Let Me Love You (31)

His brows slanted as he lowered his eyes to my breasts, and my nipples weren’t just hard because I was chilly. That dark, heated look in his eyes had goose bumps forming all over my exposed skin. “They say that the more orgasms you have, the longer you live,” he remarked.

“They do, do they?”

He cupped my breast with his free hand. “You know what that means?” He pinched my nipple, and I chewed on my lip so I didn’t cry out from the pleasure of his touch. The walls were thin, and my sister and brother-in-law were next door. “I’ll live for an eternity from the number of times I’ve beat off thinking about you.”

My legs tightened on reflex at his confession, and I had to remind myself he was under the influence so I didn’t launch myself into his arms.

“So will you give me number six?” I forced my eyes to meet his, and he slid his tongue along the seam of his lips as he rolled my nipple between his thumb and forefinger, eliciting yet another moan from me.

“I’m curious how you went from me taking your ass as number five to watching me jerk off for number six. Feels out of order.” A sly smile slid across his lips, almost as if he’d forgotten all about whatever darkness was weighing him down.

“My list isn’t exactly arranged on a kink scale from one to ten.” Not that number five had been that, but still.

A torn look crossed his face.

“So?” I arched a brow and set my hand over the one cupping my chin. “Will you?”

“Yes,” he said as his hand slid over my mouth, and I kissed his palm. “Tonight . . . I’ll give you whatever you want.”





EIGHT


Maria

Enzo walked into his en suite, turned on the light, and I quietly followed him. Without saying more, he shoved down his sweats and stepped free of them.

As he removed his boxers, I stifled a moan and leaned against the counter. Enzo’s body was absolute perfection from head to toe. And his muscular ass . . . Michelangelo couldn’t have carved a better one.

He wordlessly stepped into one of the most luxurious showers I’d ever seen, and God, I wanted to join him. But it was more important that he sober up right now and shake off some of his anger. I needed him to talk to me and let me help him with whatever the hell was going on.

Keeping the door open and with the water on, Enzo slowly turned beneath the spray, and I braced the counter on each side of me at the sight.

The girth of that man. His length. The veins that led to the head of his impressive cock. I licked my lips, wishing I could taste him.

He leisurely slid a hand up and down his shaft as I worked my focus up his wall of muscles to find his face. He ran his free hand through his wet hair and messed it up, and his wet lashes only intensified that dark look in his eyes as he stared at me.

“This what you want?” he roughly asked while moving his hand up and down a few more times, and I chewed on the inside of my cheek, trying to summon the strength not to slip my hand down my pants and touch myself as I watched him.

And then a hard knot formed in my stomach and had me gripping my shoulders. I smashed my forearms to my breasts to hide myself. “You wouldn’t do this if you hadn’t been drinking or weren’t so upset. Maybe I—I shouldn’t be in here with you?” I gave him my profile, prepared to flee and leave him alone to rub one out.

“So help me, Maria, if you walk out that door, I will slap your ass so hard you won’t be able to sit for a week.” The abrasive tone of his voice and order had me nervously peeking over at him, finding him still gripping his cock.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Don’t try me, Tesoro,” he remarked, only further turning me on as I fully faced him. I dragged my eyes up to meet his hard gaze, needing more reassurance from him that he truly wanted this. “It would take an entire bottle and then some for me to completely lose my mental faculties. Even then, that’s debatable. I’m not drunk. Now, get your sexy ass over here.”

His brother had said he’d been heavily drinking, and I’d assumed he was drunk, but he hadn’t slurred since I’d arrived.

Smirking, he motioned for me to come closer, but I kept my hands to my shoulders, feeling my body blush with embarrassment.

The man before me was all hard and rigid lines, and I was the opposite. I’d never had washboard abs even before pregnancy, and working to get them now wasn’t on my to-do list. I’d rather enjoy cheesecake and eat chips and salsa while binge-watching shows on Netflix.

“Maria?” He peered at me with a question in his eyes. “Don’t you tell me that idiota ex of yours is in your head right now. If you’re thinking about what he said today, so help me . . .” He was no longer beneath the spray of the water, and yet the cooler air striking him didn’t make him go remotely limp.

“I’m just . . . well.” I gripped my shoulders a touch harder. “You’re like this Greek god before me.”

“Italian,” he shot back, nearly smiling despite whatever grave news he’d received earlier.

But then Thomas and his mother infiltrated my thoughts, and their not-so-kind words painted vicious strokes through my mind. “I’m curvy, Thomas was right.” I thought about my stomach next. “Soft.” I shook my head. “I have hips. Thighs. An ass. And, well, life’s just too short not to eat bread.” I shrugged, still holding my shoulders.