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“You kissing me.”
He shakes his head. “Not your happiest memory with me. Your happiest memory ever.”
I swallow, hating myself for the words I’m going to say, because I’ll be giving him a lot. But I say the words anyway. “You kissing me was my best memory.”
He gasps. His eyes latch onto mine, and I swear I see moisture in his eyes. It’s sad that my only good memory is my first kiss with a man who moments later tried to kill me—who succeeded in selling me. But there it is. My life is too tragic to be true.
He nods. “Okay, that’s good. It will make this easier.”
This. What’s this? What are you doing, Black?
“We are back on the water.”
I tense—fucking ocean.
He notices and changes the narrative. “We are here, in bed. In the only place you feel safe. The door is locked. No one can get in.”
“The ladder?”
“It’s gone. No one can use it to get to you.”
I nod.
“Close your eyes.”
I do.
He pulls the curtains tight, blocking out the last strips of light poking through. I feel the darkness descend around me before he walks back to the edge of the bed, standing over me, but not touching.
I open my eyes when he nears.
“Tell me what you remember of our kiss,” he says, his voice thick with desire.
“I remember how unexpectedly good it was. How powerful I felt even though you were in control. I could push back against you. I remember the collision of our lips. How good it felt to enjoy the scolding hot for once. How your lips made me surrender to you, no matter how much disdain I felt for you. In that moment, I wanted you. I would have given you everything. Trusted you with my body. Let you take my innocence.”
“I should have,” his voice is pained. “I should have taken your innocence. Then, Jarod wouldn’t have. You would have at least had that.”
My lip trembles. Would it have been better? Would I be as broken as I am now if Enzo would have taken my virginity?
Yes, it would have been better. Even if he sold me afterward, it would have been better.
“Take off your shirt,” Enzo says.
I hesitate but give in. I don’t care that he can ogle my body. He’s done it a million times before. But for some reason after telling him one of my most intimate of memories, it’s harder to strip naked in front of him.
I pull the T-shirt over my head and hand it to him; he sniffs the shirt slowly then tosses it on the floor.
Enzo starts undressing—pants, buttoned-down shirt, and underwear.
I should be freaking the hell out. Alarm bells should be going off, warning me of what a naked man with a predatory gaze wants with me. To fuck.
Something I imagined a million times, but can’t let happen. I can’t touch myself; he would ruin me if he tried to fuck me.
He smirks, noticing my reaction. “It’s a good thing I can’t touch you. Otherwise, I’d have you tied up, and bent over this bed, while I sink my cock into you with no apologies at how tight the fit would be in your petite body.”
I nibble on my bottom lip. “If you aren’t going to touch me, what are you going to do?”
His eyes brighten, a wicked grin spreads across his scruffy face, and I know without him saying what he plans.
