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A grin stole over Fiore’s face. He nodded.
Enzo required no further prompting to delve.
Other men had paid to swallow Fiore before—with varying degrees of skill. Fiore had few expectations for Enzo’s attempt. He resolved to take it in good humor. If nothing else, the request showed a desire to bring him pleasure, which Fiore took as a sign of continued affection, all the more remarkable given how hideous he’d felt throughout his convalescence.
But he found it quite another thing altogether to see Enzo unmasked before him. To meet that dark gaze as it glanced up for his approval. To behold those beautifully scarred lips parting to embrace his prick.
And to feel that marvelous mouth wrap around his cock-head proved beyond all expectation.
Enzo swallowed Fiore down as if this act alone could nourish him. His already-chiseled cheeks grew all the sharper as they hollowed around Fiore’s cock. Then he drew back, his tongue tracing the lightning-strike scar up the side. Fiore shivered, wondering if this was how Enzo felt when he’d drawn his fingertips across his slashed face over and again; yet Fiore had caressed him with reverence, and this, too, felt an echo of the same, bringing pleasure to what had once been a mark of agony. Where it split the foreskin, Enzo delved beneath to encircle the cock-head and pay tribute to the slit—all without breaking his dark gaze locked with Fiore’s—before devouring him whole again, taking him deep enough to enter his throat.
Damn the mask for hiding this revelation for so long. The distant throb of pain in Fiore’s waist couldn’t prevent him from rolling his hips to fuck Enzo’s willing throat.
In Fiore’s experience, the act was less about performing particular actions—although Enzo performed remarkably well—and more about responding to what the particular receiver enjoyed. Enzo proved very responsive indeed. He attuned to every twitch and gasp, every shudder and moan, every shiver over Fiore’s skin and hitch in his breath.
Without thought, Fiore tangled both hands in Enzo’s locks. And when his fists clenched, an answering moan arose from deep within Enzo’s chest to reverberate through Fiore’s cock in his throat.
Fuck, Fiore thought. He’d not last long like this.
And nor would Enzo, whose hips had begun to grind however slowly and subtly into the mattress beneath, and whose hands continually drifted down to his own waist before he caught himself and replaced them on Fiore’s thighs.
Fiore gave his hair a sharp tug to halt his suckling and turn his gaze upward to meet his own.
“You can touch yourself,” Fiore murmured. “If you’d like.”
The desire that ever-smoldered in Enzo’s dark eyes blazed forth. A hard swallow travelled down his shadowed throat—teasing the tip of Fiore’s cock as it did so. Without ever breaking their locked gaze, Enzo fumbled with the fall-front of his breeches. From this angle Fiore couldn’t see his cock freed, but he beheld it in the way Enzo’s eyes fluttered shut and felt it in the renewed moans that echoed up from the deep as Enzo swallowed him down again.
The knowledge that Enzo took his own gratification in bringing Fiore pleasure heightened all sensation. Whatever restraint Fiore had was lost in the dark locks tangled in his fists, the reverberating moans, the sight of Enzo’s furious arm and his thrusting hips, the tongue lathing the vein beneath and the throat swallowing him down, down, down—until, with an exultant cry that he but half-caught in the palm clutched hastily against his lips, he spilled a roaring tide of seed into Enzo’s all-devouring mouth.
For a few moments, the whole world fell away. He knew only ecstasy, only decadence, only Enzo. Then it ebbed, gradually, gently, but did not disappear altogether. The lovely languid feeling that had washed over him in the torrent of his spend left him in a delightful haze. He opened his eyes again to find Enzo staring up at him. His softening cock had dropt from his mouth, scattering a few glistening pearls across those scarred lips in its wake.
“Did you…?” Fiore asked breathlessly.
Enzo caught his lip between his teeth before admitting in his bashful way, “Not just yet.”
As if his hips yet rolling into the mattress between Fiore’s calves hadn’t already told so. Fiore blamed his failed perception on the sensuality yet clouding his mind. His fingertips delved into Enzo’s hair again, drawing him up even as he softly demanded, “Come here.”
Enzo obeyed—at once, without question, as he always did, and as Fiore never failed to marvel at. His long frame loomed over Fiore, propped up on sinewy forearms that bracketed Fiore’s head on either side whilst he straddled his hips. The breeches and all remained on, as ever, but his cock was yet free, and Fiore clasped it in his fist and slid along its magnificent curving heft whilst dragging Enzo down for a devouring kiss so he might taste himself on his lover’s tongue.
Enzo’s final moan escaped into Fiore’s mouth and resounded in his own throat as Enzo spent across his chest with a shudder. He collapsed beside him, his taller frame curving around his smaller one like a crescent moon.
Fiore dragged his thumb up through the string of liquid pearls and sucked it off for good measure.
“Where else have you plied this talent?” Fiore asked.
Even after all they’d done, Enzo still cast a shy look upon him. “Amongst friends.”
A huff of laughter escaped Fiore. “How fortunate these friends.”
The grin that crept across Enzo’s dashing features begged to be kissed—and so Fiore did.
~
CHAPTER NINE
“Why d’you wear a mask?” asked Fiore.
The question startled Enzo. They sat together in Fiore’s quarters aboard theKingfisherjust as they had every morning since the appendectomy. Fiore arose far later in the day than Enzo—nearer to noon than to sunrise—which left Enzo time to walk Vittorio, run up the stairs, bathe, break his own fast, and practice with Maestra Rovigatti before he brought coffee and brioche to Fiore. Nonetheless he would’ve gladly cast all this aside if Fiore required him one moment earlier.
