Page 52 of The Enforcer

Groan is not a strong enough word to describe the sound that comes out of my mouth.

Last night, I’d seen her in what I thought was her full glory, and it had sent me into a frenzy. This is different, better, worse. She’s standing in the doorframe, stream rising from her glistening body, making a hazy shadowed outline of her round form.

The sight of her completely ruins me.

Last night, I had the strength to wait, to leave her bedroom and touch myself in the dark. This morning I made it to the shower, masturbating over her in that same room alone. I don’t have that kind of willpower now.

And thank God I don’t need to be that strong.

Zoe sees everything.

I noticed that in Naples. While Shae had been almost entirely focused on Salvo, and Zahra only bothered to tear her attention away from Giulio for short spurts, Zoe took everything in. I know because I was busy taking all of her in. I watched her give my family the same kind of attention earlier, but now that her hard, inquisitive eyes have finally settled on me, well… She already had my full attention; now, she has something more.

“Well, let’s see it then,” she says.

It’s not a request. I prefer that. Unless the solution is to punch, I’m all out of ideas. I live a dangerous life with very few personal stakes — besides death — but it’s as if every bit of pressure I’ve been able to avoid for the past few years of my life decided to converge on my shoulders yesterday.

But Zoe’s command takes that weight off my back, and I’ve never been happier to follow an order.

Zoe

I feel every goosebump erupting across my skin. Every raised hair. Every clench of my sex around nothing.

I watch Alfonso slowly undo his pants and push them down his legs, followed by his underwear.

My mouth goes dry at the sight of him.

I don’t have a type. I am an equal opportunity whore. My pussy gets wet for all types of men. But Alfonso is tall and stocky, and I like the way the brown hair contrasts with his lightly tanned skin and moves across his broad chest and down to accentuate the curves of his paunch. It forms a thick bush between his legs at the base of his dick, and then it thins over his thighs into a soft dusting.

But it’s the patch of thick, bone-straight hair at his groin that gets most of my attention. I don’t know why, but somehow it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen, and I’m suddenly very aware of how arousal is affecting my body. Make that make sense — because I can’t.

He’s semi-hard and thick. The length is nothing to sneeze at — I certainly don’t — but Alfonso is all about the girth. I can’t help but imagine him filling me up, stretching me as those big hips move between my thighs.

“Touch yourself,” I tell him, my own hands cupping my heavy breasts.

He groans. “Where?”

I freeze and tear my eyes from his dick to look at his face.

Okay, I may not have an official type, but bright, eager eyes full of excitement and lust with a thick, veiny dick would definitely go on the list if there was a gun to my head.

“Your chest,” I tell him, rolling my nipples between my fingers. “To start.”

He grunts and runs a hand over his pecs. Not everyone likes to have their nipples stimulated, but I do, and so does Alfonso. His hips jut forward, and I smile. “Play with your nipples.”

God, I love the way he doesn’t hesitate. I barely have that order out of my mouth before his hands are moving, so eager to do as I say. “Does that feel good?”

“Yes,” he says.

And I don’t know how I know, but I do know that that one-word answer isn’t the full story. “Twist them.” He does, and his hips move again in an unpracticed circle. Bless his heart. “Pinch them.”

Oh.

“Harder.”

He’s leaking from the tip.

“Can you go har—” I have to shove a hand between my legs. Something about the pressure he exerts on his nipples, the muscles that appear on his thick forearms, the way he bites his bottom lip to distract himself from the pain, the way the moisture pools at the tip of his dick and then falls in one long, viscous thread onto the floor.

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