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Fiore’s eyes had flown wide. His smile had drawn even wider. He bit his lip and nodded, an eager gleam in his dark gaze.
Enzo took him in hand. The heft and delicate curve of his cock weighed perfectly in his palm like a well-balanced rapier hilt. The thrill of its velveteen soft skin against his bare fingertips sent a shiver of illicit pleasure through him. He gave it a long slow stroke to test its length. The foreskin rolled over the head and back again, leaving a pearl of seed in its wake. He smeared it over the cock-head with the pad of his thumb.
A moan of pleasure escaped Fiore. Enzo glanced up to find him biting his lip through his smile.
“Like that?” Enzo murmured.
Fiore nodded again and, ever so gently, thrust his hips up into Enzo’s hand.
Enzo might not have had all of a courtesan’s considerable skill, but he possessed a prick of his own and had lain with many other men besides. He hoped experience would suffice. Indeed, it seemed to, as Fiore’s breath quickened, and he thrust to meet Enzo’s strokes. A touch here, a twist of the wrist there, a tightened grip and rapid arm—not so different from the delicate manipulation of a sword-hilt to bend the blade to his will, and still more satisfying to hold in his palm. Even so, Enzo imagined the greater pleasures that could be his if he ever got Fiore’s cock properly inside him.
Then Fiore released Enzo from his grasp and bent backward, leaning until his shoulders touched the floorboards, his arms tossed over his head and his whole frame rhythmically writhing as he thrust into Enzo’s fist—until, with a shudder and a gasp, head thrown back, mouth agape, his cock pulsed in Enzo’s fingers and strings of liquid pearls erupted thrice-over to fall across his own bronzed chest.
For several moments the only sound in the chamber was ragged breaths; Fiore’s and Enzo’s both. If anything could inspire Enzo to a second stand so soon after his own spend, it might have been the sight of Fiore sprawled naked and gasping in the wake, his head lolling and his eyes falling shut, his chest heaving and stomach rippling with the trembling after-shocks of what had seemed a tidal wave that wrecked them both upon an unfamiliar yet welcoming shore. Enzo knew not how many minutes passed as he stared in silent awe.
Then those beautiful eyes opened and fixed upon him with a slow and lackadaisical smile.
“Forgive me,” Fiore murmured. “I didn’t want to make a mess of your waistcoat.”
Enzo would gladly have forgiven him of far worse. And as for the mess… Instinct brought his hand beneath his mask to his mouth to suck the pearls of Fiore’s seed from his knuckles. He tasted of sea-salt and summer sunshine. If it weren’t for the damned mask, Enzo bitterly considered, he could have swallowed down Fiore in turn and perhaps have sated his ravenous hunger.
Fiore watched him in open fascination—which only increased as Enzo dared to draw his thumb through the strings of liquid pearls shimmering across Fiore’s chest and stomach and devour those as well.
Enzo, having consumed all the mask would allow him, swallowed hard. The afternoon must draw to an end, despite his wishes. “I don’t wish to keep you from your business…”
Fiore’s smile made Enzo’s heart stutter in his chest. “How conscientious of you.”
Enzo cleared his throat. “May we meet again? Perhaps you could show me more of the city.”
Fiore’s smile broadened into a grin. “I should like that very much.”
Enzo forgot how to breathe.
“Perhaps mèrcore?” Fiore seemed accustomed to talking around gentlemen he’d stunned into silence. “We could meet in Bellenos Piazza, by the fountain. At mid-day—I’m afraid I’m not often up before then.”
Enzo would’ve heartily agreed to whichever terms Fiore cared to set. As speech still proved beyond him, he assented with a nod.
The encounter ought to have descended into an awkward state as both men stood and redressed themselves. Yet Fiore arose with the liquid grace of a dancer and donned his garb with enough confidence and poise to make it seem as much an art as disrobing. It almost overshadowed Enzo’s own shameful shove of his cock back into his drawers. This done, he had only to leave his zecchini on the nightstand and show himself out.
And still he lingered.
Stray curls fell across Fiore’s forehead in the wake of pulling on his shirt. A careless toss of his head did not suffice to send them back to their proper place.
So Enzo found himself reaching out to smooth them back for him.
Fiore stilled beneath his touch. Enzo feared he’d over-stepped. But Fiore didn’t withdraw from him—indeed, his dark gaze gleamed with intrigue, and the slight smile that had played about his perfect lips in the wake of his orgasmic haze stole over them entirely as his notice fixed upon Enzo in turn.
All Enzo wanted was to whip off his mask and embrace him.
Instead, he took Fiore’s hand in his own and brought it beneath the mask’s broad beak to press its knuckles against his lips in reverence.
Fiore’s grin appeared like a beam of sunlight breaking through the clouds after a storm. “Such a gentleman.”
And for once, Enzo didn’t feel ashamed to claim the title.
~
CHAPTER THREE
