Does It Hurt? (96)

Enzo drives two fingers into me and curls them deeply right as I come undone. I’m unable to prepare myself for it, and the bliss is crashing through me before I can take another breath.

Scarcely, I feel a scream tear from my throat, and my vision is consumed by bright starbursts of color and light. It feels like my soul is being ripped from my body, God’s hand carrying me into Heaven.

But the ever-persistent devil is fighting for control over my fractured soul, bringing me crashing back to earth and in between his teeth.

It’s only when my vision clears that I realize my thighs are soaked, Enzo’s face even more so.

“How do you keep making me do that?” I pant. He’s not the first man to go down on me and bring me to orgasm, but I feel like fucking Pavlov’s dog, and somehow, he’s managed to train my pussy to drool for him on command.

“You’re a natural, baby. It’s just that no one has hit the right buttons,” he says, climbing off the table and dragging me with him to the edge.

I’m expecting him to remove his shorts and fuck me, but instead, he grabs my arms and jerks me upright again, a gasp falling from my tongue and feathering across his lips that are only inches from mine.

He flirts with the idea of kissing me, brushing his mouth across mine and making me desperate to taste myself on them. As if sensing that I’m preparing to tackle him, he steps away.

“Drop to your knees, bella ladra. I’ll give you everything you’ve been praying for.”

Swallowing, I shakily slide off the table and lower myself to the ground, holding his blazing stare while I do. The farther I descend, the hotter his eyes grow.

As if to test him, I tip my chin up.

“Then answer them,” I say before opening my mouth, sticking out my tongue, and awaiting his next move.

A smile stretches across his face, revealing both dimples in all their glory. It’s breathtaking but equally terrifying. The smile is nothing short of sinister, but fuck, it’s real.

He leans down, brushing the pad of his thumb over my tongue.

“Such a dirty little girl,” he croons. “How do you taste so sweet?”

I’m incapable of answering, but he doesn’t wait for one.

“Take them off,” he orders. Reaching for his waistband, I slide his shorts down and free his cock. I’m not embarrassed by the way my mouth waters at the sight. He possesses something to be worshiped.

He hooks his thumb in my bottom teeth and brings me closer until my mouth is poised at the tip where a drop of pre-cum beads, just waiting to be licked clean.

I try to move forward, but his grip on my teeth keeps me immobile. Dragging my stare up to his, I wait, unable to talk or move.

“Your words have always just been words,” he murmurs quietly. “But your silence is honest, and that’s where I always find my answers. That’s where I hear everything you don’t say.”

I want to look away, to hide, but I force myself to hold his stare.

“No more words, Sawyer,” he commands. “I want you to show me.”

Slowly, he drags his thumb out from my mouth, swiping my bottom lip roughly before releasing me completely.

He’s testing me, and I’m desperate to give him what he’s asking for.

Don’t hide, Sawyer.

Don’t run.

Just… stay.

So, I do. Without dropping my stare, I lean forward and slip my mouth over the tip of his cock. He hisses, and my eyes flutter from the salty flavor of him on my tongue, but I don’t close them. I lick him slowly, intoxicated by his taste and how he feels.

I draw his length in deeper, wetting it so I can easily slide him down my throat. His mouth parts, and his brow furrows as he stares down at me with reverence. And it’s now that I realize how much can be said in a single look—how long Enzo has been talking to me—and I’ve never stopped to listen. But he’s been listening to me all along.

Emotion floods my chest, rising up my throat as I hollow my cheeks and swirl my tongue. I suck him harder, swallowing him completely, my lips kissing his pelvis. A shudder works its way through his body and curses spill from his mouth.

I’ve never had a gag reflex, but it still makes my eyes water from the lack of oxygen. After a few moments, I retreat, a long, slow drag that earns me a few more colorful words. And still, I keep my eyes up.

Can he hear me tell him that he is the first man I could pleasure without feeling sick? Can he hear that with him, inviting a man into my body feels like a choice and not a means to survive? Does he hear me thanking him for making me feel less broken?

He must, because he fists my curls and forces my head back, and yanks me up toward him to capture my lips in a savage kiss. When he pulls back, I reach for his cock again. I wasn’t done—I want to keep pleasing him—but he evades me.

“I choose where to make you whole,” he growls, helping me to my feet and pushing me back onto the table. He grips the underside of my knees and lifts them until my feet are planted on the edge of the table.

His cock slides along my slit, and I buck my hips uncontrollably, my arms curling around his neck and molding my front into his. My entire body is trembling, and I need him close for reasons I can only say through my silence. I need to feel him.

His hips pull back enough for him to line up with my entrance, and then he pushes in slowly while capturing my bottom lip between his teeth.