4. Enzo
ENZO
I lift her into my arms, and the world narrows.
The sounds from the gala recede into nothing, replaced by the soft rush of her breath against my throat, the velvet heat of her thighs pressed to my sides, the scent of her skin wrapped in the ghost of roses and something wilder, something made only for me.
Her dress is still bunched around her hips, the fine fabric creased and clinging where I touched her.
Her lips are parted, kiss-bruised and damp, and when she looks at me, I see everything she's never been allowed to want crack open like lightning behind her gaze.
My quarters are just down the corridor, the estate winding in polished corners and hushed lighting, all opulence stretched over steel.
The Salvatore estate was built for defense as much as display, but tonight it feels like a palace turned cathedral, the floors echoing beneath each step I take with her in my arms.
The gala is in full swing downstairs, and that serves me well.
No one is up here except me and her, every inch of her body soft and pliant where it leans into mine, but I can feel the tremor under her skin, the way she's barely holding it together.
I'm not sure if it's because of what I just did to her against the door, or because of what she knows is coming next.
I kick the door open with one booted foot and step inside my rooms.
The lights are low. I left them that way on purpose.
The suite is quiet, large, shadow-drenched.
Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the cliffs beyond the estate, where the sea churns black and endless beneath the moonlight.
The curtains are drawn back, letting in the salt-flecked breeze from the water below, and it cools the heat still burning in my chest. But it doesn't matter.
Not when I'm holding her.
Not when she is this warm, this breakable, this mine.
I walk past the leather couches and the heavy marble table without stopping. I head straight to the bed.
The sheets are deep navy, the pillows piled high.
But all I see is the space where I'll put her.
All I feel is the fire that hasn't dimmed since the moment she walked through the ballroom in that dress, her chin lifted like a challenge I had no choice but to accept.
I set her down on the edge of the bed, and she leans back slightly, supporting herself on one arm.
Her legs part just enough to make me ache.
Her eyes meet mine in a silent dare, but also in surrender.
She knows I'm going to take her apart.
I don't give her time to recover.
My jacket hits the floor first.
Then my belt.
The sound of the leather sliding through the loops makes her inhale sharply, and I see the muscles in her thighs flex.
My shirt follows, buttons popping loose under my fingers.
Her gaze drags over me like heat, like punishment.
But she doesn't move.
She waits.
I drop to my knees in front of her and yank the fabric of her dress higher, baring her again.
She's already soaked, slick from the fingers I buried inside her earlier, and when I lower my head and taste her, her whole body arches with a sound that doesn't belong in any drawing room.
My hands grip her thighs, forcing them wider, anchoring her to the bed as I press my tongue against her with a desperation I can't restrain.
I eat her like I'm starving, like her body is the only truth I've ever known, and I'm trying to memorize it before the world ends.
Her fingers twist into my hair, her hips grinding into my face, and I let her.
I let her take what she needs because I need it too.
When she comes, it's violent.
Her back bows, a sob tearing from her throat as her thighs close around my head and she pulses against my mouth, shaking like something splintered.
I don't stop.
I take her through it, through the aftershocks, until she's begging in broken whispers I can't quite make out.
Then I rise.
Her lipstick is ruined.
Her chest rises and falls like she's just survived drowning.
I watch her come back to herself, see the moment her gaze clears and her focus narrows.
I shove my pants down and kick them away.
My cock is hard and thick, flushed at the tip, veins pulsing like it's been waiting for this moment longer than I have.
I curl my hand around the base, watching her eyes darken as I stroke once, twice, letting her see what's about to claim her.
She doesn't look away.
She reaches for me, both hands bracing on my chest as she pulls me closer, and I fall onto the bed with her, my body covering hers in one long, searing line.
Her thighs part without hesitation.
The heat of her makes me groan, and when I slide into her—deep, stretching her wide all over again—her nails bite into my back.
I fuck her like I'm trying to erase every man who's ever looked at her like she was currency.
I fuck her like I'm carving my name into her bones, like the act itself is a vow no church could ever sanctify.
My hips slam into hers, again and again, the headboard knocking against the wall, the mattress creaking under the violence of it, and she meets every thrust with a cry of pleasure that turns my blood molten.
Her legs wrap around my waist, locking me to her.
Her hands climb to my shoulders, then my neck, pulling me down until our mouths collide.
The kiss is messy, teeth clashing, tongues slick, her breath pouring into me as she whimpers against my lips.
I grip her hips hard enough to bruise, anchoring her while I drive deeper, finding a rhythm that builds and breaks, builds and breaks, until she's trembling again, gasping my name like a curse, a prayer, a promise.
"Enzo," she moans, desperate, high and wild. "Don't stop."
I couldn't if I tried.
I roll us, taking her with me, letting her ride me, her body sinking down over me with a choked cry that turns my vision white.
Her hands brace on my chest as she grinds her hips, her breasts bouncing, her skin glowing in the low light.
I watch her unravel, sweat gleaming along her collarbones, her pupils blown wide, her lips parted in perfect, aching ruin.
"Look at you," I breathe, sliding my hands up her thighs. "Fucking made for this. Made for me."
Her head drops back as she rocks faster, chasing the edge again, her muscles fluttering around me.
I grip her hips and help her move, thrusting up into her, brutal and unrelenting.
She screams, and I feel her clamp down, spasming hard as she shatters in my arms, falling forward, burying her face in my throat.
I wrap her in my arms and roll us again.
Her legs are still shaking.
Her body's gone limp.
But I'm not finished.
I fuck her through it, slower now, but deeper, my intention clear even if my words are not.
Mine. Mine. Mine.
Her hands find mine and grip tight, our fingers laced as I press her wrists into the bed and hold her beneath me.
She blinks up at me, dazed and wet-eyed, and something inside me breaks.
She's not just a girl anymore.
She's not a Lombardi pawn or a rival's daughter or a forbidden indulgence.
She's everything I've ever wanted, and I didn't even know it.
I drive into her one last time and groan as I spill inside her, my hips jerking with each pulse.
Her mouth finds mine again, and the kiss this time is slower, more lingering, full of something I can't name.
I collapse beside her, pulling her into my chest, the sweat drying between us.