Page 94

“Easy,” I say. “You just got shot, in case you forgot.”

“I did forget, in fact,” he says. “You have a way of distracting my thoughts like that.”

I take his good hand and lead him back through the door. The cabin is dark except for the low glow of the dying fire from the living room, where Pyke is seated in his chair, watching the grounds.

He follows me to the guest room that doesn’t look like it’s ever been used. The door clicks shut behind us, and Enzo turns the lock.

He reaches for the lamp and turns it low, the light warm and small. He stands in front of me, and for a long, lovely moment I just let myself savor the nearness of him, the way he looms over me in a way that makes me feel small and loved and protected all at the same time.

“I almost lost you,” I say, my voice small.

“But you didn’t. And you won’t.”

Part of me wants to reality-check him, tell him there’s no way he can know that for sure. But I push those thoughts to the side and step closer to him, my hands finding the buttons of his shirt. I undo them one by one with careful fingers. When they’re all undone, the gorgeous planes and lines of his chest and stomach are on full display, and I gently ease the fabric from his shoulders. He winces just a bit but shakes his head when I stop.

When his shirt is gone, I press my mouth to the edge of the shoulder bandage, just above his heart.

“Tell me if it hurts.”

He smiles. “Nothing hurts when you touch me like that, tesoro.”

I undress for him slowly, letting him watch and savor. I peel the soft layers away until I’m bare in the low light. His eyes move over me in the reverent way I don’t think I’ll ever get sick of, like he can’t believe he gets to see me like this, hunger and gratitude mixed.

He places his good hand on the curve of my hip, moving it slowly over the soft skin. “I’m not wasting a second of tonight. I want you. I want all of you.”

“Then have me.”

We move to the bed, and he sits on the edge. I climb onto his lap, his cock hard and straining between us. His good hand falls onto my hip again, the other tucked against his side. My breasts press against his chest. I lean forward and let our foreheads touch again, reaching down and wrapping my hand around his shaft. He groans, shifting his hips a bit as I stroke him.

“You feel how hard I am for you?” he asks, his voice low. “No other woman could ever make me feel this way.”

A wave of heat moves through me, and I glide my fingertips up his length, slow, until his breath catches.

“Mia,” he whispers against my lips. “Look at me.”

I do, and he pushes my hand slightly, guiding his cock to my entrance. I shudder at the sensation of his head resting between my lips, ready to enter. He nods, and I lower myself. The stretch is slow, and I close my eyes, focusing on each hard, warm inch pushing into me.

We breathe out at the same time as I take the last bit of him. He’s seated perfectly and we’re pressed together as closely as possible. His eyes stay on mine as I move gently, rolling my hips, still worried I’m going to hurt him.

“Don’t hold back,” he says. “I can tell you’re holding back.”

I grind a bit harder. “You say that until your wound opens up again.”

“It’d be worth it.”

I rock down on him, and his breath catches. His thickness grinds against my walls, and all I find myself wanting is to coax the orgasm out of him, to make him feel good after what he’s been through, to greedily savor that feeling of warm release inside me.

His good hand tightens in my hair and I chase the pleasure, my grinding turning to bounces. He moves his lips closer, wrapping them around one nipple and then the other.

“Come for me, tesoro,” he says, his good hand cupping my breast. “I want to feel it.”

I’m bouncing and moaning, and part of me wants to stretch it out a little more, to savor it for just a bit longer. But when his hand lands on my ass, squeezing and guiding and pressing, I give up. I come quietly, gently even, leaning my head on his shoulder and letting out soft sobs of pleasure.

Enzo follows with one hard upward thrust, buried to the hilt, my name torn out of him. That feeling I’d been craving, needing, of his warm release filling me, soon follows. Our climaxes peak and fade and we stay like that for a long time afterward, breathing the same air, his heartbeat steady and slow.

“Stevie,” he says against my hair, and then nothing. I feel the next word sitting in his chest, heavy, right there under my palm. He doesn’t say it. Neither do I. But I feel him almost say it, and I hold on to that instead.

Later we’re tangled under the quilt, the small fire Enzo started in the bedroom fireplace crackling and popping. My head rests on his good shoulder, his chest rising and falling.