Page 83 of Enzo
He was hard against me, trembling. I could feel him through the thin fabric of his pajamas, and when I slid my hands to the backs of his thighs and lifted him, he gasped and clung to me. His legs wrapped around my waist like it was instinct. I headed up to the apartment, my hands stayed on him, grounding him. Needing him. He clung to me, peppering my skin with tiny kisses and when we reached the room, I gave him another chance to say no.
My forehead pressed to his, our breaths tangled.
“Robbie?” I whispered, terrified of pushing too far.
“Please…” he said. “I need you. I want you.”
His voice was little more than a whisper. My eyes dropped, unflinching, taking in every inch of him—not just his arousal, but the scars I knew were under his sweatshirt and pants, the places where life had torn into him.
He was shaking. So was I.
I didn’t move, didn’t breathe, as he palmed me through my pants. The heat in his touch was undeniable, his need so raw it made my chest ache. But although he pleaded, he looked at me like he was waiting for rejection.
Instead, I brushed shaky fingers over his skin. He flinched at first, then melted under my touch.
He backed away from me but curled his fingers in my shirt to pull me with him, tumbling us back onto the bed. I fell as carefully as I could, caging him beneath me.
“Oh, sweetheart,” I murmured. “You’re so perfect. So beautiful. All of you.”
I cupped his face again, swept my thumb across his lips, memorizing the feel of them. “Your eyes…. your lips…”
He shivered when I pulled his T-shirt up, and I kissed the exposed skin of his belly, soft and reverent. He arched under me, and when my fingers traced his scars, he stiffened. I paused, waiting. Giving him the choice.
But when I met his gaze—God. There was fear, yes. But trust, too.
“You’re safe with me, Robbie. Always.”
I trailed my lips down his chest, stopping at each scar and stroking his side as I kissed each one, then tugged at the loose waist of his pajama bottoms.
“Can I?” I asked.
He nodded, breathless.
I went slow and gentle. My hands on his thighs, my breath ghosting over his skin. I kissed the inside of his thigh, watched the way his hands gripped the covers.
“You tell me if you need to stop,” I said again. “Promise me.”
“I promise,” he whispered, voice trembling.
I licked a slow line along his length, and his gasp was everything. I worked him with care and patience, worshipping him the way he deserved. When he threaded his fingers into my hair, I didn’t pull away—I let him guide me and hold on.
“Enzo,” he moaned. My name had never sounded like that before—so beautiful.
I hummed in response, the vibration making him shiver. I kept watching him, making sure he was still with me. His eyes were glassy, but so full of something that made my chest ache.
He was close. I could feel it in the way he shivered, the way his hands clenched, the way he choked on the words.
“God,” he whispered. “I never knew…” His voice cracked. Tears welled in his eyes.
I didn’t stop. I didn’t speak. I let my hands tell him everything I couldn’t say—steady and warm against his skin. And when he came, his entire body tensed, arching, mouth open in a wordless cry. I held him through it, letting him ride the wave.
I kissed his thighs and his belly, and he let me move him until I was curled around him, spooning him close.
I held him.
Because he was mine to hold.
TWENTY-NINE
