AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Lucrezia had permitted him to wander the city throughout Saturnalia, with Carlotta’s accompaniment. On the first night, Carlotta had stuck to him like his own shadow, following so close in his footsteps that if he spun he could never see her. By the third night, however, after he’d made it plain through his actions as well as his words that he had no intention of shaking her off his tail, she relaxed her pursuit, following a few steps or sometimes even entire yards behind him. He grew accustomed to her presence, to the point where, if he passed a certain corner and glanced over his shoulder to find her gone, he halted his own progress and waited for her to catch him up. He didn’t have any particular destination, after all, or any schedule to meet. His only desire was wandering; the simple relief of going out and stretching his legs amidst novel sights and sounds after so many months spent indoors staring at the same walls and knowing only the company of family and staff. The city in the throes of Saturnalia held enough exuberance by proxy that he didn’t feel the need to over-indulge himself in drink or dance or danger. Each night he betook himself to a different island and explored corners he hadn’t beheld since childhood—and most not even then.
By the final night of Saturnalia, Carlotta trusted him enough that she didn’t even follow him on foot, but rather took him at his word that he would keep to the canals and instead shadowed him by standing aboard his gondola alongside Ippolito and trailing through the waters behind him.
Yet as Enzo had rounded the infamous dry-docked ship and stared up at the wild throng on deck, he’d found himself arrested by the particular sight of the most beautiful man he’d ever beheld.
Even at a distance, the perfection of the masculine figure had shone plain to Enzo’s eyes. The lean frame balanced against the deck-railing on lithe arms, the drapery of the pale linen shirt limned in moonlight belying the subtle musculature beneath. The scarlet sash foretold both the fellow’s profession and the slender bend of his waist. Between the balusters stood a pair of legs as well-formed as if they’d been turned on the same lathe, one extended and the other cocked at the knee to throw the whole form into a casual contrapposto pose. Though the courtesan stood almost a full head shorter than most of the crowd surrounding him, he carried himself with the confidence of a man thrice his size—like an alley cat amongst hunting hounds, master of its own domain and bowing to none.
Then their eyes had met. And when the courtesan cast down the season’s greeting, how could Enzo do otherwise but answer the call?
With a sidelong glance at the gondola to make sure Carlotta marked his intent and destination, he’d strode to the gangplank and began his ascent.
Finding the courtesan in the crowd felt like discovering a garnet amidst gravel. Distance, Enzo realized as he drew up to the man, had done his appearance no justice. Standing over him, he could perceive not just the beauty of his body but the delicate details of his face. The eyes, of course, commanded Enzo’s notice first and foremost. They’d called to him from fathoms above and to look into them struck his very soul. Enormous, as dark as Enzo’s own garb, creating deep wellsprings that nevertheless held a soft warmth which, with a glance, could spark into a blaze of passion. The face surrounding them proved likewise compelling; full lips which demanded devouring, a noble nose which came to a sharp point, cheekbones carved from marble, a jawline which begged for fingertips to stroke its well-honed edge to the tapered tip of the chin. Nonetheless for all these sharply-drawn divisions, the effect of the whole remained subtle, small, and delicate, like the thousand minute cuts in a gemstone crafting ethereal brilliance.
Amidst all this, Enzo almost forgot to greet him.
Nevertheless, the courtesan smiled in his reply.
Then, in what felt like two shakes of a sail, Enzo found himself taken below-decks.
The courtesan conducted his trade in a matter-of-fact manner that one might consider perfunctory and indifferent, were it not for the ease and charm with which he addressed Enzo. Any lingering hesitations on Enzo’s part, the courtesan gently laid aside, and even Enzo’s own bizarre request did not dissuade him.
And oh, how splendidly he had fulfilled that request.
The surrender of the sash alone sufficed to raise Enzo to half-mast. The sidelong glances between each garment—a fluttering lash here, a bite of the lip there—spoke almost as loud as Enzo’s own pulse pounding in his ears.I know you want this, and I know how best to give it to you.
When all at last gave way, Enzo beheld splendor well worth the wait. The lithe, lean, slender, and supple form, thoroughly bronzed by the sun, seemed the work of a sculptor’s chisel rather than nature’s hand.
The courtesan had spun, giving Enzo a much-appreciated glimpse of the perfect peach of his ass, then mounted the bed. The beauty of his body didn’t cease there, for his cock had a graceful upward curve with its pleasing girth tapering towards the tip. The only flaw—and Enzo hesitated to deem it a flaw, for it added significant interest for him—was the scar running from the root up through foreskin like a lightning strike parallel to underside vein. Enzo wished he might have traced it with his tongue, mask be damned.
Still more enticing than even this, however, was the courtesan’s gaze. The fleeting, fluttering, ferocious glances that stopped Enzo’s heart every time they met his eyes. And then, to see them forced shut as those perfect lips fell open and the lithe back arched in ecstasy to unleash a magnificent spray of seafoam which would’ve done Neptune himself proud.
Enzo had spent without a touch and felt not a drop of shame for it.
The mere recollection of this evening’s encounter would satisfy him not just for tonight but for many nights after. Even so, he had half a mind to return to theKingfisherthe very next moment he could slip away.
~
CHAPTER TWO
“You’re headed out early,” Corelli observed as Fiore came up on deck one morning a fortnight or so after Saturnalia.
Fiore cast his gaze to the heavens. “It’s afternoon.”
“Not by much.”
“By enough.” He’d calculated his chosen hour of emergence based on when the day would feel warmest. Winter would linger for some months yet.
To that end, Fiore noted how Corelli’s gaze lingered on his scarlet woolen half-cape. She said nothing about it, which he knew from experience meant she felt satisfied it would keep him warm enough to wander the fogged streets. While she made no pretense of motherly or even matronly feeling towards him, she did have a vested pecuniary interest in keeping him alive and well, which he appreciated. She kept an eye on whoever he took down into his berth and tracked his comings and goings alone or with strangers. To do less would endanger one of the more popular attractions her tavern had to offer.
Corelli resumed swabbing the deck. “Where’re you off to?”
“The Crooked Anchor,” Fiore replied. “Then down to Artemisia’s.”
“Again?” drawled a familiar voice from behind him.
Fiore turned to find Serafina, his fellow courtesan, emerging from the hatch. She’d wrapped herself in her scarlet silk robe patterned with dark blue swallows.
“You’ll hardly find a wealthy patron in a sculptor’s studio,” Serafina continued, sailing past him towards the bar. It wasn’t open this early in the day. That had never stopped her.
