He tells me to follow him quietly.
"Where are we going?"
"Bathroom. Second floor. Blind spot in the security system." His voice is tight and controlled and barely holding on. "I need you. Right now. I can't wait. I’ll go first."
He pushes through the door and locks it behind us and sets me on the counter and his hands are already working at my clothes.
"We should talk about this," I manage. "We should make a plan before?—"
"Later." He pulls my shirt over my head. "We'll plan later. Right now I need to be inside you."
I help him with my jeans and he strips them off along with my underwear and then his hands are between my legs and I'm already wet, already ready, already desperate for him.
"I need to hear you say it," he says against my neck. "I need to hear you say you're choosing this. That you're not getting married tomorrow. That you're mine."
"I'm yours." The words come out broken and honest. "I'm not marrying Vittorio. I'm choosing you. I choose you, Enzo. Always."
He enters me in one hard thrust and we both gasp at the contact, at the feeling of being completely joined, and he doesn't movefor a moment, just holds there, his forehead pressed to mine, his breathing ragged.
"Say it again," he demands.
"I love you. I choose you. I'm yours."
He starts to move and it's different from every other time, more desperate, more raw, like he's trying to consume me, like he's trying to make sure I can never take these words back.
"I love you," he says roughly, his hips driving into me with a rhythm that's making it impossible to think. "I love you so fucking much it's destroying me. Every day I watch you and I want you and I can't have you and it's killing me."
"You have me." My fingers dig into his shoulders. "You have me now. You have all of me."
His hand slides into my hair and pulls my head back and his mouth finds my throat, kissing and biting and marking me in ways that will show tomorrow, in ways that will make it impossible to pretend this didn't happen.
"Tomorrow morning we tell Matteo," he says between thrusts. "We tell him everything. We deal with the consequences. But you're not marrying Vittorio. You're staying with me."
"Yes." The word comes out on a moan. "Yes, okay, yes?—"
He reaches between us and finds my clit and the added pressure sends me spiraling, my orgasm building fast and overwhelming.
"Come for me," he says. "Come on Princess."
Following his command, I shatter completely and name on my lips and he follows immediately, his rhythm breaking, his grip tightening, a groan tearing from his throat that sounds like relief and possession and four years of wanting finally being answered.
We stay like that for a long moment, foreheads pressed together, both trying to catch our breath, and I can feel tears on my face that might be mine or his or both.
"I love you," I whisper.
"I love you too." He kisses me softly. "We're going to figure this out. Together."
"Promise?"
"I promise. Whatever happens with Matteo, whatever fallout there is with the De Lucas, we handle it together. You're not alone in this anymore."
I hold onto him and let myself believe it, let myself imagine a future where I don't marry Vittorio, where I get to wake up next to Enzo every morning, where love is the thing that matters instead of duty.
His phone rings.
He ignores it.
It rings again.
