But Enzo…
My eyes threaten to roll to the back of my head as I replaythe memory.
Not many men are interested in giving pain alongside pleasure—and the ones that are almost never get it right. But Enzo knew exactly what my body could handle. In fact, I think that was just a taste of how it could be.
I can still feel his hand tightening around my neck, cutting off my air just enough to heighten the sensations that floated through my body.
Perhaps others would have wanted gentleness. Especially after what Lucas did to me. But I needed it to be rough. I needed it hard. I've never enjoyed slow and gentle loving making. To change that now… because of Lucas? It would be a betrayal of myself. It would mean he's won. But he hasn't. I'm still me.
Groaning, I roll out of bed, get dressed in some sweatpants and a tank top, before opening the door and padding down the hall.
Light Christmas music floats through the air from the kitchen, where I find Enzo—dressed casually for change—preparing breakfast.
“Hey,” I murmur, stepping into his line of sight.
“Morning.”
Nate stumbles into the room—sleep rumbled—before either of us can say anything more. He grins when he spots us.
“Just friends, huh?” he teases, at the same moment that everyone else chooses to enter the kitchen.
My face heats and I imagine I resemble a tomato. “We are,” I mumble, embarrassed.
“Dude, shut up,” Enzo grumbles, shoving Nate playfully.
“Sorry,” he squeaks as Enzo gets his head into a headlock. “Just didn’t realize friendship came with so many benefits.”
My cheeks are on fire.
“What’s the plan for today?” Tess asks once the two of them have stopped play-fighting.
Enzo goes back to cutting up panettone and fruit for breakfast. “Papa’s coming over for lunch.”
Tess squeaks, then runs to get dressed.
The morning flies by in a blur of chatter and laughter as everyone pitches in to cook up a feast. Tess takes over, doing most of the work. Apparently, she loves cooking, so she’s happy to give orders if people leave her toit.
Fine by me.
I end up sitting with Carina in the living room after we got kicked out for almost messing up dessert.
“So,” she says, a grin on her lips. “You and Enzo?” She waggles her eyebrows.
My cheeks flame again at the reminder that everyone heard us last night.
“There really is no me and Enzo.”
She studies me, tilting her head, her pink hair falling to one side. “But you want there to be?”
I shrug, noncommittal. “He’s my best friend.”
“A best friend who—from the sounds of it—can make you come.” She laughs as I die of embarrassment. “I’m just saying, that’s pretty much the blueprint for a perfect relationship.”
She reaches out to cover my hand with hers. “If you’re not interested then that’s fine, but if you are, then I think you should tell him.”
I let my head flop back against the couch cushions with a sigh. “I don’t think he wants more.”
“Has he said that?”
