"Only if you want," he says immediately. "Only if you trust me completely. If you say no, we stop right now and never talk about it again."
I look at the scarf, then at his face, at the absolute certainty in his eyes that he would stop the second I asked.
"Yes," I say.
"You're sure?"
"I'm sure. I trust you."
He moves slowly, deliberately, taking my wrists gently and bringing them together in front of me, wrapping the silk around them with careful precision, watching my face the entire time.
"Too tight?"
"No."
He ties the knot and tests it, making sure I have enough give, and then he lifts my bound hands above my head and presses them against the mirror behind me.
My breath catches at the vulnerability of it, at the trust required to stay like this.
"Color?" he asks quietly.
"Green."
His free hand slides down my body, over my ribs, my stomach, stopping at the waistband of my jeans.
"Still green?"
"Yes."
He unbuttons my jeans slowly, watching my eyes, and slides them down along with my underwear, and then his hand is between my legs and I gasp against his shoulder.
"So wet already," he murmurs. "Have you been like this the whole time we were shopping?"
"Yes." The word comes out breathless. "Since you said you wanted me in the dressing room."
His fingers move inside me with devastating precision and I try to bring my hands down and can't, the restriction makes everything sharper, more intense.
"Look at you," he says quietly, his thumb finding my clit. "Completely at my mercy. Trusting me with everything."
I can't form words, can only feel, can only take what he's giving me.
He works me higher and higher, his movements patient and controlled, and when I'm right on the edge he stops completely.
I whimper in frustration.
"Not yet," he says. "Not until I say."
His mouth finds my neck and he bites down gently where my pulse is racing, and the sharp pleasure of it makes me cry out.
"Enzo, please?—"
"Please what?"
"Please let me come."
"Why should I?"
"Because I need it. Because I'm—" I can barely think. "Please."
