LVI. God among men
My fingers curl lightly around the waistband of his pants, and he exhales, low and hoarse. The fabric slides slowly as I tug it down just a bit, revealing dark underwear that clings to his skin with irritating perfection and a hard, unmistakable bulge beneath the tight cotton.
Even without moving, even without doing anything but breathing in this thick, charged air, I feel a hot wetness gathering between my thighs, making me press them together in a barely-there motion to ease the ache that’s building inside me.
Almost.
Because Enzo’s eyes drop and settle right there, watching as I force myself to stop. But it’s too late. He knows exactly what kind of effect he’s having on me.
His hand moves slowly and firmly, warming the side of my body and exploring. This time, it’s my muscles that tense in response. Pure reflex. Pure instinct. But that only encourages him more.
Enzo’s thumb brushes my stomach through the fabric of my shirt, trailing upward with a calmness that contradicts the restless tension radiating from him, along my ribs and higher still... beneath my breasts, teasing the edge of my bra before tracing it and moving further up.
He draws a lazy circle on my collarbone, tracing it toward my shoulder, making my hands clutch his hips, fingers digging into his skin in a mix of warning, hesitation, and maybe encouragement.
Enzo lets out a low moan—a muffled sound that reverberates straight between my legs and nearly makes me lose control.
My body reacts before I can even process what’s happening, as it always does with him. My stomach tightens, and my hips instinctively seek his. A violent shiver runs down my spine, spreading everywhere—making my breasts more sensitive, nipples throbbing under the thin fabric of my bra.
God... he’s so hard a wet spot is forming on the front of his black briefs. Those gentle pulses call out to me like a siren’s song, making my inner walls clench with raw need.
The hand that had been tracing my shoulder suddenly grips it, firm, then slides up to my jaw. His fingers hold my chin, tilting my face up with a touch that doesn’t ask, it commands. Then, when his thumb brushes lightly over my lower lip, feeling the subtle tremor in my breath... I pull his pants down.
Enzo’s hands clamp down harder on my hips as the pants drop. It’s not a gentle move. It’s rough, as if he’s been hit by a wave of tension and needs something to ground him.
I’m so hyper-aware of every point of contact, of every inch between us, that everything feels slower, heavier.
Enzo lowers his face, eyes locked on mine, and there’s something fiercer in that gaze now. A barely restrained hunger. It’s not controlled desire. Not admiration. Not even teasing. It’s the look of someone about to cross a line but still holding back for some reason only he understands.
And it makes the heat between my legs spike to the point of agony.
His hand slides to the back of my neck, fingers weaving through my hair, damp from the heat of the room and his nearness. It’s an intimate gesture, but also possessive. In that moment, he’s staking a claim just by being close, by touching me, by surrounding me with that heat that sends my skin into high alert, my blood rushing beneath the surface, every heartbeat echoing too loudly in my chest.
“I asked you to get my bath ready...” he murmurs, his nose brushing mine, a touch too soft to be accidental. “Not to drive me insane.”
My eyes drop.
It’s almost cruel how fine he is.
Everything about him seems designed to tempt—from his defined abs to his strong thighs, down to the way the snug fabric of his boxers hides, but doesn’t disguise, the thick, rock-hard cock straining between us, throbbing so hard it forces me to hold my hips back, resisting the urge to press against him again.
“You’re the one who asked for help undressing,” I retort, my voice too low, too raspy.
Enzo doesn’t answer right away. He just watches me, eyes locked, heavy, as if deciding whether to kick me out for the audacity or devour me because of it. Whatever’s going through his head, it’s clear he’s on edge, ready to snap.
Somehow, knowing that gives me power. A dangerous, addictive kind of power. And I feed on it. Not just because I need it for Cesare’s plan to work. Not because the point was really to seduce him and leave him trembling with anticipation…
But because the feeling of slipping under the skin of a man like him is deliciously intoxicating.
As if he can read my mind, like he knows exactly what I’m thinking, Enzo smiles, slow and wicked. The kind of smile that carries no lightness, only the weight of everything he knows how to do to a body, a mind, a will that’s starting to waver—so sharp it feels like a command.
“Since you’re such a... dedicated employee,” he says, his voice thick, hovering just above my lips, only an inch away from brushing them, “then why don’t you finish your task?”
Enzo’s gaze drops, nodding toward where our bodies are still pressed together, and he tilts his head. That perfectly styled blond hair shifts slightly over his forehead, making him look dangerously younger, more disarmed, more human.
But the look in his eyes stays the same—those pupils swallowing the blue, holding the weight of everything he’s ever done, seen, and endured... and now focusing only on me.
It’s almost like, right here, in this bathroom, I’m the only thing that matters.
The tips of my fingers glide just slightly over the skin just above the waistband. I feel the tension in his abs, the way his muscles tighten under my touch, trying to contain something far bigger than an impulse…
And this time, it’s me who smiles.
Dangerously seductive, fully aware of what I’m doing to him.
Aware that he knows I know what I’m doing.
Enzo’s cock throbs again, and this time, I can’t stop the sound that escapes my throat—low, choked, somewhere between a sigh and a barely stifled moan. Satisfaction washes over me in waves, just as intense as the lust that’s making the tension in my belly unbearable.
My fingers finally brush against the waistband of his underwear and pause there, just testing the limit, teasing, but not crossing it.
I want to see how far he’ll let me go—how long the ‘god among men’ can stand being touched by someone who shouldn’t have this kind of power, and yet, somehow, holds it in her hands.