hand slides up my spine and into my hair, fisting it, pulling my head back, and the sharp pleasure-pain of it sends me careening toward another orgasm I didn't know I had in me.
"I can't—" I gasp. "Oh my goodness, I can't again—"
"Yes you can." He reaches around and finds my clit with his fingers. "One more, Princess. Give me one more."
He works me with his hand while he drives into me from behind and I'm sobbing with it, with the overwhelming intensity of sensation, with the way my body is responding to him like it was built for exactly this.
"Come with me," he says roughly. "Right now, baby. Come with me."
I come screaming and he follows immediately with a curse and a groan, his hips stuttering, his hand tightening in my hair, and I feel him pulse inside me, feel him fill me, feel him collapse forward over my back with his forehead pressed between my shoulder blades.
We stay like that for a long moment, both trying to remember how breathing works.
Then he pulls out carefully and I collapse onto my side and he's right there, pulling me against him, wrapping himself around me like he can't bear to have any distance between us.
I'm asleep before I can say a word.
I wake to movement.
The room is still dark but there's grey light around the edges of the curtain that means morning is close. Enzo is getting dressed, moving quietly, and when he sees my eyes open he comes back to the bed and sits on the edge of it.
"We need to leave," he says quietly. "It's not safe to stay."
I nod and try to sit up and immediately regret it because every muscle in my body is sore in ways I didn't know were possible.
He sees it in my face and something warm moves through his expression.
"Sore?"
"Very." I push myself up anyway. "It's fine."
"It's not fine. I was too rough at the end."
"I liked it rough at the end." I look at him directly. "All of it. I liked all of it."
His jaw tightens and he looks like he wants to say something but doesn't, and instead he just stands and offers me his hand and helps me out of bed.
We get dressed in silence and I can feel last night in every movement, can feel the ghost of his hands everywhere he touched me, and when I catch his eye in the mirror while I'm pulling my hair back he's looking at me with an expression I can't quite read.
We've been driving for an hour when the city starts to appear on the horizon, familiar and sprawling, and I know we're close to home, at the end of whatever this has been.
I'm awake now, sitting in the passenger seat, and I can't stop thinking about last night, about his hands, his mouth, the way he said my name, the way he made me feel things I didn't know were possible.
I shift in my seat and wince slightly and he glances over.
"Still sore?"
"Yes." I don't see the point in lying.
"I'll get you some ibuprofen when we get there."
"Enzo."
"Yeah."
"We can't tell anyone." The words come out before I've fully thought them through. "About last night. About any of it. We can't tell Matteo."
He's quiet for a moment, his hands tight on the wheel.
"I can't let you marry Vittorio," he says finally.
"I know."
"So we have to tell Matteo something."
"I know." I look at him. "But not like this. Not walking in and saying we slept together and ruined his alliance. We need a plan. We need to figure out how to tell him in a way that doesn't make him want to kill you."
He glances at me and something that might be a smile moves at the corner of his mouth. "You think talking will stop him from wanting to kill me?"
"No. But it might stop him from actually doing it."
The mansion appears ahead, massive and familiar, the gates already open like we're expected.
Enzo pulls through and parks and we both sit there for a moment, looking at the front door, at the end of whatever this was and the beginning of whatever comes next.
"We'll figure it out," he says quietly.
"Yeah." I unbuckle my seatbelt. "We will."