Enzo sighed. “You make a compelling argument.” Seven perked up until he said, “But no. Shower, then dinner. We can discuss what you can and can’t do sexually after that.” Seven opened his mouth, but Enzo cut him off with a sharp look. “Andonlyafter that. Now, go shower.”
This went on for another five minutes before Seven cried, “Rock, paper, scissors.”
“What?” Enzo asked, staring at him blankly.
“We can settle this like adults,” Seven said. “Rock, paper, scissors. Loser showers first.”
“Are you serious?” Enzo asked, amused.
Seven smirked, arching a brow. “Why not? Scared I’ll win?”
Enzo’s smile was borderline psychotic. “Do you know how many siblings I have? You won’t win.”
Seven won.
His paper covered Enzo’s rock. Now, it was Enzo who was pouting.
Seven’s smile was ten miles wide as he said, “You shower first, Daddy.”
“You’re so asking for it tonight,” Enzo murmured, voice low and smooth.
Seven yanked Enzo’s tie loose, then removed it, going for the buttons on his shirt. “Begging for it, even. Maybe you should just give it to me?”
“Keep playing with me and you’ll get what you’re asking for, but not the way you want it. Remember those non-physical punishments we discussed? Would you like to spend the night writing me an essay on why BDSM contracts exist and why play partners should use them?”
Seven recoiled like Enzo had slapped him. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Wouldn’t I?” Enzo asked, undoing the rest of his buttons, then stripping out of his shirt, setting it in the dry-clean-only hamper. “Or I could quiz you for your bar exam while I have you kneeling in the corner? That’s a viable option, too.”
Seven huffed. “I won. Go shower.”
Seven tidied up their room while Enzo stood under the spray, loudly belting out everything from Italian opera to Madonna. Seven had to stop several times just to peek around the corner and watch him through the foggy glass, his chest so tight it could burst.
When Enzo returned, his hair was dripping and he’d knotted a towel low on his hips.
Seven whimpered, making grabby hands at him. Enzo crossed the room, wrapping his arms around him…then promptly shook his head like a dog, spraying Seven with frigid drops of water and laughing when he gave an indignant shout.
Enzo dropped a kiss on Seven’s pouting lips. “Shower, now. Then meet me downstairs.”
“Yes, Daddy,” Seven mumbled.
Seven didn’t have to wait long for the water to heat. He stepped into the steamy shower, hissing when the water reached his abused backside. He stiffened, face pinched in pain whilehe waited for his body to adjust to the shock, the burn finally returning to a dull, throbbing ache.
He took a deep breath, groaning when the sharp, spicy scent of Enzo filled his nose. Everything smelled like him…even Seven. It was a byproduct of living in Enzo’s space and using Enzo’s expensive luxury products. His soap, his shampoo and conditioner, his shaving cream, even his spare deodorant. Enzo wasn’t a 3-in-1-product kind of guy, which meant Seven wasn’t anymore either.
Their lives were so intertwined now. It boggled his mind. They’d been through so much together. He pressed his forearm against the wall and rested his head there, letting the water jet across his back. His muscles still ached from being restrained last night.
That was something else rich people just didn’t appreciate.
Water pressure.
Seven’s shower had less pressure than a garden hose. For the first six years of his life, they lived in an apartment with a giant hole in the bathroom tiles. He’d always had a fear that something might crawl out of it while he was showering. Meanwhile, Enzo’s shower had three heads, twelve settings, a speaker system, and mood lighting. They were not the same.
He sighed, grabbing the body wash and a wash cloth, scrubbing his body as his thoughts began to domino in his head. Enzo was rich. Disgustingly rich. Seven was not. He wasn’t even middle class. Enzo didn’t seem to care. His family didn’t either. But would Enzo want him to sign a prenup? Probably. They were both attorneys, and it was the smart thing to do. It was what Seven would advise any client to do. He couldn’t be mad if Enzo wanted to protect his assets. Though, not a single Mulvaney had a prenup. But maybe that was because the only way out of a Mulvaney marriage was a coffin? Did Enzo believe in divorce?Was he religious? Was his family religious? That was probably something they should discuss before marriage. Right?
And what about kids?
Seven shook his head, wrenching off the water before his anxiety had him planning out their imaginary divorce before he’d even gotten the ring on his finger. He toweled off quickly, then threw on his new joggers—a pair of overpriced Gucci track pants—hoping the lack of underwear might act as a talisman of sorts and get Seven laid. He was all about manifesting what he wanted.
