It would be embarrassing if I had the capacity to feel anything past the euphoria.
Then, with his free hand, he guides me back down, driving inside of me and reigniting the bliss to almost painful levels while keeping his fingers firmly crooked over my teeth.
My body trembles as his thrusts quicken, feeling him swell inside me. Then, his head tips back, his strong throat working a groan out of his mouth as he explodes alongside me. He stills, the veins roping throughout his hands, arms, and neck thicken as he vibrates beneath me.
Still riding out the waves, I grind against him, pulling out another savage growl and causing him to lift his eyes back to me, an inferno blazing within.
“Fuck, keep milking every last drop. You can have it all, baby. You only have to take it.”
He pulls me toward him further by my jaw, like reeling in a fish on a hook. I'm drooling around him, but it only seems to throw fuel on the fire raging in his eyes. I rest my hands on his broad shoulders, both hating and loving how tiny my hands look compared to him.
His eyes drift to my mouth for a brief moment, almost as if he’s contemplating kissing me.
But he doesn’t. He only stares into my eyes as we come down from our high, creating one of the most intense experiences of my life. I’ve never had a man stare at me the way Enzo does. It feels like he’s throwing me onto a table, taking a scalpel to my flesh, and slicing me open to see my blackened soul bared for him.
Finally, he releases me, and I just barely clamp my mouth shut in time, catching the drool before it drips onto his face. I bite my lip, relishing in the way his nostrils flare as he watches me.
He doesn’t shy away from my gaze, although I can’t say the same for myself. It feels too intimate—too probing. Like maybe if he stares long enough, he’ll see that I’m the worst person he could’ve given himself to.
I look away, curling my lips into a lighthearted grin.
“That was…”
“Don’t insult me by condensing what that was down into a single word,” he cuts in, his deep voice hoarse.
“Okay,” I say simply, rolling off him and shuddering from the feel of his cum coating the inside of my thighs. Another thing that feels too intimate. “I won’t then.”
“Good.”
He’s still staring at me, and my flight instincts are beginning to kick in.
“Come home with me,” he says as if sensing that.
Normally, I feel relieved when I’m invited into their house, but this time, I feel nothing but sadness. The worst part is—it’s not enough to stop me. It’s not enough to override my desperation to survive.
“I’d be happy to.”
Chapter 5
Sawyer
The morning rays peek through Enzo’s curtains, which feels like a punishment. Maybe because my mood is the exact opposite of sunshine and rainbows.
Heart pounding, I carefully sit up and swing my legs over the edge of the bed. Enzo softly snores beside me, his arm tossed over his head and the sheets down to his waist.
It’s hard to swallow. A defined body with muscles, grooves, and divots that made my mouth water several times last night is on full display. And that perfect V that points directly to the weapon between his thighs.
We only fell asleep a couple of hours ago, and every time I shift, my body aches. My core aches.
The man was relentless and insatiable. His fingers and tongue were in places that had never been touched before, and even thinking about it now has my face burning hot.
I’m going to miss you.
But I need to survive more.
Steeling my spine, I gently slip out of bed, quickly gather my clothes, and yank them on.
Casting another glance at Enzo, I pick up his discarded shorts and rifle through them until my fingers close around his wallet. Smooth, black leather encasing his identity.
Enzo Vitale. Thirty-four years old. Born November 12th—Scorpio; Lord, help me. Six-four—so he is a foot taller. Hazel eyes. He’s as delicious on paper as he is in the flesh.
I never physically steal anything. It’s too noticeable. So, I snap a quick photo of it, then replace the wallet in his shorts. Before slipping out of the room, I give him one last glance-over, every beat of my heart ringing hollow. I hate that I’m doing this to him, but then I hate that I do this to anyone at all.
Softly closing the door behind me, I walk out into his living room and kitchen area.
He lives in a beautiful home—lots of white with brown wooden beams lining up the walls and across the ceiling. I was surprised to find that Enzo has good taste and interior design skills. Almost as surprised as he was when he discovered my lack of a gag reflex.