He pulls back slow, then slams home, punching a moan out of me. “But you also don’t keep power by killing everyone who has a grievance against you.” Another brutal thrust. “Your brother was murdered by my underboss without my knowledge.” Another. “That’s a failure of my leadership.”
I’m panting now, barely able to string words together.
“S-so this is guilt?”
“This—” He snaps his hips so hard the headboard cracks against the wall, and I cry out. “This is something else.” He holds himself deep, grinding, and I’m shaking beneath him. “The guilt is separate.”
“And the fact that I tried to kill you?”
His smile is feral. “Makes it more interesting.”
I should hate this. Hate every second of being pinned beneath the man I came here to murder. But then he changes the angle and hits that spot dead-on.
Pleasure tears through me so violently my back bows off the bed. I can’t hold onto the hate. Not when he’s fucking it out of me with every stroke. Because dammit, heisfucking it out of me with every stroke, and like a fool, I’m letting him.
“When this is over,” I gasp, nails raking down his back hard enough to draw blood, “I’m still going to kill you.”
“I know,” he mutters, working his hips, driving into me with deep, measured thrusts that have me seeing white at the edges. “I’m looking forward to it.”
The simple acknowledgment does something to me.
He knows who I am. What I want. And he’s still here, still buried inside me, still looking at me like—like—
“What?” I manage through the haze.
“Nothing.” But his hand comes up, cups my jaw, tilts my face so I can’t look away.
“You’re just—” He lands a thrust that makes me whimper. “Fucking beautiful like this.” Another that makes me moan. “You smell like you’re already mine.”
“Shut up.” But my voice breaks on it, and I’m arching into him, chasing more.
“Make me.”
I grab him by the throat and drag him down to do just that, but the moment our lips meet, it’s fireworks and explosion.
My mouth moves against his, all teeth and tongue and raw fury. I bite his bottom lip hard enough to taste copper, and he growls into my mouth, slamming into me so hard I scream.
His hand fists in my hair, yanking my head back, and he devours my throat while he fucks me.
I’m clawing at his shoulders, his back, anywhere I can reach, leaving marks I hope scar. When I suck a bruise into his neck, his rhythm turns savage, hips pistoning, the wet slap of skin on skin obscene in the quiet room.
“Fuck,” he snarls against my pulse. “The way you take me. It’s like you were made for my cock.”
I should be humiliated by the way I keen at that. But I’m past the shame. Past everything except the orgasm building at the base of my spine, like a detonation waiting to happen.
“Harder,” I demand. “Fucking harder.”
He hooks my leg over his shoulder and pounds into me with abandon, and I’m gone.
The orgasm rips through me like an earthquake, shatters me from the inside out, and I’m clenching around him so hard he chokes out my name.
Enzo follows me over with a strangled groan, burying himself to the hilt as he spills inside me. I feel every pulse, every throb, and my body milks him for all of it.
We collapse together, wrecked and gasping. When he finally pulls out, I feel the loss like a wound.
He settles beside me, one hand splayed across my hip like he can’t bear not to be touching me.
“Sleep,” he pants. “You need rest before the next wave.”
