He shouts, his chin snapping back down to his chest so he can watch me swallow every drop. Mouth parted, and his brows lowered over his eyes, his entire body vibrates from the force, and it feels like I can’t drink him down fast enough.
Finally, he forces me away, becoming overstimulated.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he pants, staring at me with wide eyes. I just wipe my mouth clean of the slobber painted all over my chin.
There’s an intensity radiating from him, and it’s triggering all those typical flight responses. I stand on shaky legs, and his brow furrows with confusion, assumingly sensing my retreat. I stall by grabbing my bathing suit and slipping it back on. All the while, his stare burns through me.
“I’m going to choose to live because I refuse to die for Kevin. But the life I’ve chosen for myself is something I have to suffer through alone, Enzo.”
He just glares, jaw clenched so tightly that the muscle is bursting from his cheek.
Before I lose my nerve, I rush toward the lighthouse, dreading the moment I’m locked in our room with him.
I asked him to hurt me, but it seems I’ve done a far better job of it.
Chapter 23
Enzo
“Is she ah’ight?” Sylvester asks from behind me, causing my muscles to tighten impossibly further.
The only response I’m capable of is a grunt.
He mutters something beneath his breath, but it’s too low for me to hear, and frankly, I give zero fucking fucks.
I didn’t sleep last night after Sawyer left me on the beach. I don’t think she did either, but neither of us was willing to break the stilted silence.
I’ve known her for barely over six weeks, and she’s already got me falling at her fucking feet.
Choose me.
She didn’t. Instead, she used sex to distract me and then chose a life of suffering over one with me.
“Got any whiskey left?”
Sylvester grunts as he makes his way toward a cabinet.
“You that bent out of shape over a knock to the head? She’ll be all right, son.”
Every word out of his mouth grates on my nerves, but I keep my mouth glued shut since he’s handing over alcohol.
I swallow it in one gulp, holding the cup out while he pours me another three fingers wordlessly. This time, I sip it, appreciating the maple undertone as it burns a path down my throat.
“Lemme tell ya, women like that don’t come around often,” he remarks conversationally.
“Tell me about it,” I mutter. Not every day you meet a girl that lures you between her thighs and then turns around and steals your fucking identity the next day. Nor is it every day the same girl drags you upward of a mile across the ocean to safety.
She’s walking lightning. Both beautiful and fucking destructive.
“And I want ya to know, if she decides to stay, I’ll make sure she’s well taken care of.”
He might as well have dumped a bucket of ice-cold water over my head. My spine snaps straight, and I set the glass down before I break it.
“Why would she stay?” I ask slowly, turning to give Sylvester my full attention. He’s staring at me with an odd look on his face. It’s smoothed out, yet I can see the truth in his eyes. He’s excited.
“She clearly has no place outside of here, don’t you agree?”
“No,” I retort.
He shrugs, not caring if I agree or not.
“Maybe that’s ’cause you want to keep ’er. But women like that don’t want to be kept.”
“Isn’t that what you want?” I fire back, arching a brow. “To keep her?”
Something flashes across his eyes, an emotion that’s gone before I can place it.
He smiles, revealing blackened teeth.
“Ain’t no sense in keepin’ something that stays willingly. I don’t like possessin’ things, not unless I have to.”
My brows knit. “I don’t think I like what you’re implying.”
He shrugs again. “That’s ’cause you don’t like that she might actually choose me over you.”
What the fuck?
Fury is building in my chest, but instead of releasing it, I pick up my drink and take another sip, staring at him over the rim of the glass. He’s banking on my anger, I can fucking see the anticipation crinkling his eyes. He wants me to snap, so he has the excuse to kick me out.
“Guess we’ll see,” I murmur, holding his stare as I finish off the drink. “Want me to put in a good word for you while I’m in bed with her tonight?”
His features slacken, and his chin dips as he glares at me with a look so ice-cold that it burns. That’s not the type of cold that frosts your insides, it’s the type that blackens them.