Page 81 of The Enforcer

“Okay,” I whisper. “But we should clean you up.”

He tips his head toward the greenhouse, and I begin to turn. His hand settles on my back as we walk.

“Ugo’s in the shed,” I say. Alfonso holds fast to my waist, and we walk toward the greenhouse. Eventually, I see why.

There’s a showerhead bolted to the side of an old brick building and a slab of concrete on the ground.

“Ugo put this shower up a few years ago,” he says while reaching around me to turn the spigot.

“Okay.”

His hands grip my hips, and his mouth brushes my ear. “I wanted to come back to you,” he says.

And that’s the moment I realize that I’ve gotten over Tyrone and Kevin.

Alfonso

Every part of me hurts or stings or twinges.

There’s almost no space on my body that isn’t on fire with a cut or scratch or the imprint of Zoe’s bite.

I could spend weeks enjoying the sensations of these wounds. The heat of fresh lacerations. The itchy burning of a healing injury. The scars.

But it’s all different with Zoe.

She helps me carefully peel my clothes off. Her fingers graze the jagged scratches and bites she gave me and the neat slices from Andrea’s knife. She’s carefully careless with me, enjoying the way I flinch and groan at her touch.

And then her hands flatten against my back, and she pushes me under the spray.

I moan so loudly that I can swear it echoes across the valley.

This is a shower Ugo made for utility, but with Zoe, it feels luxurious. Water drips down my body as I watch her undress for me. I want to turn up the light from the moon, so I can see every inch of her, the soft curves of her hips, the gentle hang of her large breasts, the dimples on her thighs, and the beautiful bulge of her stomach. I want to drink Zoe in, but she hasn’t given me permission yet.

So, I wait.

Zoe finds the soap Ugo leaves out here. It’s antiseptic for the errant cuts and harsh lye, so he doesn’t have to linger under this spray that never gets higher than tepid. I watch her soap her hands and then her body. I suck in a harsh breath as she walks toward me. I brace myself for the sting of the soap, her touch, her body. Her.

“Si, Dio, si. Si.”

Zoe uses her hands and her curves to clean me. She presses herself against me, rubbing me up and down and down and up. It takes no time at all before I’m a shuddering mess, my cock heavy and hard between my legs, my hips grinding into any part of her body I can reach, my hand grasping at her ass. My lips move against her ear, her cheek, her neck, begging her to give me more. Pleading with her to let me give her everything.

She pushes me against the wall. The old brick hits her scratches, and I cry out. I call her name.

I watch Zoe walk slowly under the spray, her big curly hair flattening against her head. She presses her body against me, and I grab her, holding her close.

“I’m on birth control,” she says and then turns around.

“What? Oh, God.”

Zoe drags her hip along the length of my dick, squeezing it between her body and mine. I cry out in a desperate wail and then bash the back of my head against the hard brick. Zoe bends forward, reaches between her legs, and then presses me against her opening.

“Sisisi,” I hiss as Zoe pushes back and lets me sink inside her hot, wet cunt.

This is what it feels like to be home.

Zoe

I don’t know if it’s the heightened emotions or the cool night air or the damn near cold water, but this is the best sex of my life.

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