Page 122 of Enzo
“I don’t deserve you,” I said.
“Funny, because someone could argue that I don’t deserve you,” she murmured, a trace of a smile tugging at her lips. “Solet’s not waste time on that, and just… I don’t know. Just kiss me.”
I leaned in slowly. Her breath hitched. Our foreheads touched, then her hand slid to the back of my neck, grounding me.
The kiss wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t desperate. It was slow and certain. Her body pressed into mine, and I wrapped my arms around her like she might slip through my fingers if I didn’t.
Every part of me had been on edge for days—wired with grief, adrenaline, and guilt.
But now, the world quieted.
Her touch didn’t erase the darkness, but it gave it shape. Something I could carry. Something I didn’t have to carry alone.
I shifted us around so we were both sprawled on the floor. Our clothes were discarded in the blink of an eye, leaving us skin against skin, warmth against cold air, grief shaped into need.
I couldn’t stop touching her.
My hands roved over her body—her hips, the curve of her ribs, the nape of her neck—worshiping her, owning her, but most importantly protecting her.
She moved beneath me, writhing with need.
Our rhythm adjusted itself, slow and deliberate, not trying to rush the moment but sink into it. Her breath hitched every time I whispered her name, and when her fingernails dug into my shoulders, I welcomed the pain. It made everything feel more real.
I closed my eyes, loving her hands on me, her touch reverent and needy, just like my hard cock was for her pussy. I needed her strangling my dick now.
I swallowed her breaths, and as if she could read my thoughts, she wrapped her legs around my waist.
I pushed into her warm, wet entrance, thrusting until I was buried inside her.
She gasped into my mouth before lifting her hips to meet mine.
I dropped my head into the crook of her neck, swearing under my breath, while she moved beneath me, welcoming me into her body and soul. She ran her hands down my back, her nails leaving traces I wanted tattooed into my skin.
“Cazzo, I love you so much,” I rasped, moving in and out of her.
She opened her eyes and everything stilled. All the noise—our breaths, our thoughts, our moans—went quiet. It wasn’t the first time I said it, but it had that effect.
I brushed her hair back with shaking fingers, tracing the line of her jaw.
“I love you, Penelope Marchetti.” My voice was hoarse, uneven with emotions. “For as long as the sun rises and falls, and even long after I’m gone, my love for you will remain. It’s always been you,mia anima.”
She cradled my face in her hands and smiled softly. “Say it again, please.”
I kissed her deeply, needing to feel the essence of her being in my bones.
“I love you,” I breathed against her lips. “I love you so fucking much that sometimes I’m terrified I’ll turn into an enraged lunatic with this obsession I feel for you.”
She exhaled deeply, brushing her lips against mine.
“Who in the fuck needs a book boyfriend when I have you, Enzo?” I had no idea what that meant, but I liked it. “I love you too.”
Then she kissed me, fiercely and desperately. Our grief and loss faded for now, forgotten as we moved together. I thrust in and out of her, slower now. Reverently.
Her fingers threaded through mine, gripping them as she gasped with each thrust, her pussy like a vise around my cock.
“More…”
My movements turned harsher, hitting deeper into her tight heat.
