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Enzo doesn’t let go of me for several songs. It’s only when my feet ache and I almost wish I let my father talk me into wearing flats, we leave the dance floor. I can’t wipe the smile off my face as he pulls me into his arms. He passes me my glass of water, and I wish it were something stronger. I don’t drink, not typically. Curiosity has led me to have a few drinks with my friends and an occasional glass of wine with my father for dinner. It just isn’t something that has appealed to me before. I prefer my mind to be sharp. With all the different and conflicting emotions in my chest, I’m willing to try anything to soothe the sharp corners of my mind that catalogs every moment I’m disappointing my father.
Enzo glances at his watch, and I know he’s thinking the same thing I am. Our time together is limited. With every passing moment, our fathers are completing whatever urgent business matter that couldn’t wait the night of a wedding. Enzo has picked up on the fact my father isn’t comfortable with me being here, or at least picked up on the fact I wouldn’t be comfortable with my father seeing me with him.
With one last glance towards the house, Enzo threads his fingers through mine. “Follow me.”
Chapter Four- Emma
He pulls me deeper into the garden. We move away from the lights and the music. When the magic of the night doesn’t fade away with the decor, I realize the party has nothing to do with how I’m feeling. It’s all Enzo.
“The garden is beautiful,” I whisper. It isn’t a comment for anyone besides myself, but Enzo responds anyway.
“The garden is my mother’s pride and joy. Despite having an entire mansion to decorate, she doesn’t care about interior design much. Instead, she puts all her energy into this. We have a full-time staff to maintain it,” he explains to me.
The difference between old money and new money has never been so stark. At my private school, several girls came from generational wealth. The luxuries they experienced were far outside what any one person could do in a lifetime. And it wasn’t the staff and items that set them apart from the rest of us, it was the connections. The ability to connect with high-ranking officials at a moment’s notice. Having a number on their phone they were supposed to call in case of a scandal.
Enzo draws my focus back to him when he brings me to a bench in the garden. He sits down so close to me that his leg is pressed up against mine, and his hand lingers on the inside of my thigh. It sends warm, tingly feelings through my body.
The only warning I get he is going to kiss me is how his eyes linger on my lips for a second before he descends. He moves without hesitancy. There is an ingrained sense of confidence in Enzo. I saw it in the way he moved on the dancefloor. Each movement he makes is calculated and sure.
The stroke of his lips has all of my worries scurrying away. Unlike Enzo, I lack confidence with the opposite sex. I can’t picture myself being the one to make the first move. Yet, I can’t find a reason to be self-conscious when he kisses me as thoroughly as he is. The sweet kisses fade away and something else takes their place. Something hungrier. Dirtier. His mouth is rough against mine, pulling ragged breaths out of me as I struggle to keep up with him. My inexperience shows when I gasp for breath the second he moves his lips to my neck. It should be enough to stop him. Push him away. But it only spurs on his need for me.
I’m as unfamiliar with the sounds coming out of my mouth as the wetness pooling between my thighs. Arousal has always been theoretical to me. Something I know can happen but have never experienced personally. The close watch of my father limited my interactions with the opposite sex and while I knew I could make them happen if I wanted, I never felt the need to.
He finds a place at the base of my neck that has me scurrying on top of him, seeking more. More sensation. More pleasure. He delivers, manipulating the fabric of my skirt so it doesn’t get in our way as he lowers me down over his clothed crotch. I can feel his arousal against pressing into me, our clothes acting as the only barrier keeping me from seeking more. I gasp when he lifts his hips to grind into me.
“Tell me, tesorino, how do I make you feel good?”
He pulls my hips down onto him and leads me into a dirty bump and grind. I let out little whimpers as I bury my head into his neck, not wanting to answer him because I know it’ll make him stop.
He gives my ass a small slap. Not enough to hurt more than a little sting, but I crave more of it. He chuckles at my reaction. “Tell me.”
“I’ve never… I haven’t…”
His hips slow as he processes the words I’m not able to get out. I gasp out in frustration before trying to rub myself against him, trying to chase the high I know is coming. He tightens his grip, holding me still.
“Are you telling me you haven’t done this before? Haven’t done anything before?”
“That was the first time I’ve kissed a man.”
I expect him to balk. To pull away from me. Instead, he finds something incredibly pleasing about my answer, because his eyes practically roll into the back of his head as he lets out a feral moan. It lights me up from the inside.
“Fuck. You don’t know how much it turns me on to hear that.”
He shoots me a wicked smile before he pulls me in for another, deeper kiss. “I love that I’m the only man who has ever gotten to hear those moans. The only man to pull them out of you. After tonight, I’m going to leave you ruined for everyone else so every time you get turned on, you’ll only be able to think about me.”
His hands start their exploration, unrepentant in the way they move across my body. They squeeze my waist, cup my breasts, and stroke my thighs. I’m a shivering mess by the time he brings his hand up to my wet core.
I have to bury my face in his shoulder to muffle my moans as he strokes me. He hasn’t entered me, just teases me with light touches and I already feel like I’m going insane. I whimper into his neck as he works his first finger into me.
He curses as I squeeze around him. The times I’ve explored myself, I haven’t ever gone inside. The few times I have tried have felt awkward and clumsy, so I mostly focus my ministrations on my clit. Enzo has no problem activating the desire from inside me, stroking my walls with the crook of his finger while his thumb plays lazily with my clit. When he goes to slip a second finger in, it takes a little work. My arousal helps to lubricate his penetration. My hand snakes down to grip his hard cock sitting between us, and he lets out a long stream of curse words as I squeeze him through his dress pants.
His tempo falters. When he picks it back up, he goes harder and faster than he did before. I get lost in the pleasure. My back arches into him as my hips chase the good feelings he’s giving me. I have to bite down on his shoulder to keep myself from screaming. The last thing I need is concerned bystanders coming to look for me.
Enzo tenses for a moment at my bite. “Wildcat,” he mutters under his breath. He works on the button and zipper of his pants, pulling out the hard cock I had been feeling earlier.
I won’t pretend to be an expert on cocks. His is the first and only one I have ever encountered outside a few of the more risque paintings of Adam and Eve I studied in art class. Those didn’t do the male form justice. Enzo’s cock is hard and red, with prominent veins decorating it. I want to trace them with my tongue. Pre-cum forms at the top and I lick my lips in curiosity about how it might taste. Enzo groans.
“We don’t have time tonight, tesorino. Next time, I promise.”
