He starts moving his fingers again, slow and deliberate, building me back up from nothing.
"You're so beautiful like this," he says against my skin. "Desperate and begging and completely mine."
"Yes." The word comes out broken. "Yes, I'm yours, please?—"
He increases the pressure and the speed and this time when I get close, he doesn't stop, just keeps that perfect rhythm until I come with a cry that he muffles with his mouth, my whole body shaking against the mirror.
I'm still trembling when he reaches up and unties the scarf, catching my wrists as they fall and kissing each one tenderly.
"Okay?" he asks softly.
"More than okay."
He lifts me and I wrap my legs around his waist and he braces me against the mirror and I reach between us and guide him inside and we both go completely still.
"Move," I whisper.
He moves.
Hard and fast and desperate, his hands gripping my thighs, his forehead pressed against mine, his breathing ragged.
"You feel perfect," he says roughly. "Every single time. I could do this for the rest of my life and never get enough."
The words hit me harder than they should, cut deeper than I'm ready for.
I pull his mouth to mine and kiss him to stop him from saying anything else, and he kisses me back like he's trying to consume me, like he's trying to make this moment last forever.
When I come again, he follows immediately with a curse and a groan, his hips stuttering, his fingers digging into my skin hard enough to bruise.
We stay like that for a long moment, foreheads pressed together, both trying to remember how breathing works.
Then we hear it.
"Isabella?"
Vittorio's voice, distant but clear, coming from somewhere in the mall.
We both freeze.
"Isabella, are you here?"
Enzo sets me down carefully and we stare at each other, him still mostly undressed, me completely naked from the waist down, both of us thoroughly debauched.
"How is he here?" I whisper, panic creeping into my voice.
"Fuck, I don't know." Enzo's voice is tight and controlled. "Get dressed. Now."
I grab my clothes with shaking hands and start pulling them on while he does the same, and we can hear Vittorio getting closer, his voice calling my name, and there's no way out of this dressing room that doesn't involve walking directly past him.
"Isabella? Matteo told me you were here. I wanted to surprise you."
Enzo's jaw is so tight I think it might crack.
I'm trying to button my jeans with hands that won't cooperate and my hair is a disaster and I look exactly like someone who just had sex in a dressing room.
"We need a story," I whisper frantically.
"Working on it."
