Page 69 of Kiss Away Your Pain (Wounded Hearts 2)

“I get to travel to amazing places, but I’m usually in and out so fast, I don’t get to truly take them in. I’m glad I got to work on the pictures from the shoot on the flight over so I can relax while we’re here. This is a nice change of pace.”

“Thisisnice,” he says, circling my waist with his arms, spreading warmth through my body.

I rest my head back on his chest and lay my arms on top of his, sinking into the tranquility.

“Last night was nice too.”

“Yes, it was,” I agree, my body tingles, remembering how amazing he felt.

“I have to confess; I’m not used to a woman taking control. Not that I minded. It was pretty damn hot actually.”

“Well, we have that in common. I’m not used to a man taking control.”

“Maybe it’s time we change that.” The seductive current in his tone caresses my body in sheets of silk.

Moving an arm from my waist, he sweeps my hair over to one side, giving him access to my fully exposed shoulder. Dropping a soft kiss behind my ear, he continues down my neck and out to my shoulder with the same feathery kisses. Working his way back, he lingers his lips in the hollow just above my collar bone. I release a whimper.

“I love kissing this spot right here.” He kisses again. “The little sound you make, telling me you like it.” He kisses again, longer, holding my waist tighter.

Releasing my waist, he grabs our whiskeys from the table, handing me mine. We stare at each other, electric energy heating the air between us. I take a swig; he takes a gulp. Then he takes my glass and puts them both on the table. Returning to me, he takes me in his arms and kisses me so deep, I don’t even know whose air I’m breathing.

As he kisses me, he turns my body to face outward again. Taking my hands, he places them wide on the railing. “Don’t move them. Close your eyes.” His whisper is hot against my ear.

I suck an inhale at his directions. Desire curling.

Placing his hands on my hips, he slides them up the sides of my body, gliding his fingers along the outer edges of my breasts. Traveling back down my body, he moves his hands down my outer thighs.

“You’re not wearing panties,” he growls, low and deep, sending a shiver down to my toes.

“I didn’t want any panty lines with my dress,” I say on an exhale.

He heaves a loud breath near my ear, looping an arm around my waist and hanging his head over my shoulder. With his other hand, he traces the seam of fabric from the top of my shoulder, down my décolletage, and over the exposed skin of my breast. Following the seam, he continues up the other side grazing my skin with a delicate touch. My chest rises and falls with my breaths.

His lips are on my neck again, sucking gently. I don’t feel his hands. I lift my chin. “Where are your hands?” I whisper, awaiting his next scintillating touch on my skin.

“Keep your eyes closed.”

I feel him. He circles my nipples with his fingers. My grip tightens on the railing. Inhaling sharply, my body responds, my back arching against him. He continues circling as my body continues responding. Then he cups my breasts and pinches my nipples, not too hard. Just enough to make me flinch and moan. A tingle rushes between my legs.

Suddenly, his hands are gone again. My breathing increases, anticipating his next touch. I start moving my hands from the railing and he grabs them, putting them back, and tilting his hard-on into the top of my butt. He slides his hands down my thighs again, taking the fabric in his grip on the way back up.

With the lower part of my dress hugging my hips, he slides his hand between my legs, dipping between my lips with his middle finger. I whimper.

“I love how wet you are,” he says as he moves his other hand under the fabric covering my breast. Squeezing my breast, he dips his finger in me again and drags it out. Back in as he squeezes my breast. In with two fingers as he kisses my neck. Out and in again as my body lights with fire and starts writhing against him, my grip so tight on the railing.

He pinches my nipple, sucks gently on my neck, and rubs his finger against my nub, sending a shockwave through me. My whimper is loud, my breaths are erratic, my blood gushes hot through every vein.

“Enzo,” I say, desperation in my voice as I heave a breath. “I — “

He sinks his fingers back in, tugging on my nipple.

“I want to see you.”

“Patience,” he breathes against my neck, stroking my nub with the length of his finger as he withdraws it.

Releasing my breast, he puts both hands on my hips and turns me to face him, moving my dress back down. I open my eyes and he weaves his hands into my hair then kisses me. Tasting like whiskey on my tongue, he teases me relentlessly. My heart pounds against my ribs. When he breaks our kiss, he tosses back the rest of his whiskey and hands me mine. I take a gulp.

“Come here,” he says. “I’m not done with you.” With the glass still in my hand, he picks me up and brings me to the bedroom, laying me on the bed. Then he takes my glass and puts it on the night stand. Grabbing the remote, he turns on the TV and mutes it, then he pulls out his phone, hits a few buttons, and seductive music ribbons through the air.

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