Page 37 of The Enforcer

16Zoe

I wakeup to birds chirping, a boat blowing its horns, and maybe even the sound of a stream running calmly down the mountain somewhere in the distance. The world feels bright, good, and full of possibility. I feel like I’m on a picturesque rural vacation.

The signs that I’m not actually on vacation are all around me, though. As soon as I move, my aching thighs protest, and then my back joins the chorus, reminding me of all those steps Alfonso forced me to climb. And though I feel clean, that lukewarm shower did not relax me. And even though I slept very well after a good orgasm, I’m rested but still stressed. If this were a vacation, I would have to reconsider the destination or extend my stay.

I crawl out of bed, and the soles of my feet make every step down the hall and into the kitchen less than fun. I open the refrigerator and grab a bottle of water. I pour a glass and sip it slowly while I look out of the window over the sink and wonder just how the fuck I ended up here. The view has no answers, but I do see a herb garden, a dirt path that leads somewhere further back onto the property, and the top of Nicola’s house on the landing below. The scenery is pretty, quaint, but not the vacation destination I would have paid for. Mostly because of all the goddamn steps.

“Buongiorno.”

I turn around to see Alfonso padding into the living room in a pair of lightweight shorts, and that’s it. There’s a thick dusting of sandy brown, almost blond silky hair up and down his arms and legs and across his wide chest and thick, round, protruding stomach.

This motherfucker is testing me, I think immediately. He’s gotta be. GOT. TO. BE. ‘Cause there ain’t no way in hell he’s walking out here looking this fuckable for no reason.

“No,” I say sharply.

He shoves his hand through his messy hair and then scratches at the nice little bit of day-old scruff growing along his jaw.

“No.”

He bunches his eyebrows at me. “No?”

I wave my hand in his general direction. “Just because my sister and cousin let your friends get all in their guts doesn’t mean that’s what’s about to happen here.”

He squints at me for a few tense moments before letting out a bark of laughter. “Maybe we should have breakfast before we have any serious conversations. I’m not good at them, anyway.”

“No conversation necessary. The answer is no.”

He ignores me and continues his path to the refrigerator. “We can make toast from the leftover bread. My brother sent some jam as well. My favorite aunt makes it for the family.” He gestures toward the counter, where the last of the fresh loaf is sitting. I grab it and a knife and take it to the table. He meets me there with a small jar of jam.

“Fig,” he says. “Can you make some coffee?”

He nods at the counter again, and I see a surprisingly new gleaming kettle and pour-over pot. I’m pretty sure it’s the newest thing in the house. I turn to Alfonso with questioning eyes, and he nods.

“My younger brother can’t have sex, doesn’t drink more than sacramental wine, but he loves his coffee. Everything you need is on that shelf.”

I busy myself grinding beans and trying to remember whatever the fuck comes after that because I don’t cook, I happily pay someone to clean for me, and people with fancy coffee personality types annoy the shit out of me. I believe in stopping by whatever coffee shop is on my way to wherever I’m going and being content. Kevin was deep in a bougie coffee phase when we met, though, so I can stumble my way through the process, but once the kettle is on, I vow to never do that again.

When I turn back to the table, Alfonso has managed to toast the last of the bread and dig up a bowl of pasta salad that he must have hidden from me last night, and even some cold meat.

“This isn’t a bad spread,” I say, placing the carafe of coffee in the middle of the table. It might be my only contribution, but I don’t believe in comparison for comparison’s sake.

He smiles at me. “Well, if I’m going to convince you to…how’d you say it? Let me get in your guts,” he bunches his eyes and winks at me, “the least I can do is butter you up.”

I open my mouth, uncharacteristically speechless. Zahra would love this. But before I can say anything, Alfonso cuts me off.

“We need butter.” He turns back to the refrigerator.

Alfonso

Am I proud that I use up most of the hot water fucking my hand in the shower after breakfast?

I don’t believe in shame, so yes, but it certainly wasn’t in the plan when I woke up this morning, especially not after last night. Okay, maybe it wasn’t completely out of the realm of possibility, but I swear I woke up this morning intent on doing better.

But the way she was looking at me, with wide but still drowsy eyes, and her hand bunched in the hem of her shirt, unconsciously exposing the smallest stripe of her stomach, her ankles crossed as if her pussy needed the pressure…

I’m no saint, and I never claimed to be, but I would never want to be for moments exactly like this. I rub my shaft red and raw, using some body wash that smells like the sea. I assume it’s my brother’s, but it makes me imagine Zoe climbing out of the water, her body encased in something tight, stretchy, and soaking wet.

I spill all over my hand. I watch it collect on the shower floor and then rinse down the drain.

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