Trembling, I’m relieved to see that Sylvester hasn’t moved. He’s on his side, beard splayed across his tattered red blanket as he snoozes.
When I look back to Enzo, he seems frustrated. Jaw is clenched, and one of his hands runs through his short strands.
My throat is closing, and I can’t help but look around again, taking in how little space is in here.
I shake my head, trying to express something, but I’m not even sure what.
Flicking a glance to Sylvester, Enzo grabs my arm and pulls me into him. I stiffen, resisting him.
First off, I don’t want him touching me.
Secondly, he’s giving me less room. How the fuck does he think that’s supposed to help?
But he just tugs me harder until my back is pressed against his chest. Hot breath fans across the shell of my ear a moment before his whisper penetrates the screeching in my brain.
“Quiet, bella ladra.”
I am being quiet. Or at least I think I am. I’m not so sure anymore, but I’m pretty confident the asshole is just mansplaining how to hide properly.
I open my mouth, ready to tell him in a very quiet but firm whisper to suck my favorite toe, but the only thing I manage is a squeak.
His hand curls around my hip, and I jump in response. My eyes dart to where he’s touching me, his palm flattening against my stomach as he glides it along the edge of my jean shorts.
I fixate on his hand as he pops open the button of my cutoffs and slowly slides down the zipper.
I don’t want this. At least that’s what I chant to myself.
So why can’t I stop him?
“What are you doing?” I whisper.
“Shh,” he hushes. “I don’t want to hear your words.”
“Then what do you want to hear?”
His tongue darts out, licking along the side of my ear and eliciting a bone-deep chill down my spine.
“I want to hear what it sounds like when you’re breaking and can’t scream.” Just as the last word falls from his tongue, his hand slips into my bottoms, and his finger presses firmly against my clit.
My knees buckle, so his other arm bands across my abdomen, keeping me still as he slowly begins to circle it.
My vision is still tunneled, but now that little pinprick of light is focused entirely on what he’s doing to me.
Mouth open on a silent moan, I exhale heavily when he travels farther down, giving me little warning before his middle finger plunges inside me.
Again, I jump, but the pleasure radiating from my thighs has me pressing deeper into his chest.
“Do you think it’s hard to breathe because you can’t escape or because I’m inside you?” he croons in a hushed tone, his voice barely loud enough to hear through the waves roaring in my head.
As if to remind me where I am, another loud snore breaks through the silence. My stomach tightens as my attention begins to divide. But then he adds another finger and slowly begins to fuck me with them, bridging the divide and forcing my focus back onto him.
Only him.
I lose myself, my arousal embarrassingly audible as he pumps in and out. My breathing grows heavier, and I’m on the verge of no longer being quiet.
The arm holding me against him moves, his palm moving to my face, covering both my mouth and my nose as he attempts to keep me silent.
It takes only seconds for my brain to register that he’s cutting off my air supply. But he doesn’t stop finger-fucking me. Even goes as far as pressing the heel of his palm against my clit and rubbing firmly.
My eyes roll, and I feel the blood rushing to my face.
“Does it hurt, baby?” he asks quietly. “Not being able to scream for me like you want to.”
I pinch my eyes shut, an orgasm forming deep in the pit of my stomach. It feels like standing at the beach and watching the water retreat hundreds of feet. That looming unease plaguing you, knowing that when the water returns, it’ll come back with a vengeance.
This does hurt. Because I know when it’s over, I’ll be a fucking wreck.
“This little cunt is so fucking wet,” he continues, his accent deepening with desire. With my breathing silenced, the only thing that can be heard above the rough timbre of his voice is his fingers pumping into my soaking pussy. “Do you hear how pretty it sings for me? Why don’t you sing me a lullaby, bella? Let me hear it.”
He quickens his pace, continuing to rub against my clit. My chest pumps wildly, and I can feel my heartbeat in every inch of my body.
I’m torn between needing him to stop so I can breathe and praying to whomever will listen that it never ends.
“That’s it,” he encourages, sensing how close I am by the way I start bucking against him. “I want you to come on my fingers now, bella.”