Page 35 of Rise of Temptation

Elise

The selection of dresses staring at me as I survey my closet is excessive. I grab one at random and slip it on, not really caring what it looks like. The way I see it, Enzo picked them all out. As long as he’s happy with my uniform, my life will be as easy as it possibly could be while I’m stuck in this house.

I turn to look in the mirror, and I’m once again disappointed that the dress fits me perfectly. My waist looks slim, my cleavage is on display, and it hits me mid-thigh. I look fucking sexy, and I wait for the surge of anger that usually comes with the realization that Enzo has great taste in women’s clothing. But it doesn’t come.

Instead, I’m horrified to discover that I’m a little excited about the prospect of walking past him and not knowing if he’ll ignore me or sneak his hand up my skirt and squeeze my ass or cup my pussy. Or maybe he’ll just bend me over and fuck me. It’s like a game of sexual roulette, and I’m not sure which option makes me a winner anymore.

My stomach growls, and I turn to leave. The dress swirls around my legs, and I giggle softly at the mental image thatpops into my head of me being a princess in a tower. Enzo is obviously the dragon guarding me, but there’s no prince coming to save me. In fact, there are three more dragons flying around the remote castle, making sure no one even thinks about attempting a rescue mission.

An unfamiliar, warm feeling hits me when I think about the dragons—I mean, the men. And not just the three that have always been relatively nice to me. The most surprising thing is that Enzo is included in the pleasant surge of emotion. When did that happen? Normally, my thoughts of him are plagued with dread. But as I try to figure out when it happened, I realize that I’ve been worried about him when he’s out working and relieved when he came home for the last few days, at least.

“Shit,” I mutter to myself. “Stockholm syndrome.” That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it. Without a plan to deal with my newfound lack of hatred for my captor, I turn my focus back to what’s important: breakfast.

The path from my room, down the stairs, and to the kitchen is so familiar now, I could do it in my sleep. But when I reach the open door leading to the delicious pastries I know are waiting for me, I hear Enzo moving around in his office down the hall. Without my permission, my traitorous feet keep moving until I’m standing in the doorway, watching him pace around the sparsely decorated room.

His office is very masculine. The dark furniture dominates the room without making it seem cramped, and there are no flowers or throw pillows to be seen. There are no bright colors or soft touches either. Just a lot of wood, leather, and metal. And then there’s Enzo. I’ve never seen him look so stressed. He looks like he hasn’t slept all night. I know they had a big meeting last night, but surely he hasn’t been in his office since then?

He doesn’t acknowledge my presence in the doorway, and I’m not sure if he’s ignoring me or oblivious to the fact that he’s nolonger alone. Something must have happened at the meeting to piss him off, and I’m a little bit afraid to find out what it is. But I’m also overcome by the urge to help him relax. I know he has a lot on his plate, and I’m the perfect outlet for him to temporarily escape from the problems that are clogging up his mind.

While he’s pacing with his back to me, I slip into the room and climb onto his desk. I sit facing him so that when he turns around, I’m the first thing he sees. Right when he turns, I spread my legs.

He stops pacing and stares at me, his expression unreadable. His gaze drags down my body, stopping when he gets to my bare pussy. When he looks back up at me, he looks pissed, but I don’t move. If he wants me to leave, he’ll tell me.

His feet start moving again, bringing him closer and closer to where I’m perched on his desk, and I hold my position. When he’s standing in front of me, he stops but still doesn’t say a word. I can’t tell what he’s thinking, and I can’t say I’m not a little nervous. I’ve never initiated anything with him. What if he’s the kind of person who only wants sex on his terms? He’s controlling enough for that to be the case.

Just as I’m starting to regret my decision, he takes the final step toward me and accepts my unspoken offer. He reaches behind me to move his things out of the way before gently pushing my shoulder to make me lie down, and I don’t fight him. I offered myself up to him, and something about this encounter feels different than all of our other ones. I want to see what happens.

His eyes drop once again to the apex of my thighs, which are now spread to accommodate his body standing between them. He drops to his knees and wraps his hands around my thighs, spreading me open even wider before him. Still, he hasn’t said a word since I walked in. Neither one of us has. Actions speak louder than words, and ours are saying more than we’d everadmit out loud.

I look down my body at him, and he makes eye contact with me right as he drops his mouth to my clit. His tongue moves slowly but intentionally, flicking the little nub in a forceful rhythm until I’m squirming beneath him. But he doesn’t let up or change his pace. He also never uses his hands or moves his tongue down to my dripping wet slit. With the patience of a saint—which everyone knows he’s not—he pushes me up and over the cliff of my orgasm.

I lie on the hard desk, panting, trying to regain my composure while he laps up the remnants of my release. My clit is thankful for the break, but the rest of me is eager for more. Surely there’s more? Enzo isn’t the type to give without taking something in return.

He stands up and looks down at me once more, still silent. My moans have been the only sound to break the silence since I got here. With the same lack of urgency he’s shown up until this point, he releases his hard cock from his pants and leans over me, putting his hands on either side of my head. He grinds his length against me, sliding it through my wetness and rubbing it against my hypersensitive clit.

My juices act as lube for both of us when he reaches down to angle himself into my pussy. He stretches me slowly, still content to take his time instead of rushing like we usually do. This is the first time that sex between us hasn’t been violent or hateful. There’s no threat of pain. It’s just one more piece of evidence confirming that something has shifted between us since he killed one of his men for visually assaulting me.

I don’t know how to feel about it, and I don’t know if he has realized it. While I can acknowledge that my feelings for him aren’t entirely negative anymore, I wouldn’t be surprised if he still primarily views me as a useful asset and a hot piece of ass. I’ll never be able to talk to him about it without being absolutelymortified when he laughs in my face, so I’m going to keep it to myself.

I cry out when he hits that perfect spot inside of me, and he groans when my body clenches around him, determined to hold him there. His thrusts are steady, and the slow pace allows me to feel when he starts to swell even larger. He floods me with his release, and I realize that I’d never be able to confess my feelings, even if he did feel the same. Not without also admitting that I have the same feelings for his three best friends.

Thoughts of the four of them sharing me push me over the edge, and I cling to Enzo when he collapses over me. The silence is only broken by our harsh breaths, but my thoughts are louder than any words we could say to each other. I just wish I knew where his head was.

Chapter 28

Enzo

My eyes shoot open in a panic, and my heart is beating way too fast. I can feel sweat beading on my forehead and sticking to the sheet beneath me. I’m gasping for air, like I was just released from a chokehold. I wrack my brain for a clue as to what just woke me up, and I realize I was having a dream. A nightmare, really.

It’s a recurring one that I wish I could get rid of, but I have no idea how to do that. In the dream, one of the Family elders—never the same one—breaks into my house or comes to the club and kills me. Sometimes it’s an exact replica of the night I killed my father: in his office at the club with an injection of potassium chloride. The bastard went into cardiac arrest and never stood a chance. Other times, it’s completely different. But every time, I’m the victim, and his cronies are avenging him.

Tonight, Vito was strangling me, which explains why I couldn’t breathe when I woke up.

For the millionth time, I wonder why I let all those old assholes stick around. Part of the problem is I can’t just kill them all. That would draw too much attention from lawenforcement and might cause some of the people currently loyal to me to question my leadership. But they’re almost always more trouble than they’re worth. They question every decision I make and give the newer Family members a hard time just for the fun of it.

No one would blame me for getting rid of them and securing my power and authority. They’re a constant threat to my position at the head of the Family, and, honestly, no one really likes them all that much. They’ve alienated everyone outside of their little clique.

But the idea of forcing them to stay in line is so much more appealing and ultimately wins out every time I have this debate with myself. I fucking love that they’re forced to follow my direction because of the oath they swore to the Family. That oath automatically switches to the new leader when there’s a power transfer, which means they’ve sworn an oath to me, whether they like it or not.

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